The McLean Family 3 - The Valentines Day Date

 Ron McLean Junior parked his small crossover SUV in front of Sandra's house. He took a deep breath and got out.

It had been nearly two months since they'd seen each other in person. They'd met in high school and had been officially dating now for almost three years. Then things had changed. Ron had gone to college but Sandra hadn't. She'd stayed home to help care for her father, he was massively obese, with dozens of health problems that had left him bed confined. Sandra's entire family was fat. Her older brother had moved out but Ron understood he was more or less housebound. Her younger sister was still in high school but had already developed a pronounced waddle. Sandra's mother, while fat as well, was actually the thinnest of the bunch, but she was still morbidly obese, with a drooping apron belly and wide flat ass.

Ron mused on his own mom, she was also mostly confined to bed by her weight nowadays. In fact, Ron reflected as he rang the doorbell, he hadn't seen her get out of bed since he'd before he'd left home for college. She'd just laid there in bed, massive belly sprawled out between her legs, reading her book or surfing the internet on her iPad. She'd even had his father come in and help her change out her pure wick catheter, something Ron had no idea she had.

The door opened and there was Sandra. She was dressed up in a modest black dress. Black leggings covered her legs. She had earrings but no makeup. Her parents were very particular and conservative about what clothes she could wear, according to Sandra. Which Ron thought was a strange policy for a father to prescribe when he was so massively obese he could only wear a bed sheet for modesty. Ron didn't mind. Despite the conservative getup there was no hiding her size, especially her hips and butt. In fact, Ron guessed, she was fatter then her own mother. He was right. Sandra was 467lbs, exactly 60lbs heavier then her mom, although she didn't know it. She didn't really pay much attention to her the exact number of her weight.

Sandra was mixed race. 5'7" tall, pear shaped, and bubbly. Her face was rather normal, with no double chin. Her breasts were quite nice but nothing out of the ordinary. Her upper arms were noticibly fatter then normal, and she had a flabby, jiggly, pot belly that Ron loved the feel of. But below that wide hips, with meaty sacks of fat pressed against the fabric of her dress. Behind her, Ron knew, and a large, heavy ass rode, jutting outwards, to the side, and riding downwards into her thick thighs. Her ass and thighs were dimpled in cellulite.

 Ron wasn't too sure which side of the family she got her body from since her Dad was a massively round man, his head swallowed in his fat chest, and her mother's fat was mostly in her belly. Since Ron had last seen her he could tell Sandra had added weight to her hips and legs. Her belly had also grown too, the slight bulging pot belly turning into a sort of saggy sack that was starting to droop towards her waist. As Ron let her precede him down the sidewalk to his car he watched her walk. Or rather, waddle. Her ass rose and fell heavily with each step and she'd gone from the suggestion of a waddle to a rather obvious one.

She slid into Ron's car and pulled the door shut, the car leaning down towards that side. Ron got into the driver's seat. "So..." She said. She was breathing heavily, but she'd always gotten out of breath very easily. She'd always been out of shape. "Where are we going to dinner?" Her eyes were shining, the way they always did when she was thinking about food, or it was mentioned. 

 The restaurant was crowded, because of course it was. The hostess took a look at the two of them, hesitated a second and said "We have a table prepared for you up in the balcony." Ron couldn't be sure but he thought the hostess almost stammered on balcony looking at Sandra. 

Sandra nodded and smiled at her. "Thank you." She said. Sandra gripped the railing, and then, one foot in front of the other, started to power her way up the stairs. Ron followed behind. Sandra was slow, but determined, fighting her way up the steps all without a break. Which was very impressive, especially as she got out of breath with the first three or four steps. Ron followed slowly behind her, trying not to look at her ass as it wobbled in her dress. But looking at her flabby legs wasn't much better and he had to look away to avoid a reaction happening inside his dress pants.

Sandra made it to the top. She was out of breath and panting but she squeezed down the aisle to their table. It was the third down. Ron noted she had to press her hip against the railing so her other hip didn't hit anyone's table, but it still came close a couple times.

Ron grabbed the chair out for Sandra when they got to the table. Mostly because he didn't know how she'd turn around to get into the one facing the way they'd come. She slid into it gratefully. Ron moved to face her and the hostess gave them the menus and vanished. 

They ordered and Ron settled in for their date. It was almost too easy. He suggested 'appetizers to share' and she went for it. She got a big main course too, and he caught her eying the dessert selection too. 

The problems started before their drinks even arrived. And it continued through the whole meal. People stared at her, some even glowered, hostile towards her because of her size. And every time someone tried to pass, they either shied away from her obviously, or they brushed past her hips. Sandra tried to adjust, but she was squeezed between the wall and the aisle. It was warm up there, and soon Ron could faintly smell Sandra. Not the perfume she'd covered herself in before they left, it was the unmistakable sweaty fat fold smell. Sandra knew she was sweaty, and knew she smelled and it was embarrassing.

Sandra wasn't a very public person and the attention started to make her uncomfortable. She tried to push through the discomfort. At first it worked. Their Server of course didn't say anything, and everyone else soon got over it. The appetizers had been finished. The main course delivered. Then a woman slid past her and her husband brushed into her. Sandra glanced up and met the woman's eyes. "Honestly" She almost snapped, her nose wrinkling in disgust at the faint odor of Sandra's B.O. "People like you should be ashamed of yourself. The least you could do is be considerate and ask to be seated on the ground floor." And she turned and swept away along the balcony. Sandra looked at her plate and started to eat to hide the tears.

Ron tried to make things better, but Sandra just didn't respond. She finished the whole thing and when Ron asked about dessert she just shook her head. The first time ever - to Ron's knowledge - she'd turned it down. Ron supposed he should have confronted the woman or something, but he'd been caught by surprise. Now he didn't know how to broach the subject. 

When it was time to go, Sandra managed to get up okay, but turning around was a challenge. Her right ass cheek caught the table and it bumped into the wall. Everyone looked at them because of the sound. Sandra made an effort to get down the narrow balcony without bumping into people, but she was flustered, and that made it inevitable. She apologized several times. Then she had to grip the railing and slowly navigate the stairs, while the next party waited for her to get down so they could come up to their seats, this time a man had a sneer on his face. A teenager whispered something to his brother and they giggled. Sandra looked down, ashamed.

Ron drove them home in silence, the smell of Sandra's sweat filled the small car. Sandra sniffed a few times but was otherwise motionless. Ron's heart ached for Sandra, and he felt like it was all his fault.

He helped her out of the car when they got back. She turned away, her eyes wet, and started for the house.

"Goodnight." Ron said to her back. "Happy Valentines Day."

Sandra spun around, her butt and belly jiggling and bouncing from the movement. "DON'T YOU GET IT!?" She almost screamed at Ron. "I'M TOO FUCKING FAT!"

Ron shied back against the car. His eyes met her's. Those beautiful eyes shrouded in that fleshy face and he could see the humiliation and the pain. "Don't you get it?" He asked her quietly. "I like it. I love your size."

Her eyes widened. "What?" Ron repeated himself. "But... I... I'm... I mean, I stink, I'm fat..."

Ron crossed to her. He took her in his arms, her flab pressing against him. He felt himself getting hard. "I love it." He said. "I love it all. I love you."

The tears started to run down Sandra's face. "I love you too." She said, and Ron pulled her against his chest. He felt like a million dollars, and in his mind he could already see her getting bigger, him bringing her food... "Ron" Sandra said and pulled back a little. "Just... I mean... you know this is me right? This isn't going to change."

Ron pulled her to him again, her flesh starting to swallow him. "Good."

The Helper 2

CW Contains slob, bathroom themes.

 My brain is struggling to comprehend this mountain of a woman in front of me. By every metric she's disgusting. She stinks, the whole room stinks. She's nothing but a helpless pile of fat and bad odor, a... thing I just watched consume enough food for an entire family.

"I'm sorry." She says. I assume she's talking about the smell but then she says "I don't have any aides today. My daughter brought me lunch but that's about it. She's at work now." I try not to stare at her, imagining someone having sex with this blob of a woman. She looks up at me, her irises are a sort of dirt brown, and her sclera is tinged yellow. "I go to the bathroom here in bed. I need to go number two, and I can't hold my bowels at all well anymore. Not for years. If I go, I have to sit in that till morning. I can't move by myself well enough to get it out from under me, and anyway do you think I can reach to clean myself? I'm already sitting in my own piss, I just want to be clean for a little while. If you help me, I will pay you $300. On top of the $100 I was going to pay you for helping." Her eyes, buried in her fat moon of a face are almost pleading with me."

I hesitate. This sounds absolutely disgusting. I know it's going to be, she's passed gas again, and it's still rancid. Her bowels must be as full of fat and as ruined as the rest of her. "How do we do it?" I ask.

"You will?" I nod. "I'm going to go." She said, panting a little. "You'll have to help me roll on my side. You can collect the chux pads from under me and throw them away. I'll need you to wipe me off. Just be really gentle, my skin is very delicate." She gestures. "That carts got everything you'll need."

I cross to it and then I hear her gasp. She farts, farts again, and groans. I turn around, her hands are clenching the bed and I hear the unmistakable sound of her shitting. The smell hits me. I'd gotten used to the underlying stench in the room, but this makes my eyes water. I get gloves on and wheel the cart over. I drag the garbage can over too. She's breathing hard, her blotchy face redder from exertion. "Hey." She wheezes to me. "My right thigh... it's very delicate right now. It might tear open. If it does, you'll need to bandage it or it could get infected. It's weeping pretty bad right now, there's a chux under it, and it'll probably stick to my thigh when we move. Pull it off and see if you can tuck a fresh one over it so it doesn't leak all over the bed." I'm feeling a little overwhelmed but I nod again. "Ready?"

She uses a remote to lay the bed back so she's flat. She moves her left leg. She sort of shoves her left heel into the bed and starts to pull herself to her right side. I plant both hands under her back and shove. She balances for I brace myself for it and it's pretty bad. There's a pool of feces, half brown liquid, some partially solid. There's a sort of indentation, heavily scarred on her left ass cheek. I'm frozen a second, unsure where to start, the only reason I don't vomit from the sight or the smell is just how unrealistic the scene is. Her ass is a massively wide wall of swollen red flesh. "I can't... breath good... like this... Don't... take... long." I hear. I move. I turn the little dial on the grey box all the way up so oxygen is hissed into her nose as fast as the machine can make it. I start bundling up the layers of absorbent chux pads under her. I'm glad there's a lot of them, she needs them. Some are sodden with urine, the rest are now covered in feces. A couple by her legs are a sort of light yellow color, unlike her dark urine. I toss them all and then I get into the bed behind her with the wipes. She gasps "Easy! Easy..." As I start to wipe, so I slow down, making multiple passes instead of digging into her ass. It's all fat, there's no muscle, maybe some fluid, and it shifts and wobbles as I wipe it. I wipe down the large fat fold with the crack in it that I assume is her pussy. I make sure to clean deep and get the urine out and she gasps. I throw soiled wipe after soiled wipe into the trash can. When she's clean I take a chux pad, carefully peeling the old one off her right thigh, and she yelps in pain. The smell from her thigh is unlike anything I've ever smelled in my life. Clear fluid is... weeping through her skin. It's red and stretched tight, it looks ready to pop. I carefully wrap the new pad over it. I lay down layers of chux pads, and then I help her roll back over.

The sheets fallen away, and I can see pasty white breasts with massive pink nipples. She sits the bed up, and then holds up a hand. I don't say anything instead I study how her breasts are basically completely formless and just extra fat folds over the larger fat folds of her belly. She takes a long time to catch her breath. Finally she says "Not bad." She reaches for her phone. "I can venmo or cashapp you... I don't keep cash around here." I discard my gloves into the trash can. Somethings happened, it's like a switch has flipped inside me. I look into the trash can without any emotion or reaction. It seems half full of dirtied medical supplies, and the smell of her shit radiates out at me. "$150." I say. "As long as you take my number, and call me if you need any help like this again." She stared at me. I look back at her. "You need help, I'm willing to help. I'm not saying I'll do it gratis, but you seem like a nice enough lady, I'd hate for you to have to spend the night in a pile of shit."

"It wouldn't have been the first time." She says.  I reach down and turn the oxygen concentrator back to where it was. She's pant breathing through her open mouth again, looking up at me. "Well let me know if you need me." I respond. "Anything else?"

"Could you... in the fridge freezer there's some pints of ice cream. Can you bring me one please? Dessert." I nod. In the kitchen I find the fridge freezer is half stocked with pints of ice cream and the other half has an ice cream cake with a couple pieces missing. I pull it out and cut a massive slab off it. I put it on a plate and bring it in with a fork. She blinks at it. "I... thank you. But a pint would..."

I cut her off. "You were very patient with me, it was painful for you, you deserve a treat." Her eyes sparkle, her small fat mouth twists into a grin, and she flashes an almost bashful smile at me with her yellow teeth. "I'll do the dishes and I'll bring you your dessert." I reply. I sit down on the edge of the bed. She loads her mouth with a massive bite of the cake. I sit on the edge of the bed by her feet. I gently run my thumbs over her cankles and then I start to rub her feet. She moans softly, and stuffs the ice cream cake into her mouth rapidly. Before I know it, it's gone. I go to the kitchen, rinse off the plate and fork leaving them in the sink. I get a pint of ice cream. It's the high quality, full fat, real milk kind, loaded with cookie bits and chocolate chips. I return to the living room with it and a spoon. I offer it to her. "Here you go. Anything else?"

"No." She says. Almost demurely. "Thank you."

I give her my venmo and she sends me the promised $150. I wink at her, pat her greasy fat naked shoulder, and head for the door, locking it behind me. I breath the clean clear air in through my nose, purging my nostrils of the odor. I head down the sidewalk and I'm humming. I'm wide awake and feeling almost jaunty. Like I've found a purpose.

The Helper 1

CW: Pretty significant slob

 I knocked on the door and I heard a voice through the window. "Hey. Over here." I turned and through a lighted window I can see a hand beckoning through a curtain. I walk over to it. "Here." It says, in a breathless female voice, and offers me a key. "Let yourself in. Just turn right off the hallway when you get through the door." A little confused I return to the door, unlock it, and make my way in carrying my delivery. I started delivering for a delivery app a few weeks ago to make some extra money. I'm trying to save up enough money to quit the dead end job I hate and move. With two jobs though, I'm pretty tired. Since delivering food I've seen plenty of overweight people, men and women both but nothing prepared me for what greeted me when I entered the living room of the narrow prefab house.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. An overpowering level of body odor, and piss. Next is the bed. It's the widest hospital bed I've ever seen and it's right next to the window the hand came through. It's back is to me and I can just see a head. I walk through the room and the next thing I see is the woman.

She is far and away the fattest woman I've ever seen, or ever imagined. Greasy hair frames a massively round face. A double chin jiggles as she breaths audibly through an open mouth. Her nose, practically swallowed in her fat cheeks is being fed oxygen through a tube but apparently it isn't helping. She's pulled a sheet over herself, it used to be white, now it's stained with food and... other fluids. Below the sheet, a massively pale white belly, covered in stretch marks and pockmarked by scabs, falls onto enormous thighs that push her legs away from each other. Huge hips are near the edge of the bed. Motionless feet are practically swallowed in swollen calves, one of which is covered in a compression bandage. She looks about 50 but she's probably only in her early 40s, her body is barely recognizable as human. "I don't bite." She says, when I freeze. Her voice is thick and weak, as if her windpipe is constricted and talking is difficult. I blink and then I walk forward, crossing the old floor that sticky in places. "It smells delicious." She's eying my collection of bags with glee. She takes a deep breath and then coughs a few times clearing her throat, and she passes gas at the same time, adding to the smell of the room. She glances up at me. "I'm sorry." She said. "But I lost the ability to control that a long time ago." She gestured around. "I haven't walked in five years certain things become unimportant. Now, dinner?" I offer her the bags and she wheezes as her breathing speeds up. It takes me a second before I realize she's excited. "See that table on wheels?" I look at it. There's an identical one in front of her, with a laptop, box of kleenex, and two liter bottle of Orange Soda. She takes the bottle of soda and I gingerly move the other table, before, piling them on the empty one. As soon as it's within reach, she's pulled over her left thigh with a grunt and a wheeze. She takes one of the boxes, opens it up, and starts to demolish a chicken strip, chewing with her mouth open. "Thanks." She mumbles.

I turn to go. "Wait." I turn back around. She's paused in the middle of ripping apart a bread roll. "Are you able to stick around? I'll pay you. $100 if you help me with a few things. I'll need you to toss the garbage when I'm done. That kind of thing" I blink. "Oh. Sure." She waves towards a chair. It's a normal recliner type chair, and probably the cleanest thing in the room. I take a seat. "I'm Jeff." I offer.

"Michelle." She replies. "Don't talk, I want to eat." She's machine like, it's unreal. The chomping, slurping, grunting... It reminds me, a little uncomfortably, of the time I fed the pigs at a school trip to a farm. She eats rapidly, jowls bouncing as she chews, everything washed down with swings of orange soda. I look around the room. There's a TV mounted to the wall, muted, with a rerun of Cops playing on it. A grey box is humming and seems to be feeding her oxygen. A large 55 gallon trash can is across the room. There are shelves of medical supplies in plastic totes or cardboard boxes, each labeled in marker. Some are words I've never run into before. "Chux Pads, Cannulas, 5x9s, Elastic Bandages." Others are recognizable, or at least I can guess. "Gloves, Wipes, body powder." There's a small rolling cart near the bed, just out of her reach with four drawers. On top is a small white plastic tray. They're also labelled "Morning, Noon, Night, PRN." I can see pill bottles inside. I can see a grey cart, like those used in warehouses. There's a bucket on the bottom of it, and the top has a box of gloves, two large stacks of blue/white fuzzy things, and a plastic tub. It takes me a minute to realize it's a plastic baby wipe container. There's a belch and I look back at her. I can see her face, it's almost dreamy. She farts again and doesn't seem to notice it. I notice the smell, it's absolutely rancid. She's over halfway through her meal, and it's going in record time. I thought I was picking up a dinner for a family of 6, and a hungry family at that, but she's showing no signs of slowing down.

After about 15 minutes she lets out a belch that rattles the light fixture. "That's better." She pants. I wordlessly start collecting her trash. I move the table out of the way, dropping everything into the large trash can. "Would you get me a second bottle of soda?" She asks. "In the kitchen? Oh, and I guess... could you also bring the clear pencil case in there? Not the pink one, the clear one." I make my way to the kitchen. It's almost sterile and completely untouched. The fridge hums loudly in the corner. I open it up. The entire bottom shelf is nothing but two liter bottles of soda. There are two pencil cases on the top shelf. The pink one says "Eyedrops" and the Clear one says "Insulin." I take a bottle of soda and the insulin into the other room. She's pulled the old sheet up a bit and I can see more of her belly. It's in two huge obese folds that almost, but not quite, swallow a cavernous belly button. A large adhesive bandage, stained, is on her left lower fold, and a couple bandaids are on her upper belly folds, one on each side. "I'm going to need the little white tray that says meals... There's a little cart with wheels somewhere..." I take the white tray. Sure enough it says "Meals." I step close to her. This close I can really smell her. Even her breath which I can smell as she pant/breaths through her open mouth stinks. For a couple minutes there's a pause as she uses her phone to check her blood sugar on a little white disc embedded in her fat upper arm. I notice how the fat droops down, hanging over her elbows. She takes a hand wipe and cleans her hands and drops it back in the tray. Her hands aren't fat, if anything they're rather on the small side, even for a woman. She takes an alcohol pad and rubs it on the top fold of her belly. It comes away stained dark and she repeats the process three more times till the pad comes away clean. "Will you help?"

"Sure." I reply, "But I don't know anything about injections."

"I'll do that. I just need you to put the bandaid on, it's hard for me." I nod and open one up. She takes the insulin pen and pokes herself with it. There's a click and she removes it. Instantly watery blood starts to pool up. I press the bandaid down over it and I immediately see why it's hard for her. Her belly is almost fluid, it's... it's got to be like trying to patch a water bed. My hand sinks into it but I get the bandaid secured. I collect the garbage and return the tray to the small table. "While you're there, would you just hand me the one that says "night?" She asks my back. I hand it to her. There's a collection of pill bottles in there. She starts taking them as I toss the garbage, and return to the kitchen to put the insulin in the fridge. I returned and collect the tray of her nighttime meds and return it to the little cart. "I'm paying you." She says. "I promise."

"Thanks." I mutter, feeling awkward. I don't hear her pass gas this time but I can smell it. "I appreciate it. I need the money."

The Enabler Mindset

 People treat me like I'm sick. Like I'm the bad guy. But I'm not. I'm a good husband. My wife needs me. That's all it is. Just because she's obese doesn't mean that she doesn't deserve love and I love her. In fact it makes her need me more.

From the moment I get up in the morning I'm there for her. These days its a struggle for her to get out of bed in the morning. Sometimes she can't and she'll wind up urinating on the chux pads I keep under her. I have to keep chux pads under her because her right thigh has a giant weeping lymphodema on it. I keep it clean for her, because she can't. She's too fat to do it for herself.

That's another thing. She's too fat to do most things by herself so I have to do them for her. You wouldn't expect her to go without wiping after using the bariatric commode because she's too fat to reach and clean herself, well why should she go around without shoes because she can't bend down to tie them? Is that sick? Is being willing to help your wife "sick" just because she's overweight?

So what if she likes food. I like food too. I want her to be happy, I want her to enjoy what she eats. She's a big girl with a big appetite so she needs big meals. She's in pain a lot, and I'm not in denial, she has some health issues, but that makes it all the more important to me that she likes what she eats because then she's happy. When I bring her the large pizza order, I get to see her happy for a little bit. 

Is it sick to help her with her insulin after she eats? Lots of people are diabetic. I don't care that it's because she's fat - or so the doctors say. She has high blood pressure, lots of people fat and thin do. I'm not sick, I'm just making sure I take care of her health, it's not my fault, or her's, she has lots of health problems. These things happen sometimes.

People act like I'm sick because she's so fat. Just because she's much fatter now then when we met. People stare at us when we go out, her on her mobility scooter, wrapped in too small sweat stained clothes, breathing heavily off her oxygen canister. They stare at me too, when I bring her lunch. Like I'm the reason she's like this.

I'm not sick. I like bigger women and I love my wife. It's not sick to make her happy.

Wilcox Farms 2

In private staff called her Dr. Wilcox's biggest failure. 12 years ago she'd entered the 'farms as the first patient and she'd never left. Wilcox openly admitted it. He'd entirely failed to bring down her weight. He always said that possibly it was because she was his first patient and had been the "guinea pig" for his theories and treatments. Staff speculated on everything from genetic problems making it difficult to loose weight to stubbornness on her part. All were agreed that the failure of her respiratory system 5 years ago had made further progress much more difficult.

Haley had entered the facility 12 years ago as the first patient. She'd weighed 600lbs at 22 years old but had ballooned to over a thousand. Her peak weight had been measured at 1100. Her respiratory drive had failed and she'd almost suffocated. Wilcox had managed to intubate her and eventually she'd been surgically given a tracheostomy and placed on a ventilator. She'd been on a crash diet loosing nearly 300 pounds but it had been a fight to get her under 800. At least according to the official documentation. As of now she weighed 817lbs (58.4 stone) as of this morning's weighing. Unknown to all but a couple staff members, who'd also been here for those 12 years, and close family, Haley was married to Wilcox. And unknown to everyone but her and Wilcox was that she was incredibly turned on by her weight, and experienced almost orgasmic levels of pleasure when her massive stomach was stuffed with food.

Currently she was constantly being fed, 24/7/365, a caloric heavy, high nutrient feed through the tube to keep her gargantuan stomach at least somewhat filled so she didn't starve, and to give her the nutrients she needed to stay alive. Of course she still consumed food by mouth. The most amount of pleasure she received in her daily life was when she was eating food. But it was a lot of work for her and she only ate a couple meals a day now.

Haley couldn't talk anymore but she didn't need to. Her life was perfect for her, and she could communicate using her tablet. It was after 8 and she'd just finished her dinner when Wilcox came into her room the largest one in the Intensive Care Unit side. It was quiet and dark other then the soft lights bathing her body in yellow light. He closed the door and crossed to her bed. He touched her swollen cheek and they exchanged kisses.

Then he stepped back to admire his handiwork. No, their handiwork. Haley didn't overflow the Bariatric hospital bed but she filled it comfortably. Her face and head were fat, perched on a double chin that had been spread but now encompassed her trach. Formless breasts cascaded over fold after fold of fat to her massive belly which ran all the way to her knees. Her belly had always been her biggest asset but she didn't really have any small ones. Her legs were formless, deformed by fat, fluid retention, and muscle atrophy and small feet red, puffy, and unmoving, poked out the bottom. She was surrounded by tubes, the tube to breath for her, the tube to feed her, the tubes of the PICC line they administered medications through. The port for her to receive dialysis since her kidneys barely worked. The urinary catheter to take away urine, the rectal tube that took away her fecal matter.

They spent most evenings together, and all day Sundays. Most of it was just being close, watching TV or movies together. Once in a while, for old times sake, he'd feed her but it exhausted her easily. And once in a while, if she had the energy they'd...

Tonight he could tell, she had the energy. She confirmed it when he got close and she grabbed his crotch with her fat swollen fingers. He couldn't access her vagina anymore but he really didn't care. That's what vibrators are for. It was a bit of a struggle to get her's placed through the fat of her thighs and belly but he manged it and turned it on. Then he got undressed and started to fuck her belly button. She had a big deep belly button and he loved it. The huge expanse of her belly flowed around him, jiggling with each thrust.

When he'd finished, and gotten her cleaned up he relaxed in the chair listening to the hiss hiss of the ventilator breathing for her. And contemplated. Her health was bad, terminally bad, but he didn't really know how long she could live like this. Everything was stable. Her heart was the only organ he couldn't really treat and it was still going strong, with no evidence of problems. Unlike so many of his patients. He was interrupted by the tablet's computerized "I want to show you something"

He got up and looked. The tablet read:
"I want to be 1000lbs again. There's something magical about being half a ton, 4 figures. I miss it. I want to try. Do you want me to?"
Wilcox didn't say anything at first. There was no reason too. He turned up the speed that the tube feeding was being administered to her by and gave her a kiss. "Yes." He said. "But I need you to eat three meals a day like the good little land whale you are."
That got him a heavy nod and a tight smile.

Hidden Away 1

"So you understand this requires the GREATEST of discretion."

Julie kept a straight face while internally rolling her eyes. Rich people more worried about their public image then their disabled relative. She responded "Sir I value your privacy but my first priority is always going to be the care of my patient. I promise that your privacy will be second only to that." So there, she thought. Julie was 25 years old, 5'-9" tall, curvy, with brown hair and honest brown eyes. She had 32D breasts and a tight wide ass. She was the embodiment of the perfect hourglass figure outside of a small belly, which was barely visible. She was currently single, and worked in healthcare first as a caregiver and now as a CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant) to make ends meet after she'd been kicked loose from her foster home at her 18th birthday. She had no family she knew about, although she'd been told her mother had been an alcoholic who'd abandoned her at the hospital. She had been told about this job by her boss at the Brooklyn Rehab Center.

"That's good." The man rubbed his forehead. "You see our current caregiver is leaving us in two days. It's our son." He paused again.

Julie forced herself not to roll her eyes. Did they think they were the only ones in the whole world with a disabled son?

"He's super morbidly obese, like to the point he can't walk very far, and needs assistance with just about everything. So..." Pause.

The woman stepped in. "Do you have any experience with heavier people?"

Julie said "Yes." Her mind changing gears from a severely disabled adult to one who was fat, "When I was working at Brooklyn Rehab I worked in the bariatric care section."

"Do you have any problems working alone?"

"No. Not if your son can stand and walk."

"He's extremely limited in his movements. It's a very difficult situation for us as a family."

"I understand. Are you currently working on a weight loss program?"

"NO!" The man snapped. "It's his choice."

"You see" the woman stepped in. "We don't want you to strain your relationship with the boy by pressuring him. That's our job as his parents. We just need you to help care for him since my husband and I have very full schedules."

"Not a problem." Julie said "If all I have to do is assist with personal care that makes my job much easier."

"Remember complete confidentiality. In the circles we move in our son's... condition would create many problems, including the bad publicity for my corporation."

"Not a problem" Julie answered.

"Good. Now some lifestyle questions. These have nothing to do with you getting the job or not. Do you drink alcohol?"

"Not often. Only socially and never very much."

"Do you smoke?"

"Yes."

"Did you take smoking breaks at your last job?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Have you ever tried drugs?"

"No, my family raised me very well in that regard."

"Okay. Are you married or in a relationship?"

"No."

"Religious?"

"Yes, but not often."

"Thank you for humoring me. In case you were wondering I was curious as to whether or not anything in your personal life would need... adjusting on our end. Childcare for instance. As it appears the only thing to do is to offer you the job. The hours are 8am to 6pm 5 days a week with Tuesdays and Saturdays off, although if you're in town we need you to be on call for an emergency."

*************
Madison was a heavyset African American woman in her 30s with slabs of excess poundage on her thighs and bottom giving her what would have been a majestic waddle if she didn't move so fast. Instead it was sort of a penguin looking waddle as she shuffled along rapidly, talking over her shoulder. "So Max is a very sweet guy. I really wish I could stay on but I got this great job offer with a good raise and they'll pay for my LPN license"

They were on the far wing of the mansion on the ground floor. The house, shaped like an 'L' was perched on top of a hill but then the builders had dug into the hill creating a large basement that opened onto a small gravel circle behind the main house looking over a river. They were in the bottom arm of the 'L', the part that opened onto the back of the house and a hidden driveway. It had been created, Madison explained, as a deluxe suite for either a live in servant, a temporary residence for corporation employees, or a family member who wanted to be partially separate from the rest of the family. Say an in-law. Now it was being used as the exclusive residence for Max. His bed, and indeed world, were in the living room, a massive room with floor to ceiling glass windows, his bed where he spent most of his time. To the right was a large open area. To the left of his bed was the commode he used, and next to it his oversized wheelchair. He was snoring and Madison led Julie back to the office that they had. It used to be the bedroom but now there was just a narrow bed, a small TV, a desk with PC, landline phone, and neat stacks of paper. Julie sat on the bed and Madison plopped into the chair and explained.

Max's Father owned a massive healthcare conglomeration. Everything from Medical Supply, to nursing homes, including Brooklyn Rehab, to an Ambulance/Wheelchair Van Transport company. Because of that word getting out that his son, who would have been the heir to the company, wasn't disabled, which was the unofficial story, but extremely life threatenly obese, BY CHOICE, and he'd be the laughing stock of the healthcare world. Or so he thought. Personally Madison didn't think anyone would care.

Madison showed her around the rest of the suite and told her that she should park her car on the gravel circle, (There was a wide spot specifically for the purpose), showed her the walk in closet with spare equipment, like a power wheelchair, and medical supplies, told her that deliveries came through the garage, and into the closet through a door put in specifically for the purpose. They weren't to see Max because word might get out. Inside the garage was a minivan with a wheelchair ramp. Madison explained that the vehicle's suspension had been modified to handle up to a thousand extra pounds. Madison also explained the weight limits. Max was believed to be in the neighborhood of 675-700 pounds. While the manual wheelchair next to the bed was rated up to 850lbs, the motorized one, the one he used if he went out in the van, or upstairs to spend time with his family, was rated at 650lbs which meant Max was at or above the maximum weight limit for the chair so she was to be very careful helping him into it. All this was explained to her outside, just around the corner from the top of the bottom arm of the "L." Essentially where the period is while they took a cigarette break. There was a picnic table and ashcan all set up.

As for food the kitchenette was stockpiled with snacks. Three meals a day for him were prepared by the cook in the kitchen but snacks in between and beverages were her responsibility. Madison advised her to check on the supplies and order replacements at least every other day. There was a pad of scratch paper next to a laminated list of what to have on hand.

Finally she introduced her to Max. She immediately liked him. He had a charming smile and was surprisingly clean, although he did have the smell her trained healthcare senses associated with super morbidly obese patients, the smell of old urine, feces, and sweat. He told her "you're in charge except for when I eat and when I go to the bathroom. Otherwise we do what you say."

Madison supervised her for the rest of the day. Julie handled it just fine. Max was strong enough to stand and pivoted to the commode by himself and only needed to be cleaned up afterwords, something he was incapable of doing. Julie could understand why he'd need help after number two but then she found that only the head of his penis was visible with the rest buried inside his pubic fat. Madison was going on to say "Occasionally he has... accidents..." When Max jumped in saying "Sometimes I stuff myself with so much food I can't move. Sometimes when I do that I piss or shit myself because I just can't hold it, I'm working to hard on not throwing up." And he winked at her. See what I mean about a sense of humor?

Outside as they were smoking one last cigarette together and Madison said "If you have any questions give me a call. I'll be happy to come back and cover for you on vacation or something."

"Who takes care of him on my days off?"

"I don't know. I believe his mother helps out although I don't know who cleans him."

********
Inside Max lay on his bed smiling. He couldn't believe it, he got a super hot care assistant to look after him. He couldn't wait!

Past and Present - SSBBW

Past:
    She grew up in a small cheap apartment complex in a rough neighborhood. Her life revolved around food. Her father lusted after her mother, with her wide hips and sagging gut, her painfully stiff waddle. When he came home he’d make sure she and her daughters had plenty to eat then he ate a small portion and drank himself oblivious, chainsmoking cheap cigarillos throughout. More often then not when drunk he’d become aroused, he’d come up behind her mother, with his zipper open and member posed, then pull down her pants or lift up her dress and bend her over the counter, or a table, whichever was handiest, and he’d proceed to have intercourse. Having gained release he’d stagger into the bedroom to pass out. Her mother never complained, never wearing underwear at home, and usually wearing dresses for ease of access.
    Her parents were incredible chainsmokers, which contributed to the funk of the house. All her early memories feature her massively obese mother squinting through clouds of tobacco smoke from the eternal cigarette in the corner of her mouth, that only disappeared when she ate.
    Her father was a good provider, food was never scarce and the girls were encouraged to eat their fill. His sons were encouraged to eat the minimum, to save more for their mother, who ate the most, and their sisters, and to “keep them in trim to be good strong providers” someday.
    Her mother was a short but incredibly wide woman. Her hips, legs, butt, upper arms, belly and thighs made her practically circular. Her belly reached to her knees but her butt provided a good counterweight. As the years passed and the weight bore on her frame she began to stay in bed or sit on the couch all day snacking. The couch was never preferred as her father would come home and after drinking himself oblivious and then her father would struggle to find her holes and be unable to preform. But as she lay in bed, he could early lift one of her legs, lift her belly, or have her roll over, and then “use her as providence intended” as he always said.

Present:
    She lives in a small crummy house on the edge of a bad neighborhood. Food is everything. Fast food, traditional ethnic food, homemade food, anything edible, she needs to eat. Only then can she reward her feeder with hard work, at least in a way that’s comfortable for them, as she is no longer able to get wet without a full stomach. Originally, probably like her mother, the simple touch to her privates would get her dripping. Access is a challenge now as she’s plagued by lymphoma in her legs, her stomach pools in her lap, and folds from her thighs and butt intertwine around her pussy.
    Her feeder is a good provider to her with a good job, good benefits, and enough money to keep good food, medications, cigarettes and hygiene supplies well stocked, their job pays them well and her feeder can do much of it from home, allowing them to assist her as she needs them.
    Like her parents she’s a heavy smoker, unlike her mother she smokes to take the edge off her incredibly strong food addiction and her health has suffered. She consumes cigarettes like food, not merely puffing on them, but dragging on them like they’re in short supply. She started much earlier then her mother too and her lungs have been subsequently trashed.
    She’s beautifully pear shaped, although every surface is riddled with stretch marks and cellulite, a belly to the mid thigh level, and massive thick thighs. Her ass is huge, larger then her mothers, and would make a fine shelf if she could stand long enough. Her balance is dreadful as her belly reaches only halfway to her knees, unlike her mothers and the sheer amount of her weight leaves her breathless and gasping in pain with every step.

Past:
    For as long as she can remember her mom needed help. Washing herself, wiping, and getting dressed. She was simply too fat, and too lazy to do them herself. Watching her father washing under her mom’s breasts, caressing her heavy gut as her worked, gave her her definition of true love.
    Her Mothers final years were spent in bed, with her husband, who’d used her and used her, time and again, in private, in front of their children, wherever, as her primary caretaker. Food was still never scarce and her weight ballooned till her cardio-pulmonary system simply gave out from the weight and several undiagnosed medical conditions.   

Present:
    Getting out of bed is no longer feasible. She’s much larger then her mother was, and unlike her mother, since most of her weight is carried in her hips and butt, standing puts her dangerously off balance. Her feeder does everything for her, bathing her rolls, applying lotion to her flesh, and cleaning up her waste. Unlike her mom her medical conditions have been diagnosed and the prognosis is grime. 5-7 years left in her life if she doesn’t turn her life around, the Congestive heart failure, Emphysema, hypertension, and diabetes are killing her. But it hasn’t stopped her from lying back in her bed and stuffing her face with junk food.
    Right now, as her death caused by her unhealthy lifestyle approaches, she’s completely dependent on her feeder. She’s all but immobile, capable of standing and taking a couple steps when she absolutely has too. Her feeder bathes her, powers the folds and spreads lotion across her titanic mountain of flab. Her feeder changes her chux pads and bed pan, wiping her enormous private parts with care while she lies there like a massive mountain of flab, struggling to breath so she can eat that next donut or smoke that next cigarette. It’s her definition of true love.

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.

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.