The Live Stream

 

This wasn't a commission, I don't do those since I'm too busy to keep up with them and deliver a quality product in a timely manner. However it was a request and suggestion, and I greatly appreciate it.

RunWarrior365 was a moderately popular streamer. She had her own subreddit, and all the usual socials. Right now, about 800 people were watching her stream, a fraction of the 21'000 subscribers she had. However it was one of the secrets to her success, she streamed three times a day, one in the midmorning, one in the midafternoon, and then one in the evening. The daytime ones were usually a couple hours. The evening one, starting around 4pm, usually went for 8 hours, with only a halfhour break around 8:30pm, leading to wild speculation on how much sleep RunWarrior365 actually got, what she did for money, and when she had time for anything else.

"Oh shit! No I didn't need that!" Isla was starting to get a little out of breath. The Skeletal Guards had spawned in catching her by surprise and fighting her way out didn't seem to be working. Another hit from the necromancer... "Nooo!!" The game over screen appeared. "Okay everyone," she said, speaking into the headset mic, trying had not to pant "I'm going to take a break, I'll be back tonight for the stream with NoReason and RealDawg." Isla made sure that she muted the stream. If you'd asked her, she'd have said that, honestly, she a little relieved. It had been nearly 45 minutes since she last had a break and she starving. Mom had brought her the order from McDonalds a few minutes ago and she wanted to dig in. The smell had made her large stomach growl. In fact she'd made a couple key strategic mistakes in the game to enable her to take her break a little earlier then normal.

 

Isla dug in with gusto, scarfing the fast food. It didn't last long, but it wasn't meant for a meal. It was just her midafternoon snack. Her mom was preparing a taco bar for the family dinner tonight. It was Isla's favorite, and she normally ate as much as the rest of the family combined. Her enormous stomach temporarily sated she laid back satisfied. Pressure was building in her bladder and she called "Mom?"

Steps came down the hall and her mother appeared. "Yes dear?"

"Mom, can you please turn the suction on?" Isla gave her Mom a wide eyed apologetic look. "Pretty please? My back hurts." She added a little pout on the end. Isla's back felt fine, she was just tired and full, so while she could reach the suction unit mounted next to the bed that pulled the urine up Isla's external catheter to turn it on and off, she'd like JUST laid back to relax, and sitting up and rolling partially onto her side to reach it was a lot of work.

"Of course Isla dear." Her mother turned the suction on and Isla relaxed. Isla's mom gently stroked her hair, which was annoying but Isla had just played the sick, helpless, card. When she relaxed her bladder everything relaxed down there. Soon the urine was flowing pouring into the external catheter and being sucked up the tube into the cannister. Isla pushed a little, to get all the urine out of her bladder, which made her pass gas. Neither woman reacted to it. Isla's mother bent down. "You do seem a little tense." She said. "Do you need one of your muscle relaxers?" 

Isla shook her head. "No I'm okay. I think it's just from having to pull myself over earlier." Her Mom had helped her bathe in bed this morning, then changed the sheets on the bed and Isla had been forced to get up and use the bedside commode, so her mom could change the sheets. Isla's father was gone for an early meeting and had been unable to help roll Isla onto her side so her mom could bathe her back, leaving Isla cranky and exhausted. Isla realized she was getting close to the 'entitlement' that her brother sometimes accused her of and, although her mom was pretty good at overlooking that, added hastily "It's my fault, I shouldn't have pulled so hard, I should've pushed more with my leg. My calf was just so sore..." That was no lie. Swollen by lack of use, retained fluid, and excess adipose tissue, Isla's legs were inflicted with advanced lymphodema and swollen far beyond any normal healthy size. Folds of fluid created crevices, and even her calves touched and rubbed when she stood. Isla's left calf was currently wrapped in a compression bandage after it had partially opened during her bath a few days ago. 

"I know dear, it's okay." Her mom continued to stroke Isla's hair. Isla had finished urinating and now she was ready for a nap. 

"I'm sorry to be so much trouble." Isla apologized. She sniffed "I'm such a big gross blob, I wish you'd just put me in a nursing home or something so you didn't have to work so hard."

"Hush Isla!" Her mother scolded her. "Enough of that. You are not a lot of trouble. I think you need to take a break from those silly games, take a pain pill and relax." 

"Will you turn on my CPAP for me?" Isla pleaded. Like the suction unit, she didn't want the noise from the oxygen concentrator get picked up by her mic. When she'd been forced to start using it during streams she'd started to see comments asking if someone was remolding her space, or generally asking what the humming noise was, it was now kept in a closet, with the door closed. Her CPAP was located next to her bed, and her mom turned it on for her. While Isla too her nasal cannula off, her mom plugged in the oxygen tubing to the machine and then swapped with Isla. Isla got her CPAP on and her Mom plugged the oxygen into a small portable tank mounted in easy reach on Isla's bed. That way Isla wouldn't need to keep her CPAP on in order to get the oxygen she needed if she woke up. Then her mom got Isla one of her oxycodone and Isla swallowed it with some of the soda she had left. 

 

Then Isla was alone, reclined in her bed. As the medication masked the chronic soreness in her legs and hips she stretched luxuriantly. Sometimes it was all too easy with her Mom. There was an excellent chance her Mom would bring her extra dessert too if she thought Isla was really struggling with pain. You had to be careful though, Isla didn't want her mom to get upset and burn out. Isla wanted just enough sympathy that she could be lazy, even for someone nearly bed confined from their weight, which meant she was also reinforcing her Mom's enabling.

Isla woke up to the smell of taco meat and looked at the clock. Her stream would start in 15 minutes. Plenty of time. She took her CPAP off, and rolled to her side. Her oversized butt and thighs barely shifted, all the movement was done with her torso. She found the buttons for the machines, turning them off. First the suction unit, which had stayed on in case she urinated in her sleep which happened sometimes, then she turned off the CPAP, pulling the oxygen tube out of it's connector and plugging it back into her nasal cannula. She pushed herself back up with a grunt. Her breasts slid back down her chest under her gown and her belly dragged across her thighs. She took a breath, and heaved her sagging belly back to center so there wasn't so much pressure on her right hip. She raised the bed and looked around. Her stomach growled as she fired up the computers. She knew her Mom would be in with dinner at any moment and Isla would have her tacos and video games. She didn't have any premonitions of anything bad coming her way.

The next two hours were pretty routine. Isla gorged herself. Her mom had made her a pan of brownies and Isla barely talked on stream, keeping her mic muted most of the time so she could eat. And anyway most of the people tuning into the joint stream were there to see the other two guys, Isla was their token woman, and she just needed to say the right things when they were joking. It was while she was finishing her 6th taco when she felt her guts starting to rumble. Her stomach was hurting and Isla hesitated. Then suddenly the level was over. Her team had won, and they were going into the lobby. Isla messaged the other two guys that she was going to sit this one out and take a break, and then put up a little box on her screen to let people know she was on break. She then hit the mic button, forgetting it was off already, hung her headset on the monitor, and pushed the monitors on their big swing arm away. "Mom?" She called. 

"Yes dear?" Her mother appeared and saw Isla sitting the bed up all the way. She moved into the room, turning the lights on.

"I need the commode." Isla panted, breathing in off her cannula as she got ready to move her legs. This was going to suck. She was very closed to being stuffed to capacity, and that made moving a lot harder. Normally she wouldn't go to the bathroom till around 8pm, this was almost two hours early. Her mom came over, and pulled the catheter from between Isla's legs, setting it aside. "I need you to help with my leg." Her mom took Isla's left leg, swinging it over and Isla gasped in pain from the extra pressure. Her Mom brought her walker and set it up. Isla slid to the edge of the bed, naked backside rustling on the sheets, dragging the chux pads with her. "Hold the walker." Isla ordered. She was terrified of falling. She tried to get up and failed. "Fuck!" She gasped. Her mother pursed her lips but didn't say anything.

 

She rocked a little bit, then pushed herself upright with a gasp, every ounce of strength her body could muster, and a long wet fart. Some urine dribbled out onto the floor as Isla clenched what muscles she had to drag her enormously heavy butt off the bed. The chux pads stuck to her backside, both massively fat cheeks slapping together. She took two steps, fat sagging breasts slapping now, belly wobbling, and slowly turned. Her disproportionately large backside and wide hips trying to throw her swollen legs - so wide it pushed them apart - off balance. Her mom stood behind the commode to keep it from sliding, and pulled the chux off Isla's wide ass. Isla collapsed onto the commode in just the nick of time, her fattened hips overlapping the sides of the bariatric commode.

 

With a gasp of relief her bowels noisily emptied into the plastic basin. She emptied her bladder, a powerful stream slapping against the side of the basin while her Mom got the bed reset. Head down, fresh chux in place for Isla's thighs and backside. "Are you done dear?" Her mother asked. Isla shook her head, still out of breath from her herculian effort. More waste was streaming from her backside. She finally finished with a sputter of flatulance, and cleaned her FUPA with the wipes her mother handed to her. The stench of her waste failed the room. Her mom didn't say anything, she just held the walker and Isla braced herself. She rocked backwards and forwards and heaved herself upwards. "Hurry." She begged her mom. Her hips were killing her, her chest hurt from breathing hard, and she was pretty sure the wound on her bandaged left leg had partially opened again, oozing lymphatic fluid into the gauze under the compression wrap. Her mother was experienced, through, but quick for all that. She wiped deep between Isla's fat packed butt cheeks, cleaning the greasy fecal matter off the matted cellulite slabs that were Isla's anatomy.

That done, Isla took two steps forward turned, with her Mother's steadying hand, and then she sank onto the bed. She scooted back and her mom helped her swing her legs over. Then she went to take care of the waste in the commode. 

Isla pulled the monitors back over and blinked. The comments had flooded in, wild speculation and rumors. Insults and jokes. She saw the mic was live and with a horrified cry she closed the apps and shut off the computer, burying her face in her hands. 

For the next two weeks Isla more or less existed. Sometimes she'd play games; never live, always offline. She mindlessly ate when food was put in front of her, but never asked for more. Her Mother and father couldn't make sense of it. 

Then one day Isla got a message. It was one of her fans who occassionally donated. "I hope you're okay." It said. "I was watching your last stream when it suddenly went dead. I don't know for sure what your situation is, but I hope you're okay."

Something snapped inside Isla and she responded with "I'm fucking fat, okay! Go ahead, screenshot this, tell everyone. I don't care anymore. No one wants to watch a gross fat chick play games."

The fan replied "I don't think people really care. If you can ignore the haters you'll be fine. As for telling everyone, that's not my place. I think you should do it. Then we can all move on. Why don't you give it a try?" After some coaxing, Isla agreed to give it a try. It was better then just sitting here doing nothing.

 

 

 
Posted on RunWarrior365's Socials:

 

I guess I owe you all an explanation. People have commented under my stream, and clips have even made it onto the internet. There's been a lot of speculation, and I just want to end the rumors and speculation.

When I was 20 I dropped out of college. I'd only been taking online classes, it had just been too tiring going in person at my size. I was always exhausted and out of breath.

I've always been fat, but I gained a lot of weight after high school. I worked at the hotel my dad runs, at the front desk, but soon even that got to be too much getting up and moving around. I was simply too exhausted at the end of each day, just from getting dressed, working, and going to bed, and I quit when I was 22.

 

I settled in at home, spending most of my time in my bedroom, playing video games, watching movies, and eating constantly. I know my family has enabled me, I own that. But I was tired all the time, I started to have chest pain, and my legs were swelling up. What would you do if you were 22, 23, years old, and moving was an excruciating workout?

 

When I went to the doctor, for the first time since I was 18, and that was when I diagnosed with a condition I'd never heard of call Obesity Hypoventilation Syndrome. A sleep study confirmed it and soon I was at home with a CPAP machine and a bunch of pills. But I'd get severely out of breath during the day from walking, so I continued to gain weight, which has made it harder for me to breath. Having the energy to do anything is a huge problem for me. Eventually they put me on oxygen, two years ago when I was 27.  I have continued to gain weight, and now it's to the point where I have to spend most of my time in bed because getting out of bed is so painful and exhausting.

 

I needed to do something to keep from being bored. I've always liked gaming and when I started streaming it was because I needed an activity I could do from my bed. I met so many wonderful people and I plan on continuing to game and stream. If it matters to you that I'm fat then you don't have to hang out here anymore. But for my friends and fans who like me for me, welcome back, let's have fun together."

With that posted Isla took a breath and for the first time ever, strained, grunting, she pushed herself up, and peeled off the thin piece of tape at the top of her monitor. Then she turned on her camera. She began the stream with "Sorry I was gone everyone, but I'm back. I'm excited to play this game, I've heard a lot about it..." The comments, positive and negative, poured in, but Isla forced herself not to mind. Breakfast was nearly an hour ago, and she was starting to feel rumblings as her belly started to anticipate the Wendy's it was going to be fed for mid-morning snack. Her brother had told her he was coming by to drop something off and asked if he should pick her up something on his way and she'd asked for Wendy's. 

 

Isla's fan, the one who'd convinced her to come back let out a sigh of relief as Isla's blog post popped up on her social media. He enjoyed watched her play games, she seemed to genuinely enjoy them, and she was pretty good at it. Thanks to her recommendations, he'd purchased a couple of games and had enjoyed them. He got up from his computer desk, and pushed the chair back. He was glad that she had a purpose, something she enjoyed that she could do from her bed. He'd started watching along, and sharing the stream as a way to give her some confidence and to be supportive. Speaking of supportive he had to run an errand for his parents, and on the way to their place he had to stop at Wendy's and pick up a very large order for his little sister.

 

The McLean Family 1 - Using the Bathroom

Taylor McLean didn’t like going to her sister's much. They lived a couple hours from her and her family and she hated long car rides. They had two rambunctious boys, everyone was loud, and her brother, who would certainly be there, was an alcoholic. All of them were in better shape then her too, including her brother, and rubbed it in her face. And there were stairs to get into the house. But today was Memorial Day, their family's annual start of the summer cookout, and they'd all be outside anyway.

Stairs hadn’t always bothered her but they did now. Taylor weighed 588lbs, she always knew exactly how much, and anyway at her size it didn't really matter. She was around five and a half feet tall and the majority of her weight was carried in her massive wide belly, which almost hung to her knees on top of which sat her large flat breasts. Her butt, while fat, was wide and flat, and her thighs were packed with enough extra weight to force them apart and give her an obvious waddle, which made her growing hips jiggle when she moved. Taylor carefully eased herself down out of the front passenger seat of their minivan, her balance had been an issue lately. Behind her, their son hopped down and headed for the backyard where the noise from the family could be heard, only to be called back by her husband. "Come here and help carry!" He ordered. Loaded up with their contribution to the family meal as well as their chairs they headed towards the back. He carried Taylor's folding chair which could support up to 600lbs, and pulled their cooler. Taylor only carried her 64 ounce tumbler as she slowly waddled up the driveway. She had a cane at home, but her pride had made her leave it there. Her tumbler was full to the brim of real sugar Dr Pepper, her favorite drink. Ever since her sister had found out she was diabetic she'd nagged Taylor about drinking soda, and eating just about anything.

Taylor made it to the backyard. She was gasping and out of breath. Her chair was set up on the patio in the shade of a tree. Her husband understood her needs. She couldn't be on ground the chair might sink into, and she needed to be out of the sun. It wasn't too hot of a day but she was sweaty and panting from the effort of walking when she sank carefully into her chair. She was sure it was overengineered but she was close to it's max weight. She was still panting, almost gasping. It was a lot of exercise for a woman who's only routine form of it was walking to the kitchen for food and back to her recliner. "I swear you've gained weight Tay." Her sister said.

"Not much." Taylor replied. "I'm keeping an eye on it." It was half true. She was keeping an eye on it, but she'd gained about 50lbs since she was last here. She opened her tumbler and took a drink of the Dr Pepper through the dark straw. "I'm drinking water more often." She said. "No soda for me at all today."

They were interrupted by a shoving match and yelling from the kids. Taylor's husband, her sister, and brother in law took off to deal with it. "What's going on?" She heard her sister demand.

Her son snapped back "Derek is making fun of Mom!"

"It's not making fun if it's true!"

"You said she looked like a basketball!" Taylor flushed. It was true, the way she'd piled herself in her chair, she did look almost circular.

"She does!" There was more struggling, some more talking and Taylor watched with half interest. "She looked like the blueberry girl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." Taylor flushed and looked away, looking at the ground. Her teenager swung for Derek's jaw but his Dad grabbed him and pulled him away. So the adults again broke it up. In a couple more minutes everyone had apologized and punishments had been threatened and the adults returned.

Nothing really happened for a couple hours. It was hotter then normal, and she was grateful for the shade and the light breeze. Taylor's husband brought her a plate loaded with snack foods and Taylor heard her sister take a sharp deep breath but she ignored it. She started to graze and kept drinking from her tumbler.

Soon it caught up to her. She could feel the pressure, the need, to urinate building up inside her. Her brother had arrived with his family then, and he'd fired up the grill. They were about to put the meat on. Taylor leveraged herself out of her chair, carefully, and said "I'm going to go wash my hands I think. Get ahead of the rush."

"I suppose it takes you awhile doesn't it?" Her brother asked with a laugh. He was already three beers in and had probably had a couple drinks before coming over. It didn't matter anymore since he'd lost his license after a DUI so his wife drove him everywhere.

Taylor flushed and didn't say anything, saving her energy for the walk around the house. There she ran into her first obstacle. The stairs. They were concrete, a sort of half circle leading into the house, with an old and rusty metal railing mounted in the middle. Taylor, who normally tackled stairs by leaning heavily on the railing knew this one wouldn't be able to take her weight. She put a hand on it gingerly. It shifted. She'd use it for balance. She heaved her right leg up onto the first step, right hand using the railing to balance. Her belly shifted to the left. One down, four to go. She was sweating and panting already. She hadn't had a lot of practice going up stairs at this weight. Her house had a wheelchair ramp that she could shuffle up, and she hadn't been upstairs in at least 70lbs. She repeated the process, her right knee screamed in agony as she dragged her foot up. Three to go. She could do one more with the right knee, she knew it. She got it onto the next step. She had to move fast now, it was hard to balance with her weight on two different steps. She leaned forward and pushed off. And had to come back down. She hadn't been able to get it up over the lip of the steps. She tried a second time, and made it. She stopped for a moment to breath. She didn't have long, she needed to sit down. She glanced to her right and saw her son and Derek standing there. Derek was grinning and her son looked worried. Derek didn't say anything just stared. Her son came up the steps. "Can I help Mom?"

Taylor, already embarrassed, wanted to turn him down. But she was exhausted, out of breath, and her legs, knees, and back were in considerable pain. "Yes, please." She said. Her teenaged son got himself next to her on the left side, letting her get her arm over him. Leaning on his shoulders she used her left foot this time, getting it onto the next step. She pressed herself up, leaning more heavily on her son then she intended she heard him grunt as she pulled on him. She flushed, but she was trying to breath so she could get herself up the steps. One final one, and she made it, somehow, without hurting her son. "Thank you." She said and smiled at her son. He smiled back, his eyes looking somewhat worried, and then he turned and scampered away.

Taylor's next obstacle confronted her. Exhausted as she was, she had to navigate the mudroom and then get through a narrow doorway. She made for it. She got her right leg through, and carefully, went through sideways. Still gasping she made for the bathroom, it was right there. This was the final challenge. The bathroom was narrow, with the vanity and toilet on one side, and bathtub/shower on the other, curtained but open window on the end. She couldn't turn and walk normally because she couldn't fit between the vanity and tub, the vanity would push her hips towards the tub and there was nothing over there to balance on. Additionally turning around wouldn't be possible till she was by the toilet. So, with her back to the vanity, she squeezed in. Her butt brushed the vanity as she waddled sideways to the toilet.

Gratefully, she dropped her sweatpants and sank onto the toilet. She sat there, and urinated, and gasped for air, smelling the characteristic smell of sweaty fats folds. It wasn't that she wasn't clean, she just produced so much sweat. Finally, some energy and air restored, she took some toilet paper. She rocked to the side, pulling her belly out of the way, and pressed her hand beneath her belly between her legs to wipe. The smell of her sweat, and B.O. came to her nose. She'd showered the previous night, and this morning she'd had her husband help her apply body power in all the folds below her belly. But on a day like this, it hadn't lasted long. She wiped, dropped the paper into the toilet and got ready to get up. The plan was to get up, hold onto the vanity, and try and turn around so she could flush the toilet and wash her hands.

She grabbed the window sill next to her, and the vanity and pushed. Her tired knees groaned with agony, tired muscles ached, and... she couldn't do it. The toilet was too low for her. She reached for her phone to text her husband only to realize she'd left it in the pocket of her chair. She tried again. Nothing. A break, third times the charm right? This time her backside made it a couple inches off the toilet before she collapsed onto it. She was out of breath again, sweating despite the cool house, and tried to muster her energy for one last heave. It would have to be calculated, she didn't want to fall into the tub. She was breathing, building the energy when there was a knock on the door. "Hey, how much longer?" A rebellious teenage voice came through the door.

She tried with a heave, and couldn't get enough of a grip to pull herself up. "Derek?" She called. "Could... you go tell your Uncle Ron that I need a hand in here?"

"What? With what?" Derek sounded taken aback. "Aunt Taylor?"

"Yes." She admitted. "Just... the toilet is a little low, I just need a hand to stand up."

She heard feet going away, then through the open window she heard him bellow "AUNT TAYLOR IS STUCK ON THE TOILET!" She buried her face in her hand.

About a minute later the door opened and in strode her husband. Teary eyed she looked up at him. "The toilet is too low." She whispered. "I... can't get up. My legs..."

"It's okay." He reassured her. He got himself under her armpit and she got a hand on his shoulder and together they pushed up, pulling her up off the toilet. She leaned on the windowsill and vanity, trying to breath. Her husband bent to pull up her pants. She looked out into the hall and saw her son standing there, with a look on his face she'd never seen before. There was anger in it, as well as some sort of determination. And embaressment. Their eyes met and he turned and ran out of the house. Taylor felt like sobbing. Instead she washed her hands and then waddled sideways out of the bathroom. She navigated through the mudroom door, and this time, with her husband to lean on, got down the stairs and headed back to her chair.

No one said anything about it, and that made it all the more humiliating. Her husband, bless him, tried to help, standing in front of her while she gave herself her insulin before eating. Then she plunged, trying to bury her humiliation and embaressment. He brought her seconds, and thirds of a few specific dishes, and dessert. No one said anything. 

There was some reprieve when her brother, Nick, tripped and drunkenly fell over in the grass, and had to be helped back up. Taylor saw her niece, Nick's daughter looking at him. She looked upset, and it was a familiar expression. Taylor looked away, and saw her son showing her other nephew, Derek's younger brother, something on a gameboy. That's when she realized that her niece had worn the same expression of angry embaressment and humiliation. Shame. It had to be. Both children were ashamed of their parents. Taylor felt like dirt.

Before they left her husband went to the bathroom with her, helping her up the stairs, and helping her to stand up again. Afterwards everyone said their good byes. Her sister gave her a hug and looked her in the eye and said "Taylor. I love you. I don't want to nag but you need to lose weight. This... it's not healthy, I feel like I'm watching you kill yourself." She looked over her shoulder. "It's like... Nick with his drinking. It's an addiction, and you can get help if you want." Taylor felt her eyes fill with tears and her sister hugged her again.

Their son was quiet in the van, the entire ride home staring sullenly out the window. Taylor half expected him to get angry at her but he didn't say anything. And that made it almost worse. Taylor felt so bad she didn't suggest to her husband that they stop someplace so she could get herself a snack. Taylor slowly and painfully, exhaustedly, waddled up the wheelchair ramp and through the widened doorway of their house. The previous family had a child who had been a motorized wheelchair user, so everything on the ground floor had been widened and adapted for that, and right now Taylor was very grateful the previous family had been so dedicated to giving their kid that freedom. She made her way into the living room and sank into her large recliner with a sigh. Her husband headed down the hall between the stairs and living room wall to the kitchen to put things away. Taylor reached for her tablet and stopped seeing her son come into the room. They were effectively alone. Taylor's bedroom, and presumably the disabled kid's, was where the dining room should have been, at the back of the house, between the living room and kitchen. An addition that had been built onto the back of the house had a fully accessible bathroom with level shower, handheld shower wand, and a toilet with handrails and a raised toilet seat. It had doors, and the one between her bedroom and the kitchen was closed at the moment. Taylor took a deep breath, and she could smell herself. The stench of being fat, on a full summer's day, where she'd effectively been working hard. She looked at her reflection in the dark screen of the iPad. Her hair was a mess from sweat, and she knew she was flushed, even now. "Yes sweetie?" She asked.

Her son took her wide heavy duty office chair from the desk across the room, and crossed to her. He was 14, tall and lanky like his dad. He sat down on the chair that Taylor was starting to think was a little small. He barely filled a third of it. They were sitting close. "What's it like being fat mom?" He asked.

Taylor blinked. It wasn't really the word 'fat,' she used that word and so did her husband. She believed that fat wasn't a bad word by itself. She believe in fat acceptance, fat adapted things, and 'reclaiming' the word from people, like her sister, who used it as some sort of profanity. Taylor would say things like "And you're sure this restaurant is fat friendly?" or "Does that store have fat girl sizes?" Taylor hesitated. Then she said "I suppose it's not great. It can be a lot of work. I need to make sure I take my time and keep clean, there's a lot more to wash in the shower. People don't really choose to be fat, I've always..."

He interrupted the excuse she always used. "No I mean, like... what's it like when you're walking? Do you get up slow, and sit down slow, and get out of the car like that because you have bad knees or because you're fat?" He seemed a little frustrated and she was taken aback.

So Taylor was honest. Bad knees were another favorite excuse but apparently she needed to be open. "It's because I'm fat. My weight pulls me off balance so I have to be careful. My thighs have extra fat tissue, it's called adipose tissue, in them so it pushes my legs apart. They chaff, I get friction burns on days like today if I walk too much." He was ashamed of her, he wanted to understand why she had hurt him so bad, she just knew it. "I weigh almost 590 pounds." She said, softly. She saw his eyes widen. "That's what? 5 of you? 6 of you? I carry five of you every day, every time I move, breath, dress. When I shower, when I go to the bathroom, it all has to be moved. Could you carry that do you think? I'm sure you could, you're pretty strong." She smiled at him. "When you were helping me up the stairs, I could feel how tough and strong you are. You're not a kid anymore. But being a strong guy, being almost a fully grown man, how far could you carry five times what you weigh now? It can be exhausting, it can be a huge hassle. You know how hard it is for me to get clothes, to go shopping, or when we go out places together. Sometimes I hate it, and I don't exactly enjoy all that." She decided to finish off her little speech with something to justify it. "But it's my reality. I deal with it because what choice to I really have here? It's not like I can just not eat, no one can just stop eating food." Speaking of food, she wanted this over with so she could text her husband and ask him to bring her something to eat, she was starving. It had been nearly 4 hours since dinner. "I'm sorry I embaressed you. I embaressed myself. But these things happen when I'm my size and my age. I'm sorry." She added, more quietly.

"No, I..." He paused. "No.. Um..." Another pause. Then to Taylor's amazement he started to blush. "I... There's a girl named Sandra, she's going to be in my grade in high school. She went to a different middle school I guess, but she's going to go to Roosevelt High. With me. I mean with us. She was at orientation day. She's... kind of fat I guess. Some of the guys were making jokes about her, but I didn't. We were sat next to each other in the auditorium, and she's super nice. But... well she kind of walks slow too, and she gets out of breath pretty easy. So I... don't want someone like Derek to be mean to her I guess." His face was beet red, putting her red flushed face to shame. "I think I have a crush on her" he almost whispered.

Taylor, was reeling but she managed not to show her astonishment. "What you do" She said "Is talk to her like she's any other girl. She's not sick just fat. But don't call her fat, you don't need to talk about her weight at all, it's non of your business, and she knows that she's fat. Be her friend, if people tease her, stick up for her. You can talk to your dad, he did all those sorts of things for me. Maybe you guys could hang out together. You could come over here and play video games maybe. We can give you snacks or something. Just... be nice, and if she needs a hand be the one she wants to ask for help."

Taylor got her snack. It was wonderful. It was all the things she'd wanted to eat but couldn't. Little Debbie snack cakes, a giant bowl of popcorn, and huge slab of the cake they'd made. Finally, a couple hours later with their son upstairs in bed, her husband came in to help her shower. Taylor didn't exactly need help in there but he liked to help and she didn't mind. As the water started to run Taylor looked up at her husband. "He asked me what it's like being fat. He's got a crush on a girl. He says she's 'bigger, kind of fat.'"

Her husband laughed. "Sounds like he's got good taste." He soaped up a washcloth and bent down to scrub her legs and feet for her. "Do you want to go to your sister's again next year?"

"Hell no!" Taylor said vehemently. "They can come here where something as simple as using the bathroom isn't an astronomical struggle."

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.

Family Traditions

Present Day Christmas:

"Kylie are you ready?" I ask sticking my head into the bedroom. A look tells me she's almost ready. Her massive cellulite ridden ass is covered in a threadbare pair of panties, and she's working on sitting on the edge of our sagging queen sized bed to start on her pants.

"I'll be done faster if you give me a hand." She pants. "But why do we need to go to your parents for Christmas?" She whines the last sentence.

I bend down, get her pants around her ankles and then up. I offer her a hand and she heavily pulls herself to her feet and pulls her pants up the rest of the way. She takes a few breaths and says "I'm too fat for this shit. That's all."

I come close to her and pull her close for a hug. She knows what I like, and she rarely gets bothered by her size. But she's at a weight now where going out and doing things is a lot of work and she hates physical activity. "Kylie." I hold her. "I love every inch and ounce of you." All 5'6" (167cm) and 482lbs (218kg) of her. "You're perfect."

Still a little huffy, either with me or the situation, Kylie takes her cane and leaning on it slowly starts to waddle towards the front door. I follow behind enjoying the sight of her massive ass cheeks jiggling in her pants. Kylie takes the ramp leading down to the sidewalk slowly and carefully, as it's a bit steep.

We make it out to the car and Kylie gingerly gets into the car, panting heavily, her belly and saggy breasts rising and falling under the tent like hoodie she's wearing. I get in the drivers seat and head to McDonalds to get Kylie some lunch to tide her over till dinner time, while Kylie removes a cigarette from a battered pack, and lights up, taking a drag. About twenty minutes later, as we're driving down the highway and Kylie swallows her last bite of Big Mac she says "You never answered my question."

I blink at the road and then at her. She's lighting another cigarette. "I'm sorry?" I ask. "What question."

No longer annoyed, thanks to food in her belly, nicotine in her blood stream (with more on the way) and the knowledge that we'll have an excellent meal, she exhales a drag, hacks once, and wheezes slightly while she takes a couple deep breaths. Finally she says "I asked, why do we have to go to your parents for Thanksgiving? Why can't they come to our place for once?"

Christmas, 20 years in the past

I remember being ten years old and showing up to my Aunt and Uncle's. I'm carrying our contribution to the feast, as is Dad and brother. Mom is carrying herself, a little out of breath from the short walk from the car to the door. Uncle Don is in his Big Chair, big enough for me and my brother to sit in side by side. He fills it completely, his big belly not only rounding out his shirt, but his overstretched sweatpants, and he overflows the sides of his massive armchair. He's out of breath and I wonder if he just got back from the bathroom. He only goes two places, the bathroom or his chair.

Mom gets settled on the couch and we go off to play with our cousins. Eventually my brother disappears upstairs too. Like all family meals there's plenty of food from the moment you walk in the door, but you're expected to clean your plate at dinner too.

When they call us I find my brother finishing a plate of snacks. Uncle Don and Mom are going to sit in the living room with Aunt Clara and Dad. And my adult Cousin Shelly and her husband.

Shelly is sitting in a large wheelchair, her legs are swollen and huge, and her gut fills her lap under a large blouse. Her face is a round fat circle, with a fat forehead and double chin.

I watch Dad bring mom a plate completely loaded down with food, and watch as Mom's eyes widen and sparkle, and she kisses dad. Uncle Don is getting two plates, one completely full of mashed potatoes. He's still out of breath and he tucks into his food between grunts. By the time dinner is done I'm full, and Uncle Don is sweating slightly. He belches and looks at Aunt Clara. "Pie?"

While in the kitchen helping my Dad plate pie for Mom and Uncle Don I ask "Why do we always have Christmas at Uncle Don's and Aunt Clara's?"

Dad pauses for a moment and looks at me. "Well you see" he says "It's hard for your Uncle to get around. So when you were really little we decided that whoever had the most trouble getting around would host. That way they could still see everyone."

Christmas, Present Day

Kylie pulls herself out of the car with a grunt. She'd accepted my explanation but had immediately lit up another cigarette afterwards. I'd found that odd. Years of smoking, not to mention her weight and associated health problems, have ruined Kylie's endurance and it's extremely rare for her to smoke two or more cigarettes in a row. One of the things I love about Kylie is that she just doesn't care. Her favorite saying is "I'm here for a good time, not a long time."

The house smells of food. Mom's propped up in her bed completely supported by pillows and the back of the hospital bed. She's 56 now and looks like hell. All of us know Mom doesn't have much longer, and have known it since her first heart attack 5 years ago. I'm not sure if this is the last Christmas here or if we've got another year. Unlike Cousin Shelly and her husband who hosted for 14 years, 9 of them featuring a bedbound Shelly, Mom's health has been getting worse since she was rendered immobile after they placed several more stents a year ago following another heart attack. She's pale with dark circles around her eyes, she's gasping for air despite wearing a nasal cannula, and her voice is distorted, in the way only a massively fat person's voice can be. It's a mumble, hard to understand, like fat is pressing on her windpipe. When Shelly died unexpectedly she had become quite heavy, but Mom is almost a blob in the bed. She's covered with a sheet, and is completely motionless except for her head and forearms which are bringing snacks or her drink to her mouth.

We're the last to arrive. My brother is there already, sitting on the couch with his wife. She's probably closing in on 350lbs (158kg). My sister waddles out from the kitchen carrying cookies. She's been helping care for mom these last few years, and sharing mom's diet hasn't made her thinner. My sister's told me that Mom's gained almost 60lbs (27kg), and almost all of it's gone into her massive belly, which rolls out from in front of her. Kylie gratefully sinks into Mom's old standing assist recliner, her huge ass filling it completely. Aunt Clara is there talking quietly with Shelly's husband Chuck.

I get up and get some snacks for Kylie who's chatting with Mom and my sister in law. I'm watching Kylie of course. She's snacking constantly with mom, even outpacing her, although that might have to do with Mom's difficulty breathing. Dad announces a half hour to dinner and Kylie reaches for the chair's remote control. "Can you help me stand?" She asks. I go and give her a hand and Kylie says "I'll be right back in." I follow Kylie out to the porch, knowing she'll need help off the bench.

Kylie takes out a prerolled blunt and takes a hit. "Mmmmmm." She sighs and then she opens her eyes again. She offers me the blunt and I take a hit myself before handing it back. Kylie takes another hit and then asks "Can we host next?"

I hesitate and then I look at her. She's smiling at me, giving me a glimpse of her yellowed teeth. And I realize she knew.

Christmas, 6 years in the past

"Merry Christmas!" Shelly greets us from her bed. We're early and her husband is still finishing up getting her clean. Apparently Shelly had to use the bathroom right before we got there. Shelly grins at Mom. "You look wonderful!"

Shelly has been bedbound for 5 years now and every time I see her she looks more and more filled out. Her legs have developed into formless blobs from fat and lymphodema. One huge mass at her thigh is red and angry, and one of her calves is bandaged tightly. Shelly is covered back up for modesty sake. Not really her's since she doesn't really have any.

I introduce Kylie, who sits her 280lbs (127kg) on a kitchen chair. Her butt slightly overlaps at the edges. Shelly, a sort of stoner type, is clearly high. Kylie and her start talking quietly. I go to help in the kitchen and as I walk out I see Kylie and her with their heads together. 

We eat dinner, and I help clean up. Aunt Clara gets up and leaves early, citing a long drive home. But when she's gone we speculate as to whether it's her new boyfriend, a man who lives in the bariatric wing of a nursing home near her house.
Mom and Dad leave early with my brother, his fiance, and my sister. Shelly glances at me and says "Why don't you help Chuck put the leftovers away." I take the hint and I leave them alone. I glance over my shoulder before stepping through the kitchen door and Kylie is leaning towards Shelly, who's actually pushed herself off the supporting pillows and is leaning forward. 

Christmas, Present Day

I look at Kylie. "It's almost considered a curse."  I say. "The family that hosts... Well their the ones who're going to have the next loss."
Kylie, opens her mouth, closes it, and starts coughing. It's a painful sounding, wet cough, and she spits over the porch. Then she says "Bullshit, Shelly hosted for how long?" She reaches and takes my hand. "I'm your little piggy remember. And I want to be shown off, in my home pen someday." She's smiling her naughty smile, the smile that made me fall in love with her, and she's deliberately using fetish talk to drive me up the wall. Her hand grips my crotch. "Besides my love, I'm in no rush. But if you make me come all the way to your parents when I'm past 600lbs I'll never forgive you."
"You don't need to keep gaining if..."
"Oh shut it." Kylie says, her hand still rubbing my crotch. "We both know I'm never going to be able to stop and I really don't care. I'm hear for a good time, not a long time, remember?"

Christmas, Near Future

"They're here!" I announce to Kylie. I return the Nitro to my pocket, having given one to Kylie. She's been experiencing chest pains lately, and the nitro's become important to keeping her healthy. She's sitting upright in her bariatric hospital bed, her ass spread out under the sheets, her legs with their fat swollen thighs in front of her. Her belly, never her best feature has grown into it's own in the last two years and fills her lap completely with stretchmarked flab. Two hours of hard work and Kylie smells of baby powder and deodorant instead of her usual sweat, BO, and piss. Kylie smiles broadly and holds out a hand with nicotine stained fingers to greet Susan, my brother's wife, and my sister, with her new boyfriend. Sarah's painstakingly waddling towards Kylie, her massive belly filling the front of her pants, and I can see exposed skin where her shirt is supposed to overlap her pants. My sister turns her bariatric rollator walker around and carefully sits down for a breather, the ramp into the house is steep. Everyone starts to get seated, with us feeders and enablers, filling plates with snacks for our gainers and feedees. Kylie reaches for a cookie, and takes a few deep breaths off her nasal cannula.

As the meal concludes and people start to drift out soon it's only Kylie and Sarah. Kylie looks at me with a twinkle in her eye. "Why don't you men go clean up, and get us some pie." She says. I see my sister look up and smile. And I know that Sarah is about to be let in on the family secret. I beckon to the room at large. "Come on guys, let's go get dessert ready." As I look back, Kylie is sitting forward, panting with the exertion of moving by herself. Her cannula is out of her nose, and she has a lit cigarette in her hand. Before I step into the kitchen I can see them with their heads together.

The Roleplayer - Part 3

 I rubbed her belly and she panted. I took in more details. A massive fat lump stuck out at the side and I realized it was her right ass cheek. It was covered in stretch marks and cellulite itself. I moved higher, and then her hands caught my wrists. "Down." She said, quietly. "Belly please. I... Please?"

So I did. There was a suddenly unmistakable sound of her passing gas. "Excuse me." She panted. "IBS, one of my problems." It wasn't the worst smelling in the world, but it hung around for a moment. I kept rubbing then she said "I'm... Sorry."

"For what?" I asked.

"I need... A favor." She was panting. Sweat was beaded on her forehead. "I'm stuffed. And every time I get stuffed... I get... wet. You know, turned on? Will you... masturbate me?" She gestured. "I can't reach anymore."

"I'll do one better." I offered. I reached for my pants.

"No, please." She said. "I couldn't... I don't think I could handle it. It's been so long since I've cum. I haven't been able to... orgasm in like 6 months." Tears again. "There's a toy in there." She pointed to the chest of drawers. "An aide found it and put it away when I couldn't use it anymore, I let them."

"Don't be ashamed." I said. I retrieved the dildo.

"You might need to move my legs. And... So I'm sorry. I'm going to probably be sweaty. Be careful, my left thigh is really swollen, and I have a catheter. Do you know what that is?"

"Not really..." I hesitate looking at the dark space under the covers.

"It's a tube in my urethra to take my pee away" She said blushing. And murmured "I can't get out of bed and it's hard to... clean." I pushed the covers aside. Her left thigh was on a chux pad of it's own. It was swollen, and I didn't touch it. I moved her right leg a bit, feeling her strain to help me, puffing and panting off the cannula. I expose a flabby blob. It takes me a minute before I realize that's her FUPA. I pull it up and there's the hair of her pussy. A yellow tube emerges from the tangle of lips and hair. I probe down with my fingers. White powder is spread across every fold, I probe with my fingers and then I start to tease the outer lips with the dildo. Then I gently ease it in part way. She moans and gasps. Fat hands grip the siderails of the bed. I gently ease it in the rest of the way and then back slowly out. She's panting and gasping. Clearly the poor woman is incredibly repressed. I move up the bed. She's moved her hand, and she starts pulling at her shirt, breathing hard. I help roll it up, then still teasing the outer lips with the dildo I watch as she start to rub her nipples. She's panting hard. I start to go faster, my other hand probing through the fat and pubes to try to find her clit. I rub the area around it with my fingers. She's moaning, and I start to move the dildo in and out, in and out, faster and faster then suddenly "Oh! Goooooddddddd!!!" And she grabs for the siderails of her bed. I withdraw the dildo and for a moment she lies there motionless except for her partially naked chest as it moves up and down, up and down. A wheeze slips out of her mouth as she gasps for air.

After a few moments, during which time I wipe off the dildo with some paper towels she says "Your turn." I turn to face her. "What?"
"Your turn." She's still out of breath but has a very determined look on her face. "I'm going to give you a blow job." Fat fingers find the bed remote and it starts to lift up from her partially reclined position that she's been in the whole time, to know, where she's almost completely sitting up. Her fat cascades down, rolling slowing, her huge belly covering her whole lap.
"Um... How?" I ask staring at her. Her face is red from the effort of breathing and sitting straight up.
"Take off your shoes, pants, everything, and climb on the bed." She instructs.
So I do. I take a hold of the headboard, my erect cock is straight out in front of me and then her lips are around my cock and her tongue is playing with the head. She starts to edge it in and out. With a slurp it slips out. I look down and see an almost... hunger in her eyes. "Thrust your hips." She orders. "In and out. Fuck my fat face."
So I start. The sexual tension has built in the air, and she's fantastic at giving head. "You're so sexy." I gasp. "So hot. Suck me off, you sexy immobile lardass." I don't know why I say it but she doesn't stop. After what seems like hours of edging I cum, my hot seed filling her mouth. She sucks hard on my cock, milking every drop out of it and swallowing it down. I lean on the head board. Then I slip off the bed and collapse into the wheelchair, my flaccid cock still wet. "That was the best blow job ever." I say, gasping. "You're amazing."
She blushes. "I've always wanted to do that. I think I've got an oral fixation or something."
"I'm not complaining." I assure her, and reach to squeeze my hand. "Do you need anything?"
She blushes. "Could you... Mom said there's a pack of cookies in the kitchen..."

The Roleplayer - Part Two

I of course said yes. I invested in a bunch of condoms and we started planning the trip. It would overlap her 30th Birthday and I was happy about that. I had plans for what we could do. I took my car, did a lot of research and drove down. It was a happy drive for me, but it seemed to pass so slowly, even as I approached her home in Southern Ohio.

The house was a double wide trailer located on the edge of a beaten down trailer park. The roads were potholed but the park was almost painfully clean. It was the sort of clean you get when respectable poor people are trying to appear proper. I knew immediately who lived here. America's working poor. The yard was weedy looking but there was a flower garden. A wooden wheelchair ramp led to the front door. There were no cars in the driveway. As arranged I walked around to the side of the trailer.

Her instructions had been extremely detailed, clearly she was very anxious about the whole thing. She'd begged me to be punctual, or late, but not early. She'd even asked me to park alongside the trailer, not on the road. She had also begged me to bring protection since she wasn't on any birth control and was too scared to ask her parents.

There was a pair of windows on this side of the trailer. An old window AC unit throbbed in one. Next to it was a window, a black curtain closed in front of it. A key sat there on the sill. I took the key and DM'd her. "I'm coming in." Then I unlocked the front door, stepping around an overflowing ashtray on a badly placed table. The house was dark. It was evening but the living room blinds were open giving me enough light to see old cheap and worn furniture. The house smelled lived in. Not disgusting but definitely lived in. There was a room with light coming from under a door. I knocked and the familiar high breathy voice said "Come in."

My brain recoiled at the sight. There was a standing lamp that was the only light in the room, but the form was so large. So wide and bulbous that it was almost inhuman. I couldn't even identify details for a moment. What hit me first was the smell. The air was close. It was faintly BO, piss, shit, but overwhelminly talcum powder and medicinal.

The first thing I saw that made sense were the eyes. They were blue, among the most beautiful blue I'd ever seen. They were set back and looked anxious, almost wet and teary. Then I realized she was upset with my reaction. I was staring slack jawed. So I lied, "Kel. You're so beautiful."

It was a lie because I hadn't taken in details yet. But it stopped being a lie in a couple more minutes.

Starting at the bottom by the window AC, a threadbare quilt was pulled up about 2/3 of the way up the bed. It bulged out at the sides. It looked like two adults in the fetal position were underneath it. Above that was a huge once red now faded to pink shirt. It was faded and threadbare, wear and tear caused by a mix of cheap fabric and dye washed over and over. It covered what was clearly a massive belly. One that flowed out to each side and down under the quilt. Above it, resting on it were two lumpy underboob folds. Then her breasts, clearly flat and very saturated with fat. They moved rapidly as she breathed rapidly and shallowly. The arm I could see was very fat, with a drooping upper arm, and large forearm. A chubby but small hand was lying on the bed. Moving up the stretched out neck of the shirt showed a fold where her neck should be. Then the double chin gave way to an actual chin which was dimpled. Her cheeks were big fat, and flushed red, her nose small and flat, with an oxygen cannula hooked into it. This led to a concentrator next to the bed which was under a bedside table. Her eyes were blinking away the tears, her forehead was normal and furrowing, and her hair was brown and slightly damp.

"What?" She said.

"You're so beautiful." I said, approaching the bed. "Your face... It's so beautiful. I love your hair. And your voice... It's so attractive." I meant every word. I couldn't help it.

"Um..." She blushed some more and cleared her throat. "Nice to meet you in person at last John." She offered me her hand. It was small in mine, and moist. How about you pull up the chair." Her upper arm jiggled as she pointed to a bariatric wheelchair in the corner. "It's the only furniture I have in here." She apologized. "I promise it's clean! I haven't used it for... a while." It was clean. I removed a bag of clothes on it. I took the opportunity to look around. The room wasn't the largest. Everything was squeezed in. A closet had only a few clothes hanging up, and a chest of drawers shoved in. There were no doors, just a curtain that had been thrown back. Boxes of medical supplies were stacked along the wall. Chux pads, cannulas, and some brand names that later I'd learn were catheters and enemas. One box sat on what was obviously a commode covered in a sheet. Her bed took up most of the room, almost a quarter. It was a bariatric hospital bed. Currently the back was raised. A TV was sitting on a table at the foot of the bed, (it was currently off) the AC in the window below her feet, and the window with the key by her left elbow. The bedside table had a minifridge on it, in easy reach, with the O2 concentrator underneath. A bag with a tube hung under the bed. A rolling table, like in a hospital, was pushed next to the bedside table. It held her laptop, closed.

A sheet covered the chair and once the dusty sheet was removed I rolled it over and sat. It was twice my width, and I'm not skinny. I locked the brakes and put my feet on the plates. "Here" I offered her a plastic bag. "Just some gifts. A thank you present." Inside was a pound bag of licorice, her favorite candy, a bottle of craft soda from a local company by me, and an amazon gift card. We'd done some pen pal style mailing back and forth. Her gifts had been about the same as mine. Books but also homemade gifts including a knit dog.

"Wow thanks." She said. And blushed. "I'm sorry, I'm not... Good with people."

"You've told me" I said. "But you're doing fine." I looked at the TV. There was a playstation 3 there, and a controller on the windowsill. "You know" I said. "The new season of the Ozarks is up. We haven't seen it but we both want to. Do you want to watch a couple episodes? I'll order us a pizza or something, and we can just chill, and enjoy ourselves."

I was watching her face and a gleam came into her eye when I mentioned pizza. Then she reluctantly said "Um I... I'd love to watch TV with you. But... Did you eat?"

"No" I said. "I was excited to meet you. I was too nervous to eat."

"Oh." She said. "Me too." I could tell she was lying. She'd certainly eaten before I arrived, her eyes flicked away from me for a second, ashamed. "I mean the aides got me something but..."

When she trailed off I said "Just have a slice as a snack or something. Where's the harm?" And it was like I'd given her an opening. She ordered it all on the website using her computer. She was quite the expert on local pizza. I thought I would have to press to get her to get the biggest but she did on her own. And breadsticks. Oh, and I had to try their garlic bread. She gave me directions to plates in the kitchen. They weren't were she'd said, but I found them, and when the delivery driver arrived he presented me with a stack of goodies. I staggered back to the bedroom. The table was pulled over, the laptop closed on the windowsill. She turned on Netflix and I took a slice of pizza. She took two. And breadsticks. And blushed. "I have... Well big girl big appetite." she said and tried to smile.

I squeezed her hand. It was greasy from the pizza. "Don't ever be ashamed of yourself around me." I said. "I don't mind your appetite or your size at all. You're beautiful and no one should starve themselves."

Tension was in the air during the whole episode. I didn't stint myself, but she ate most of the pizza. I had three slices and she had the rest. Once we were watching the TV she went on autopilot. Chewing and chewing working at each slice and swallowing. She'd take a drink of soda from her glass, the 2 liter bottle delivered by the pizzeria as well, and then start on a breadstick or another slice. She'd belch quietly occasionally and the first time she shot me a guilty look and blushed when she saw me looking. "Excuse me" she said.

From then on I switched to the TV when she belched after each drink. Then back to her. It was impressive. She was a machine for demolishing food. Her breathing, already fast, got faster, especially as she worked at the last of the pizza.


Finished her face was redder and she was breathing heavier. She had been leaning against the bed the whole time but now she sagged against it. I collected plates and dishes, and piled them all on the pizza box which was over a garbage can. The episode ended. "Excuse me while I use the restroom." I said. I took everything to the kitchen, placing the dishes by the sink and throwing the garbage away. Then I used the restroom. I walked back in and I caught her looking at the ceiling smiling, her hand under the covers moving... was she rubbing her belly?

"Good pizza." I said. She blushed and moved her hand. I stepped closer and then I pulled the covers down. "You must be full" I said. "My ex had a big appetite too. Once in a while she'd eat too much and she liked it when I gave her a belly rub. Do you want me too give you one?"

Her eyes gleamed and she panted. "Yes... please." At me. I pulled her shirt up. Her belly was pale, covered in stretch marks, and sagged down. I began to rub. It was incredibly soft and flabby. It was the fattest most swollen piece of flesh I've ever touched. And it felt like there was a hard football in the middle. Her stomach I realized. Massively oversized and distended. I gently rubbed and I heard her give a soft, panting groan. I grew hard inside my jeans.

The Roleplayer - Part One

  If I told you that one of the best things in my life started on Reddit would you believe me?

I love writing roleplays and found myself at a loose end one day. I met someone who went by the nom de cyber of "DarkDiva." We did a couple group RPs and then we started chatting more and more. Then one night I got a Discord Server invite from her and jumped in. It was a server for just the two of us. Over the course of the next year we spent a lot of time RPing and chatting.

I worked second shift and to my amazement she was online 7 days a week to RP with me. On my days off there were a few times we RPed for almost 14 hours straight. I enjoyed it immensely and she was there for me during a difficult breakup and while I was trying to salvage my love life.

You can't spend that much time talking to someone where you both share common interests and enjoy each others company without learning a lot without the other person. Sometimes we used voice channels and talked that way so I knew her voice. It was a nice voice, almost tentative, soft, and she ran out of breath quickly.

After fifteen months I realized I didn't know much. I knew her first name: Kelly but she preferred Kel, I knew she was unemployed, on disability, lived at home, and that she had severe social anxiety. I knew she'd been bullied and I knew she was 28, three years older then me. She lived in Ohio, about 5 hours drive from me.
But she knew so much more, including my preferences about larger women. I'd dated a BBW and I'd vented to Kel that my GF had broken it off because I wasn't supportive enough of her loosing weight. And during a couple RPs she even played heavier female characters. And we RPed intimate scenes, including one where a character made love to a massive immobile alien queen. But she never seemed to enjoy those characters as much as some of the others. She loved it when my characters took in outcasts and her favorite RP was a platonic one, where a woman with a birthmark on most of her body and is rejected by everyone finds love with a normal guy.

I'd been assuming that she was disabled, probably some variety of paralysis or a degenerative disease. Once for two weeks I was convinced she had cystic fibrosis, and that's why she spoke like she was out of breath and never went anywhere. There were times she'd say "Brb bathroom" and be gone almost a half an hour. In case you couldn't tell I had a pretty serious crush on the person who RPed with me daily. I even imagined her as fat more then a few times but never as fat as she actually was.

One day I couldn't resist it anymore and asked her "As your friend; you don't have to answer me if you don't want but I'm curious. Why are you online all day? Like you said you don't work, and I understand that, but you need to get outside sometimes."

There was a long long pause. Nearly ten minutes. So I posted "You don't have to answer me, please don't be angry."

Immediately "I'm not angry." Then. "Just... Embarressed." Then she spilled out her life story. And it was delivered in the most cynical and bitter way.
 

"I was born fat, to a fat family, in this fat town. That's what's wrong with me. I'm so fat that I never leave home. I can't work, I did when I was a teenager but not anymore, I didn't really quit because I was too fat but because I couldn't stand people. So I hide at home and I eat a lot and I don't really leave."
It went on. She'd never had a boyfriend, been bullied in high school. Her mother badgers her about loosing weight constantly, has since she was 8. It was like popping a cork.

One paragraph made me, much to my shame rock hard. I'd replied "I understand being overweight is terrible when it hurts your self esteem, but you know I find chubbier women attractive, and there's lots of guys out there like me who find a bit of extra curves, a bit of a belly, to be really hot." I was convinced she was probably more like 400 pounds.

She replied with: "My BMI at my last doctors appointment was 104.5." Followed by "I'm 5'3 inches tall and I was 590lbs then. That's the last time I left the house, and it was so hard. That was last October." Almost two years ago. "Now I haven't left my bed since June. I couldn't get up. They have a scale under my mattress but I won't look at the display or let anyone tell me what it says."

I begged her to call me. It was my day off, around 10pm. She did. I heard the breathy voice, and I could tell she was crying. "I'm sorry I asked and upset you" I said. "I was just curious."

"No it's fine." She said. There was a cough. "I should have told you long ago but I was enjoying this so much. Like, I can't get out and enjoy these things so I live them in RP. And I loved RPing with you so much!"

I tried to calm her down. I assured her that I didn't care about her weight. I promised her that I'd never ever pester her to loose weight. I told her that I didn't judge her on looks since I'd never seen her, but her writing was incredible. We stopped there that night but I made her promise to RP the next day.

I said nothing for a couple weeks but then I started to circle back in on the conversation. I tried to get her to realize that it was okay to open up with me. Mostly I wanted to hear details about her daily life and I started to get them after a while. She told me she really didn't dress anymore other then a shirt or gown because she spent so much time in bed. She was convinced that her immobility was due to swollen legs, making it too painful to stand, rather then just being fat. After none of that phased me she told me how her mother, father, and a couple rotating aides helped her with most everything. One day, after we'd been talking about two years she mentioned that her 30th birthday was coming up. And she complained about how she was going to "die a virgin." The death talk had cropped up a lot. She wasn't suicidal, according to her, but she would say things like "I don't think I'll live to see 40." But all I could get out of her was that she had "some health problems."

This time I stepped up. "Would you like to change that?" I asked. "I'll come down there, and we can have a romantic night. Watch a movie, and hang out. We can be close."

She blew me off at first, including with the line "No one could fuck this. I'm so ugly." But then one day she sent me this: "My parents are going out of town. The aides come by to care for me of course but that's only twice a day. Most of the day and all night, I'm alone. Do you want to come spend time with me?"

Practically Immobile

CW: Scat, obesity related health issues

I need to pee. Badly. I also need to shit. I am terrified. It's currently around noon on a Tuesday, the actual hours have no meaning for me anymore. And Mondays and Tuesdays I don't have help. The carers come the rest of the week and weekend to help me but not on these two days. My insurance won't give me enough money to afford it. In a perfect world I would get one at all times, 12 hours a day, and a second one for "active times" for me the morning when I need to be bathed and my skin care routine accomplished. But I need two for the whole period because my needs are so great and my health so poor. On Monday's my brother picks up money and goes shopping, and in an emergency he can clean up after an accident. But on Tuesdays I have no one. If I use the chux pads under me, the highly absorbent pads for collecting human waste, I'm sunk until tomorrow. If I can't get up to change them, then I will be sitting in a puddle of my own urine for the next 24 hours. The only option is the commode.

Made of white plastic with a reported weight capacity of 1000lbs the commode is situated right next to my bed. I look at it, sitting there, stalwart, so close I can touch it with my right hand. I can see the basin, it's about 1/8th full from my 4am pee. I don't sleep well at night anymore. But that was nearly 8 hours ago and my bladder is sending stabbing pains through my belly. I can't hold it anymore, but I hate moving. On days when I have caregivers I don't even use it, it sits on the far side of the room. I just have the caregivers put me on a bed pan and change the chux pads under me.

The problem for me is my massive belly. When I stand, it drops below my knees and pulls my back down. My knees, hips, and back constantly ache from the weight pressing on them. Making matters worse is my general weakness. I have a bad heart, one of the many issues caused by my high concentration of abdominal fat, so I've spent most of the last two years in bed. At first I could still get to the other side of the house, but now, I can barely make it onto the commode. I take a deep breath, trying to get my supplemental oxygen deep into my lungs and then I reach for the bed remote. I've found that the most comfortable position for my body, or the least uncomfortable anyway. I stay at a 70 degree angle in the bed, this helps my lungs, but it's laid down enough that most of my weight is removed from my back. I sit the bed up as high as it will got and then lean forwards.

I try to slide my butt forwards but I can't budge it loose, my weight has pinned my ass to the bed. All I succeed in doing is forcing out a rancid fart. I'm already gasping. I pause to take another deep breath and then rock myself onto my side. In a desperate convulsive movement I swing my legs over the side of the bed. I push myself into a sitting position gasping for air. The fluid in my lungs from my congestive heart failure, and my lungs are already crushed by fat, is giving me trouble. I cough and some of the wet mucus comes up. My breathing is terrible, and my heart is pounding in my chest. I fucking hate having to move.

I push myself to the side of the bed, getting my feet on the ground. My belly flows over my knees and pulls my back forward, breasts loose and dangling. I take another deep breath and my bladder aches. I need to get onto the commode NOW. I grab the two multi point canes next to the bed and force myself to stand, but I can't do it. My legs just can't seem to do it. I'm going to pee in a moment, whether I want to or not, and I don't want to think of getting my sensitive overstretched skin on my legs getting pee on them, not to mention getting pee all over my bed. I rock back and forth and then, in one desperate convulsive motion, I begin to stand. My boobs slap together. It's slow for most people but terrifyingly fast for me. Another fart bursts out. Pain fills my body, and I take a step, crushing an abandoned chip bag. Agony shoots through my back and knees. I'm gasping, and practically crying in pain. I take a second step, turning slightly. I'm terrified of falling. My massive belly and atrophied legs make balancing difficult. I gasp, looking behind me, adjust my direction a bit, and then collapse onto the commode. My dangling breasts slap back against my chest. I'm practically crying from the pain. I allow my bladder to loosen and gasp in relief. I also decide to empty my bowels and feel the shit sliding out of my butt.

My fat belly is still dragging down on me, bending me forwards, and I'm still struggling to breath. That small amount of exercise has left me sweating and my heart is pounding in my chest. I gasp "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep doing this" to myself. I fart again, and realize that other then a few drops of pee I'm done. Which is good because the hard plastic of the commode is causing me more pain. I grab onto one of the bed rails and lean over on my left cheek. I take baby wipes and wipe as best as I can using a long stick made for the purpose, with the wipes secured to the end. I take a break on the commode for just a moment and then I use the bed remote to lay my bed flat. Its easier to get back into bed. I pick my butt up off the commode a couple inches and then pivot before sitting, half on the commode, partially on the bed. I adjust my footing and repeat till I'm sitting in bed. I then lay back and grab the bedrails and begin pulling myself up with my arms and pushing up with my legs. I can't roll onto my front because my belly's simply to big. So I drag myself up the bed. I can tell when I reach the perfect spot when my ass cheeks finally fit into the indentation they've worn in my mattress. I can't sit up anymore and begin to lift the bed, the fat in my chest and fluid in my lungs suficating me. Finally, once I'm back in my 70 degrees of comfort I allow a sob to escape my lips. I can smell the shit in the commode but I'm used to it. My folds chronically reek too so what difference does it make?

I can't believe I'm this out of shape that going to the toilet is nearly impossible. I rip open a bag of Cheetos and eat several handfuls. I'm starving from the exercise and... something else. I belch and then reach to the small bag on the bed railing holding several essentials, like my phone. I pull out my vibrator and then force my hand under my warm belly, smearing cheese across it. It's a struggle to find my clit because of all my built up fat but I force myself to continued. My immobility and just general obesity has really turned me on. I put another handful of Cheetos in my mouth with my left hand and then rub my left nipple with my stained hand. I gasp in pleasure, wheezing from the exertion. I'm practically immobile, extremely obese and unhealthy, potentially with mere months left in my life, and I'm loving every minute.

These four walls

For the last two years this room has been my world.

It's not a bad room, it's got windows that look over the park next door. It's painted a rather pleasant cream color, or it was the walls are now a rather tan/yellow. There's a flatscreen TV mounted to the wall with cable, and a video game console. I have a desktop computer, with the tower underneath my bedside table and the monitor mounted to a swingout arm on the wall next to my bed, and the bluetooth keyboard works pretty good.

I am massively obese. The last weight I had, two years ago when they put me in this bed was 711 pounds. I've probably put on at least a hundred more though. All I do is lay in this bed, and eat, and smoke, and eat. I probably don't have much longer left but I've accepted that. I actually enjoy being fat, being able to eat as much as I want, and having everything done for me.

All I've ever known my whole life was fat. I was born fat, to fat parents, in a fat Mississippi town, and then moved north to work in IT where I was surrounded by fat coworkers. Eventually I switched to online and phone tech support from my house because it was too hard to go outside and walk to my office. I downsized to an apartment. One day at my doctors, they found numerous fungal infections, and my blood pressure and blood sugar were out of control. I qualified for disability and moved into a different apartment, one in a handicap accessible building, where the rent is subsidized for disabled tenants. Needless to say about 2/3s of us were obese with 15% being disabled by their size.

The special day for me was when I found out my caregiver Macy was an FFA. One day she found me struggling to pleasure myself and just offered to help. Now she's my full time carer, lives with me, and takes care of everything. Macy is tiny, 5'0 and maybe 100 pounds.

Before she moved in full time, which was two months ago, I still moved around some, from my bed, to the living room, and the bathroom and kitchen. Most of the time I used my motorized wheelchair and limited my walking as much as possible. But one day I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't breath so good either and no matter what couldn't stand. Macy called 911 and I was dragged from bed, onto a too narrow stretcher and to the hospital. The doctors told me that everything was high that shouldn't be, from blood pressure and blood sugar to cholesterol. They told me that with my smoking I was lucky I could still breath. They told me to take my new doses of medication, quit smoking, and start loosing weight or I was living on borrowed time.
When the ambulance crew brought me back inside my apartment, with the new nasal cannula giving me oxygen and I saw my new bariatric bed against the wall I knew I wouldn't be loosing weight.

Now I lie here in my bed in the old living room, Macy has my old bedroom, and does all my cares. All I do for myself is eat and smoke. She wipes me, bathes me, gives me my insulin shots, and all the rest. She's small but muscular, and I get so hard when I feel her hard little body pressing into my  soft overflowing body. When I poop and she's wiping me with one tiny hand pressing into my massive butt cheeks I get sharp little pangs of pleasure in my chest. Every week she changes the catheter and that the day we make love. Sometimes its just a handjob, but sometimes she strips naked and lets me massage her tiny breasts, (Each one of my moobs is three times the size of her breasts) and she'll push my belly to the side and then rub her groin against my fatpad till my hidden penis become hard enough for her to find it. With only two inches exposed she has to do a lot of work for me to penetrate her.

Today I lie here, the smoke from my ever present cigarette drifting upwards, debris from my latest feast, which like all of them has a mix of good foods, like veggies (In massive amounts) and fattening deserts scattered about. The window is open, to try to let some of my funk out. Sweat pools in my folds, saturating into the rolled up towel under my massive gut. I pant, like I always do, and try not to worry about running out of food. Macy is off getting more food. I've shit myself, but I hardly notice anymore, Macy will come and wipe me down and change the chux pads, accidents happen. I belch and notice that it echos off of the four walls.