"So you understand this requires the GREATEST of discretion."
Julie kept a straight face while internally rolling her eyes. Rich people more worried about their public image then their disabled relative. She responded "Sir I value your privacy but my first priority is always going to be the care of my patient. I promise that your privacy will be second only to that." So there, she thought. Julie was 25 years old, 5'-9" tall, curvy, with brown hair and honest brown eyes. She had 32D breasts and a tight wide ass. She was the embodiment of the perfect hourglass figure outside of a small belly, which was barely visible. She was currently single, and worked in healthcare first as a caregiver and now as a CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant) to make ends meet after she'd been kicked loose from her foster home at her 18th birthday. She had no family she knew about, although she'd been told her mother had been an alcoholic who'd abandoned her at the hospital. She had been told about this job by her boss at the Brooklyn Rehab Center.
"That's good." The man rubbed his forehead. "You see our current caregiver is leaving us in two days. It's our son." He paused again.
Julie forced herself not to roll her eyes. Did they think they were the only ones in the whole world with a disabled son?
"He's super morbidly obese, like to the point he can't walk very far, and needs assistance with just about everything. So..." Pause.
The woman stepped in. "Do you have any experience with heavier people?"
Julie said "Yes." Her mind changing gears from a severely disabled adult to one who was fat, "When I was working at Brooklyn Rehab I worked in the bariatric care section."
"Do you have any problems working alone?"
"No. Not if your son can stand and walk."
"He's extremely limited in his movements. It's a very difficult situation for us as a family."
"I understand. Are you currently working on a weight loss program?"
"NO!" The man snapped. "It's his choice."
"You see" the woman stepped in. "We don't want you to strain your relationship with the boy by pressuring him. That's our job as his parents. We just need you to help care for him since my husband and I have very full schedules."
"Not a problem." Julie said "If all I have to do is assist with personal care that makes my job much easier."
"Remember complete confidentiality. In the circles we move in our son's... condition would create many problems, including the bad publicity for my corporation."
"Not a problem" Julie answered.
"Good. Now some lifestyle questions. These have nothing to do with you getting the job or not. Do you drink alcohol?"
"Not often. Only socially and never very much."
"Do you smoke?"
"Yes."
"Did you take smoking breaks at your last job?"
"Yes."
"Fine. Have you ever tried drugs?"
"No, my family raised me very well in that regard."
"Okay. Are you married or in a relationship?"
"No."
"Religious?"
"Yes, but not often."
"Thank you for humoring me. In case you were wondering I was curious as to whether or not anything in your personal life would need... adjusting on our end. Childcare for instance. As it appears the only thing to do is to offer you the job. The hours are 8am to 6pm 5 days a week with Tuesdays and Saturdays off, although if you're in town we need you to be on call for an emergency."
*************
Madison was a heavyset African American woman in her 30s with slabs of excess poundage on her thighs and bottom giving her what would have been a majestic waddle if she didn't move so fast. Instead it was sort of a penguin looking waddle as she shuffled along rapidly, talking over her shoulder. "So Max is a very sweet guy. I really wish I could stay on but I got this great job offer with a good raise and they'll pay for my LPN license"
They were on the far wing of the mansion on the ground floor. The house, shaped like an 'L' was perched on top of a hill but then the builders had dug into the hill creating a large basement that opened onto a small gravel circle behind the main house looking over a river. They were in the bottom arm of the 'L', the part that opened onto the back of the house and a hidden driveway. It had been created, Madison explained, as a deluxe suite for either a live in servant, a temporary residence for corporation employees, or a family member who wanted to be partially separate from the rest of the family. Say an in-law. Now it was being used as the exclusive residence for Max. His bed, and indeed world, were in the living room, a massive room with floor to ceiling glass windows, his bed where he spent most of his time. To the right was a large open area. To the left of his bed was the commode he used, and next to it his oversized wheelchair. He was snoring and Madison led Julie back to the office that they had. It used to be the bedroom but now there was just a narrow bed, a small TV, a desk with PC, landline phone, and neat stacks of paper. Julie sat on the bed and Madison plopped into the chair and explained.
Max's Father owned a massive healthcare conglomeration. Everything from Medical Supply, to nursing homes, including Brooklyn Rehab, to an Ambulance/Wheelchair Van Transport company. Because of that word getting out that his son, who would have been the heir to the company, wasn't disabled, which was the unofficial story, but extremely life threatenly obese, BY CHOICE, and he'd be the laughing stock of the healthcare world. Or so he thought. Personally Madison didn't think anyone would care.
Madison showed her around the rest of the suite and told her that she should park her car on the gravel circle, (There was a wide spot specifically for the purpose), showed her the walk in closet with spare equipment, like a power wheelchair, and medical supplies, told her that deliveries came through the garage, and into the closet through a door put in specifically for the purpose. They weren't to see Max because word might get out. Inside the garage was a minivan with a wheelchair ramp. Madison explained that the vehicle's suspension had been modified to handle up to a thousand extra pounds. Madison also explained the weight limits. Max was believed to be in the neighborhood of 675-700 pounds. While the manual wheelchair next to the bed was rated up to 850lbs, the motorized one, the one he used if he went out in the van, or upstairs to spend time with his family, was rated at 650lbs which meant Max was at or above the maximum weight limit for the chair so she was to be very careful helping him into it. All this was explained to her outside, just around the corner from the top of the bottom arm of the "L." Essentially where the period is while they took a cigarette break. There was a picnic table and ashcan all set up.
As for food the kitchenette was stockpiled with snacks. Three meals a day for him were prepared by the cook in the kitchen but snacks in between and beverages were her responsibility. Madison advised her to check on the supplies and order replacements at least every other day. There was a pad of scratch paper next to a laminated list of what to have on hand.
Finally she introduced her to Max. She immediately liked him. He had a charming smile and was surprisingly clean, although he did have the smell her trained healthcare senses associated with super morbidly obese patients, the smell of old urine, feces, and sweat. He told her "you're in charge except for when I eat and when I go to the bathroom. Otherwise we do what you say."
Madison supervised her for the rest of the day. Julie handled it just fine. Max was strong enough to stand and pivoted to the commode by himself and only needed to be cleaned up afterwords, something he was incapable of doing. Julie could understand why he'd need help after number two but then she found that only the head of his penis was visible with the rest buried inside his pubic fat. Madison was going on to say "Occasionally he has... accidents..." When Max jumped in saying "Sometimes I stuff myself with so much food I can't move. Sometimes when I do that I piss or shit myself because I just can't hold it, I'm working to hard on not throwing up." And he winked at her. See what I mean about a sense of humor?
Outside as they were smoking one last cigarette together and Madison said "If you have any questions give me a call. I'll be happy to come back and cover for you on vacation or something."
"Who takes care of him on my days off?"
"I don't know. I believe his mother helps out although I don't know who cleans him."
********
Inside Max lay on his bed smiling. He couldn't believe it, he got a super hot care assistant to look after him. He couldn't wait!
Friday, June 1, 2018
Thursday, April 26, 2018
Past and Present - SSBBW
Past:
She grew up in a small cheap apartment complex in a rough neighborhood. Her life revolved around food. Her father lusted after her mother, with her wide hips and sagging gut, her painfully stiff waddle. When he came home he’d make sure she and her daughters had plenty to eat then he ate a small portion and drank himself oblivious, chainsmoking cheap cigarillos throughout. More often then not when drunk he’d become aroused, he’d come up behind her mother, with his zipper open and member posed, then pull down her pants or lift up her dress and bend her over the counter, or a table, whichever was handiest, and he’d proceed to have intercourse. Having gained release he’d stagger into the bedroom to pass out. Her mother never complained, never wearing underwear at home, and usually wearing dresses for ease of access.
Her parents were incredible chainsmokers, which contributed to the funk of the house. All her early memories feature her massively obese mother squinting through clouds of tobacco smoke from the eternal cigarette in the corner of her mouth, that only disappeared when she ate.
Her father was a good provider, food was never scarce and the girls were encouraged to eat their fill. His sons were encouraged to eat the minimum, to save more for their mother, who ate the most, and their sisters, and to “keep them in trim to be good strong providers” someday.
Her mother was a short but incredibly wide woman. Her hips, legs, butt, upper arms, belly and thighs made her practically circular. Her belly reached to her knees but her butt provided a good counterweight. As the years passed and the weight bore on her frame she began to stay in bed or sit on the couch all day snacking. The couch was never preferred as her father would come home and after drinking himself oblivious and then her father would struggle to find her holes and be unable to preform. But as she lay in bed, he could early lift one of her legs, lift her belly, or have her roll over, and then “use her as providence intended” as he always said.
Present:
She lives in a small crummy house on the edge of a bad neighborhood. Food is everything. Fast food, traditional ethnic food, homemade food, anything edible, she needs to eat. Only then can she reward her feeder with hard work, at least in a way that’s comfortable for them, as she is no longer able to get wet without a full stomach. Originally, probably like her mother, the simple touch to her privates would get her dripping. Access is a challenge now as she’s plagued by lymphoma in her legs, her stomach pools in her lap, and folds from her thighs and butt intertwine around her pussy.
Her feeder is a good provider to her with a good job, good benefits, and enough money to keep good food, medications, cigarettes and hygiene supplies well stocked, their job pays them well and her feeder can do much of it from home, allowing them to assist her as she needs them.
Like her parents she’s a heavy smoker, unlike her mother she smokes to take the edge off her incredibly strong food addiction and her health has suffered. She consumes cigarettes like food, not merely puffing on them, but dragging on them like they’re in short supply. She started much earlier then her mother too and her lungs have been subsequently trashed.
She’s beautifully pear shaped, although every surface is riddled with stretch marks and cellulite, a belly to the mid thigh level, and massive thick thighs. Her ass is huge, larger then her mothers, and would make a fine shelf if she could stand long enough. Her balance is dreadful as her belly reaches only halfway to her knees, unlike her mothers and the sheer amount of her weight leaves her breathless and gasping in pain with every step.
Past:
For as long as she can remember her mom needed help. Washing herself, wiping, and getting dressed. She was simply too fat, and too lazy to do them herself. Watching her father washing under her mom’s breasts, caressing her heavy gut as her worked, gave her her definition of true love.
Her Mothers final years were spent in bed, with her husband, who’d used her and used her, time and again, in private, in front of their children, wherever, as her primary caretaker. Food was still never scarce and her weight ballooned till her cardio-pulmonary system simply gave out from the weight and several undiagnosed medical conditions.
Present:
Getting out of bed is no longer feasible. She’s much larger then her mother was, and unlike her mother, since most of her weight is carried in her hips and butt, standing puts her dangerously off balance. Her feeder does everything for her, bathing her rolls, applying lotion to her flesh, and cleaning up her waste. Unlike her mom her medical conditions have been diagnosed and the prognosis is grime. 5-7 years left in her life if she doesn’t turn her life around, the Congestive heart failure, Emphysema, hypertension, and diabetes are killing her. But it hasn’t stopped her from lying back in her bed and stuffing her face with junk food.
Right now, as her death caused by her unhealthy lifestyle approaches, she’s completely dependent on her feeder. She’s all but immobile, capable of standing and taking a couple steps when she absolutely has too. Her feeder bathes her, powers the folds and spreads lotion across her titanic mountain of flab. Her feeder changes her chux pads and bed pan, wiping her enormous private parts with care while she lies there like a massive mountain of flab, struggling to breath so she can eat that next donut or smoke that next cigarette. It’s her definition of true love.
She grew up in a small cheap apartment complex in a rough neighborhood. Her life revolved around food. Her father lusted after her mother, with her wide hips and sagging gut, her painfully stiff waddle. When he came home he’d make sure she and her daughters had plenty to eat then he ate a small portion and drank himself oblivious, chainsmoking cheap cigarillos throughout. More often then not when drunk he’d become aroused, he’d come up behind her mother, with his zipper open and member posed, then pull down her pants or lift up her dress and bend her over the counter, or a table, whichever was handiest, and he’d proceed to have intercourse. Having gained release he’d stagger into the bedroom to pass out. Her mother never complained, never wearing underwear at home, and usually wearing dresses for ease of access.
Her parents were incredible chainsmokers, which contributed to the funk of the house. All her early memories feature her massively obese mother squinting through clouds of tobacco smoke from the eternal cigarette in the corner of her mouth, that only disappeared when she ate.
Her father was a good provider, food was never scarce and the girls were encouraged to eat their fill. His sons were encouraged to eat the minimum, to save more for their mother, who ate the most, and their sisters, and to “keep them in trim to be good strong providers” someday.
Her mother was a short but incredibly wide woman. Her hips, legs, butt, upper arms, belly and thighs made her practically circular. Her belly reached to her knees but her butt provided a good counterweight. As the years passed and the weight bore on her frame she began to stay in bed or sit on the couch all day snacking. The couch was never preferred as her father would come home and after drinking himself oblivious and then her father would struggle to find her holes and be unable to preform. But as she lay in bed, he could early lift one of her legs, lift her belly, or have her roll over, and then “use her as providence intended” as he always said.
Present:
She lives in a small crummy house on the edge of a bad neighborhood. Food is everything. Fast food, traditional ethnic food, homemade food, anything edible, she needs to eat. Only then can she reward her feeder with hard work, at least in a way that’s comfortable for them, as she is no longer able to get wet without a full stomach. Originally, probably like her mother, the simple touch to her privates would get her dripping. Access is a challenge now as she’s plagued by lymphoma in her legs, her stomach pools in her lap, and folds from her thighs and butt intertwine around her pussy.
Her feeder is a good provider to her with a good job, good benefits, and enough money to keep good food, medications, cigarettes and hygiene supplies well stocked, their job pays them well and her feeder can do much of it from home, allowing them to assist her as she needs them.
Like her parents she’s a heavy smoker, unlike her mother she smokes to take the edge off her incredibly strong food addiction and her health has suffered. She consumes cigarettes like food, not merely puffing on them, but dragging on them like they’re in short supply. She started much earlier then her mother too and her lungs have been subsequently trashed.
She’s beautifully pear shaped, although every surface is riddled with stretch marks and cellulite, a belly to the mid thigh level, and massive thick thighs. Her ass is huge, larger then her mothers, and would make a fine shelf if she could stand long enough. Her balance is dreadful as her belly reaches only halfway to her knees, unlike her mothers and the sheer amount of her weight leaves her breathless and gasping in pain with every step.
Past:
For as long as she can remember her mom needed help. Washing herself, wiping, and getting dressed. She was simply too fat, and too lazy to do them herself. Watching her father washing under her mom’s breasts, caressing her heavy gut as her worked, gave her her definition of true love.
Her Mothers final years were spent in bed, with her husband, who’d used her and used her, time and again, in private, in front of their children, wherever, as her primary caretaker. Food was still never scarce and her weight ballooned till her cardio-pulmonary system simply gave out from the weight and several undiagnosed medical conditions.
Present:
Getting out of bed is no longer feasible. She’s much larger then her mother was, and unlike her mother, since most of her weight is carried in her hips and butt, standing puts her dangerously off balance. Her feeder does everything for her, bathing her rolls, applying lotion to her flesh, and cleaning up her waste. Unlike her mom her medical conditions have been diagnosed and the prognosis is grime. 5-7 years left in her life if she doesn’t turn her life around, the Congestive heart failure, Emphysema, hypertension, and diabetes are killing her. But it hasn’t stopped her from lying back in her bed and stuffing her face with junk food.
Right now, as her death caused by her unhealthy lifestyle approaches, she’s completely dependent on her feeder. She’s all but immobile, capable of standing and taking a couple steps when she absolutely has too. Her feeder bathes her, powers the folds and spreads lotion across her titanic mountain of flab. Her feeder changes her chux pads and bed pan, wiping her enormous private parts with care while she lies there like a massive mountain of flab, struggling to breath so she can eat that next donut or smoke that next cigarette. It’s her definition of true love.
Wednesday, April 25, 2018
Past and Present - SSBHM
His younger sister was born 9 months after Mom and Dad’s 400lbs celebration sex.
He grew up watching Mom as she lusted after the way Dad moved, his arms held away from his body, belly swaying, wheezing for breath, taking it step by step, thinking “I want my wife to watch me like that.”
He “shared” some of Dad’s “Snacks” as they sat together on the couch, Dads belly jutting between his massive thighs.
He grew up breathing in his father’s smell, the smell of sweat and B.O. that couldn’t seem to get washed away.
But the scene that probably had the greatest impact on his life happened when he was 13. He was around 140lbs then and sitting in the kitchen. He glanced up as he saw his father scooting forwards on the couch. He saw his father take the plastic urinal and begin fishing around under his belly, gasping from the effort. Finally with a wheeze of success he got the urinal in place and drained his bladder before scooting back on the couch and resuming where he’d left off on a bag of Doritos. It wasn’t till years later that he realized that his father had been struggling to find his penis which was buried deep within his folds having been swallowed inside his father’s fatpad.
Present:
An overworked GI tract, leading to incredible amounts of flatulence, constant warmth, leading to constant sweating, and the simple mass of fat packed onto his frame making bodily functions difficult, leading to difficulty wiping, have given him a smell all his own.
He lives for the gentle caresses, ass smacks, and jiggles from his feeder. And when he waddled around a lot more feeling his feeder’s eyes on his massive jiggle ass could make him erect.
He eats four meals a day, with constant grazing in between. Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, and Supper. Breakfast at 8am, Lunch at 1, Dinner at 5, supper at 8pm. Supper is usually the biggest while dinner is the lightest.
He’s much fatter then his father. At his Father’s largest he was able to walk from his bed to the bathroom in the corner of his room but for him getting from the bed to the commode next to the bed presents an almost insurmountable challenge.
At his current size reaching his penis for pleasure or relief is impossible. Even if it wasn't buried deep inside his fatpad his massive belly, which jets out in front of him, pooling around his knees would make it impossible for him to reach with his own hands leaving it to his feeder to dig around under his belly and find it. His feeder has to massage the fat to make it erect so they can find it and that’s how they change the catheter. He’s been to fat for urinals for at least 3 years.
Past:
Watching his Dad eat was like watching a man at work. Serious, dedicated, a task to be completed. That didn’t stop him from overindulging in delicious mountains of food. To him, food was work, and his work was to become incredibly fat to satisfy the insatiable appetite for massive obesity possessed by his wife.
At night, unless he was sleeping sitting up on the sofa, a more common sight the heavier he got, his father used a CPAP system to keep his airway open at night. The massive amount of weight in his body had distorted his anatomy making it easy for his airway to close.
Present:
For him food holds an almost orgasmic pleasure. Each bite lights a spark within him, a warmth, that he needs. Physically this addiction to the orgasmic pleasure he derives from food has destroyed him, with a life expectancy of less then a decade, heart problems and aggressive diabetes, but he still feels the shifting inside his immobile fatpad of his penis becoming erect as he chokes a whole cake down his maw in an effort to satisfy his insatiable addiction to feeling full
His body lies in its bed, almost too fat even for the two steps to the commode, leaving him to soil himself with the undigested remains of his food. Breathing is a struggle even at the best of times and an oxygen concentrator constantly hums, giving him a stream of life giving oxygen, compensating for the fat that is crushing his lungs making breathing without it almost impossible. He knows, daily, that his death is near, similar to his fathers, a heart attack in bed after a massive meal but inside him the knowledge, and what a scary thought it is, keeps coming up. “What if I never feel full again? I’ll go crazy and die! My feeder might leave me!” Those thoughts, and the instinct of a man born to be a Goliath of adipose drive him to food.
Monday, January 1, 2018
New Year, New You (Wilcox Farms Short Story)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I work for a pharmaceutical and medical supply company. While my employers originally planned to only provide home medical supplies when they opened shop our biggest clients are now nursing homes. We contract with several dozen nursing homes supplying their residents with prescription medication. Through this work I have met many other healthcare professionals including Nurses, CNAs, and Paramedics. Why does this matter to you? Because this next (Short) story was partially based off of a story told to me by an EMT friend of mine over a beer New Years Eve.
New Year, New You
"Where are we going?" The two EMTs from Julian Ambulance had been the last to arrive. They'd only been told they were an "Assist." The Paramedic glanced down at the mess of paperwork spread out on the counter in front of him. "Some subacute place, Wilcox Farms. Ever heard of it?"
"Isn't that the place with the bariatric vent unit?" His partner, the other paramedic, asked.
"Something like that." The original paramedic scribbled the address on a slip of paper and passed it to the second assist crew. There were now 6 EMTs and Paramedics gathered in the hallway of the hospital. The newest EMT looked around. "So... What's up?"
The original Paramedic slid a sheet of paper over to her. It was a treatment summary.
Inside the room their patient lay in the massive bed. Her body was touching the sides of the bed. She was in agony. Constantly. Three months ago she'd started having chest pain that wouldn't go away. Finally, barely able to breath, even with constant oxygen support her husband called 911. They'd found her on a filthy bed, the stench of her unwashed fat folds making their eyes water. After getting her onto the stretcher she'd died. Using an automated CPR device they'd stabilized her and gotten her to the hospital. Doctors there placed 13 stents and then discovered the true extent of the damage done to her body. Massively obese her whole life as well as a chainsmoker, with prolific cocaine and other recreational drugs use in late high school and college, then finally bed confined for 3 years by her weight, her health had been destroyed by her bad habits. Her husband, who worked full time, was also a feeder and had helped her body expand to it's current size which the hospital had measured at 830lbs or 59.3 stone.
During the heart attack she'd stopped breathing and hadn't started again so now she was on a ventilator that did the breathing for her. The hospital had discovered that her kidneys were failing, and in spite of their best efforts they had finally failed completely and she'd been placed on dialysis. Sores were all over her body from lying in her own filth for hours at a time, and several toes had to be amputated from her uncontrolled diabetes. Her liver was swollen and approaching failure, and her lungs, crushed by her weight and destroyed by her smoking, could barely supply her body with oxygen even with a machine pumping them up for her. Her legs were swollen with excess liquid and leaked onto pads placed underneath to absorb the liquid. As far as she was concerned the worst was the diet. She NEEDED food desperately. She was constantly, psychologically, hungry. The smoking hadn't been nearly as hard to quit as the food. She had to eat something and the small portions the hospital provided her didn't come close to satisfying her. It was like a heroin addict getting a low dose opoid every day and that was it. And the pain... She was constantly being moved, she was far to fat and weak to move herself, to be cleaned, probed and massaged. Her wounds were being dressed, her folds cleaned, and her urine was whisked away by a catheter. But the pain in her chest never went away. The anxiety, her heart problems, and the pressure on her lungs, left her in constant agony. Her joints were also in constant pain as the lack of use led to muscles wasting away.
Meanwhile the 6 EMS techs moved in and out of the room, preparing the XL stretcher for her, setting up their equipment, and preparing to transfer her to their ventilator, the heaviest EMT still narrower then her leg. But she didn't care about that. She only cared about getting something, ANYTHING, edible into her mouth that she could swallow. But there was nothing in reach and she was far too fat, weak, and lazy to get up and get something herself. Meanwhile, ignored by everyone, was the commercial currently playing on the TV advertising "A new year, it's time for a new you."
New Year, New You
"Where are we going?" The two EMTs from Julian Ambulance had been the last to arrive. They'd only been told they were an "Assist." The Paramedic glanced down at the mess of paperwork spread out on the counter in front of him. "Some subacute place, Wilcox Farms. Ever heard of it?"
"Isn't that the place with the bariatric vent unit?" His partner, the other paramedic, asked.
"Something like that." The original paramedic scribbled the address on a slip of paper and passed it to the second assist crew. There were now 6 EMTs and Paramedics gathered in the hallway of the hospital. The newest EMT looked around. "So... What's up?"
The original Paramedic slid a sheet of paper over to her. It was a treatment summary.
Inside the room their patient lay in the massive bed. Her body was touching the sides of the bed. She was in agony. Constantly. Three months ago she'd started having chest pain that wouldn't go away. Finally, barely able to breath, even with constant oxygen support her husband called 911. They'd found her on a filthy bed, the stench of her unwashed fat folds making their eyes water. After getting her onto the stretcher she'd died. Using an automated CPR device they'd stabilized her and gotten her to the hospital. Doctors there placed 13 stents and then discovered the true extent of the damage done to her body. Massively obese her whole life as well as a chainsmoker, with prolific cocaine and other recreational drugs use in late high school and college, then finally bed confined for 3 years by her weight, her health had been destroyed by her bad habits. Her husband, who worked full time, was also a feeder and had helped her body expand to it's current size which the hospital had measured at 830lbs or 59.3 stone.
During the heart attack she'd stopped breathing and hadn't started again so now she was on a ventilator that did the breathing for her. The hospital had discovered that her kidneys were failing, and in spite of their best efforts they had finally failed completely and she'd been placed on dialysis. Sores were all over her body from lying in her own filth for hours at a time, and several toes had to be amputated from her uncontrolled diabetes. Her liver was swollen and approaching failure, and her lungs, crushed by her weight and destroyed by her smoking, could barely supply her body with oxygen even with a machine pumping them up for her. Her legs were swollen with excess liquid and leaked onto pads placed underneath to absorb the liquid. As far as she was concerned the worst was the diet. She NEEDED food desperately. She was constantly, psychologically, hungry. The smoking hadn't been nearly as hard to quit as the food. She had to eat something and the small portions the hospital provided her didn't come close to satisfying her. It was like a heroin addict getting a low dose opoid every day and that was it. And the pain... She was constantly being moved, she was far to fat and weak to move herself, to be cleaned, probed and massaged. Her wounds were being dressed, her folds cleaned, and her urine was whisked away by a catheter. But the pain in her chest never went away. The anxiety, her heart problems, and the pressure on her lungs, left her in constant agony. Her joints were also in constant pain as the lack of use led to muscles wasting away.
Meanwhile the 6 EMS techs moved in and out of the room, preparing the XL stretcher for her, setting up their equipment, and preparing to transfer her to their ventilator, the heaviest EMT still narrower then her leg. But she didn't care about that. She only cared about getting something, ANYTHING, edible into her mouth that she could swallow. But there was nothing in reach and she was far too fat, weak, and lazy to get up and get something herself. Meanwhile, ignored by everyone, was the commercial currently playing on the TV advertising "A new year, it's time for a new you."
Friday, November 10, 2017
Wilcox Farms 1
Amber's first appearance: http://fatallyobese.blogspot.com/2017/02/amber-at-home-fiction.html
Amber winced as the ambulance bounced again. It had been a rough thirty minutes for her. The EMTs had been nice but her oversized body was suffering. An EMT spoke "We're here." Amber signed the paperwork and they pulled into a garage.
She was taken out and then inside. A head poked out from the security office and gave them a Look. The EMT gave it her name, and the head disappeared. It appeared again a moment later and told them, "Intake 6." The EMTs turned corners, following the signs. They moved down wide hallways, past large common areas, and as they passed the cafeteria Amber's stomach growled. They turned another corner and they were in Unit 6. The intake room was right next to the Unit 6 entrance and they turned inside. It was a big bare room with expensive medical equipment lined against a wall. Several staff members breezed inside as the EMTs set their cot up next to a medical transport stretcher with built in scale. Someone tared it. While the scale was resetting A nurse introduced herself to Amber "Hi, I'm Ruby I'll be your nurse, okay?"
The scale beeped. The hovermatt air pump was hooked up and the mattress under Amber filled with air and the eight people in the room slid her from the ambulance stretcher to the hospital bed. The air was released with a rush and the EMTs stuck around long enough to copy down the weight before they vanished. "1410 kilograms" someone mummered. The door opened and a good looking curvy woman walked in. She walked over to her and said "I'm Doctor Marlow, I'm the admitting physician. Welcome to the Farms. We're going to run down a questionnaire with you, then we'll give you a little bit of a briefing on what is going to happen and give you something to eat. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
The first questions were pretty standard questions, past surgeries, allergies, both medications and food, and then the doctor stopped. "Okay so here's where you need to be completely accurate and honest with us. Include as many details as possible. The answers to these questions are the basis for your treatment plan here. Understood?"
"Yes."
"When was the last time you left your house alone?"
"2-3 years?"
"Are you currently able to walk by yourself, without any ambulatory aids?"
"No."
"Are you currently able to stand and pivot to a wheelchair or commode alone?"
"No."
"Are you currently able to bathe yourself?"
"No."
"Can you sit up by yourself?"
"Not really. I can do it occasionally but it tires me out. Usually I use the bed remote."
"Are you currently able to clean yourself after using the toilet?"
"No."
"Are you currently able to stand by yourself?"
"No."
"Would you say you are bed confined from your weight?"
"Yes."
"Are you able to stand at all? Even with help?"
"Maybe. I couldn't stand up from the commode that's why I went to the hospital."
"It says you use a CPAP at night. Can you breath on your own when lying flat on your back?"
"Not for long. After a couple minutes it gets very difficult."
"How much food do you eat on a daily basis?"
"I..."
"Take your time and try not to miss anything."
"I drink maybe two two liter bottles of soda a day, I eat like 3 or four big meals..."
"Specify please."
"Like a big omelette for breakfast, with 4 or 5 eggs, cheese, 5 sausage links, 5 slices of bacon, and yogurt." Amber paused for thought. "Then I have snacks for the morning, it varies but a bag of chips and some candy usually. Then lunch. My husband comes home. I'll eat like a couple foot long subs, chips, and an apple or something. Usually I make him leave me with some ice cream for desert. Then for dinner it's like 5 hot dogs, or like 3/4s of a meatloaf."
"If that a typical day?"
"Yes. But there's somedays I go on binges and just can't stop eating. I ate three half pound cheese burgers the day before I went to the hospital and..." Amber was tearing up.
"Don't worry about that right now. We'll work on that. We're just trying to get an idea of how much you eat so we know how much to feed you. We don't want you to starve."
"Who is your primary caretaker?"
"My husband."
"Any children?"
"No."
"Any family members who are morbidly obese."
"My mother was, and my sister is, but she's not as big as me."
"Alright. Now we're going to do the least favorite part of the intake for every one of our new residents. We're going to clean you and give you a physical exam. It's going to be very invasive and more then likely painful. You're going to be on the bath table flat on your back but Respiratory will have you on your CPAP. We're going to be getting rather rough with you because we don't want you to bring any bacteria in that may be on your skin from the hospital."
Amber took a deep breath. "Alright."
They used the hovermatt to slid her over to the bath table. It hard durable plastic, about 8 feet wide. There were tiny holes drilled into it underneath Amber and gutters ran alongside the table to collect water. There were railings that could go up and they helped her roll onto her right side, then to her left, long enough for them to get the hovermatt out. Then they began. Under the direction of Ruby, the CBRN (Certified Bariatric Registered Nurse) they began to clean Amber. Meanwhile Dr. Marlow, had been joined by Dr. Wilcox and they began to examine every inch of Amber while the nurses cleaned. First her hair, telling her to focus on her breathing, smiling at her from behind their face masks and eye protection, disposable gowns swishings as they moved. Hair, face, chin, arms. The doctors had her do dexterity tests. The CBRN and CNAs then started with her feet. The doctors were concerned about diabetic ulcers but there were none. The wounds on her legs, where fluid had built up and her skin had split from the strain, where cleaned and redressed. They stopped and spread her legs apart gently and then two lifted her heavy double belly. Marlow immediatly began palapting around her FUPA and gave her a brief vaginal exam. The CNAs continued cleaning, the smell of the deep fat folds that hadn't been adequately cleaned in months filled the room. Doctor Wilcox examined the underside of her belly inside the folds looking for fungal infections. Once they were finished they wiped down her saddlebags and the outside of her hips, where they flowed from underneath her belly.
Amber waved to get attention and Dr. Wilcox said "Yes?"
Amber tried to talk but could only wheeze as almost all of her 650 pounds pressed on her chest.
"Say again?"
"I need to" [gasp] "piss."
Wilcox waved the CNA who was about to move her leg back to the center away. "Just go. And if you need have a bowel movement now would work too."
So she did. While the CNAs washed the surface of her belly and her breasts she emptied her bowels and her bladder onto the table, although one CNA did grab some of the urine for a urine sample. She could feel her shit smearing underneath her and against the table. When they rolled her the table and her massive ass where rinsed first then carefully washed with them forcing the massive cheeks aside to clean deeply inside.
Bathing completed they then dried her, powdered every fold, and used antifungal cream under her breasts and inside a fold on her right leg. They rolled her back onto a hovermatt, not the same one the EMTs had used, and moved her back to the transport stretcher, sitting her up. She was taken back to the Admit room. She was disconnected from the CPAP and then they started doing everything else. Labs were drawn, an EKG preformed, blood pressures taken, and lungs listened too. Then her legs were tightly wrapped to force the liquid from her legs back into her abdomin. The plan was to force it up there where it could be eliminated natrually. She was then catherized, the plastic tube stuck up her urethra and into her bladder, where it was flushed with sterile water. It was all done rapidly and with her completely nude. Finally she was covered in a massive hospital gown and the team wheeled her down the hallway. Another move and she was in a massive comfortable bariatric bed. She was rolled to get the hovermatt out from underneath her, there was another between the fitted sheet and the mattress, and left alone for a few moments to catch her breath.
A knock on the door and Doctor Wilcox, in his late 30s, tall, and muscular, with glasses and a slight stoop, walked in, tailed by a younger man carrying a tray, and shook her hand. "I'm Doctor Wilcox the Director. Welcome."
"Thank you." Amber mummered, focusing on the tray as it was placed before her. The lid was removed revealing 3 large slabs of lasagna. The young man disappeared.
"Go ahead and eat." Wilcox said with a grin. "I'll get my speech out of the way while you do. We specialize in what we call Living Large. Our goal isn't to starve you until you loose weight. We're going to start you off at quantities of food that you're used to and we'll start to scale you back. It will be healthier food then you normally eat. I find that a lot of patient's are suffering from vitamin deficiencies and we're going to give you tablets at first, but we hope to maintain healthy vitamin levels by natural means. I've got a basic plan here and we'll adjust it as we move along. Basically we want to get you out of bed, just to stand at first, and eventually to turn and pivot to a wheelchair or commode. First with assistance and then alone. We'll also start managing your health problems better then before by adjusting your medications weekly. Our long term goal is for you to walk out of here to continue your weight loss at home. All this will start tomorrow. Starting tomorrow we'll be putting you on a fluid restriction as well so we can measure urinary output. Any questions?"
Amber shook her head, still devouring the lasagna. Wilcox smiled, taking in her massive pear shaped frame one last time before heading out of the room. He was going to meet his wife for dinner.
Amber winced as the ambulance bounced again. It had been a rough thirty minutes for her. The EMTs had been nice but her oversized body was suffering. An EMT spoke "We're here." Amber signed the paperwork and they pulled into a garage.
She was taken out and then inside. A head poked out from the security office and gave them a Look. The EMT gave it her name, and the head disappeared. It appeared again a moment later and told them, "Intake 6." The EMTs turned corners, following the signs. They moved down wide hallways, past large common areas, and as they passed the cafeteria Amber's stomach growled. They turned another corner and they were in Unit 6. The intake room was right next to the Unit 6 entrance and they turned inside. It was a big bare room with expensive medical equipment lined against a wall. Several staff members breezed inside as the EMTs set their cot up next to a medical transport stretcher with built in scale. Someone tared it. While the scale was resetting A nurse introduced herself to Amber "Hi, I'm Ruby I'll be your nurse, okay?"
The scale beeped. The hovermatt air pump was hooked up and the mattress under Amber filled with air and the eight people in the room slid her from the ambulance stretcher to the hospital bed. The air was released with a rush and the EMTs stuck around long enough to copy down the weight before they vanished. "1410 kilograms" someone mummered. The door opened and a good looking curvy woman walked in. She walked over to her and said "I'm Doctor Marlow, I'm the admitting physician. Welcome to the Farms. We're going to run down a questionnaire with you, then we'll give you a little bit of a briefing on what is going to happen and give you something to eat. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
The first questions were pretty standard questions, past surgeries, allergies, both medications and food, and then the doctor stopped. "Okay so here's where you need to be completely accurate and honest with us. Include as many details as possible. The answers to these questions are the basis for your treatment plan here. Understood?"
"Yes."
"When was the last time you left your house alone?"
"2-3 years?"
"Are you currently able to walk by yourself, without any ambulatory aids?"
"No."
"Are you currently able to stand and pivot to a wheelchair or commode alone?"
"No."
"Are you currently able to bathe yourself?"
"No."
"Can you sit up by yourself?"
"Not really. I can do it occasionally but it tires me out. Usually I use the bed remote."
"Are you currently able to clean yourself after using the toilet?"
"No."
"Are you currently able to stand by yourself?"
"No."
"Would you say you are bed confined from your weight?"
"Yes."
"Are you able to stand at all? Even with help?"
"Maybe. I couldn't stand up from the commode that's why I went to the hospital."
"It says you use a CPAP at night. Can you breath on your own when lying flat on your back?"
"Not for long. After a couple minutes it gets very difficult."
"How much food do you eat on a daily basis?"
"I..."
"Take your time and try not to miss anything."
"I drink maybe two two liter bottles of soda a day, I eat like 3 or four big meals..."
"Specify please."
"Like a big omelette for breakfast, with 4 or 5 eggs, cheese, 5 sausage links, 5 slices of bacon, and yogurt." Amber paused for thought. "Then I have snacks for the morning, it varies but a bag of chips and some candy usually. Then lunch. My husband comes home. I'll eat like a couple foot long subs, chips, and an apple or something. Usually I make him leave me with some ice cream for desert. Then for dinner it's like 5 hot dogs, or like 3/4s of a meatloaf."
"If that a typical day?"
"Yes. But there's somedays I go on binges and just can't stop eating. I ate three half pound cheese burgers the day before I went to the hospital and..." Amber was tearing up.
"Don't worry about that right now. We'll work on that. We're just trying to get an idea of how much you eat so we know how much to feed you. We don't want you to starve."
"Who is your primary caretaker?"
"My husband."
"Any children?"
"No."
"Any family members who are morbidly obese."
"My mother was, and my sister is, but she's not as big as me."
"Alright. Now we're going to do the least favorite part of the intake for every one of our new residents. We're going to clean you and give you a physical exam. It's going to be very invasive and more then likely painful. You're going to be on the bath table flat on your back but Respiratory will have you on your CPAP. We're going to be getting rather rough with you because we don't want you to bring any bacteria in that may be on your skin from the hospital."
Amber took a deep breath. "Alright."
They used the hovermatt to slid her over to the bath table. It hard durable plastic, about 8 feet wide. There were tiny holes drilled into it underneath Amber and gutters ran alongside the table to collect water. There were railings that could go up and they helped her roll onto her right side, then to her left, long enough for them to get the hovermatt out. Then they began. Under the direction of Ruby, the CBRN (Certified Bariatric Registered Nurse) they began to clean Amber. Meanwhile Dr. Marlow, had been joined by Dr. Wilcox and they began to examine every inch of Amber while the nurses cleaned. First her hair, telling her to focus on her breathing, smiling at her from behind their face masks and eye protection, disposable gowns swishings as they moved. Hair, face, chin, arms. The doctors had her do dexterity tests. The CBRN and CNAs then started with her feet. The doctors were concerned about diabetic ulcers but there were none. The wounds on her legs, where fluid had built up and her skin had split from the strain, where cleaned and redressed. They stopped and spread her legs apart gently and then two lifted her heavy double belly. Marlow immediatly began palapting around her FUPA and gave her a brief vaginal exam. The CNAs continued cleaning, the smell of the deep fat folds that hadn't been adequately cleaned in months filled the room. Doctor Wilcox examined the underside of her belly inside the folds looking for fungal infections. Once they were finished they wiped down her saddlebags and the outside of her hips, where they flowed from underneath her belly.
Amber waved to get attention and Dr. Wilcox said "Yes?"
Amber tried to talk but could only wheeze as almost all of her 650 pounds pressed on her chest.
"Say again?"
"I need to" [gasp] "piss."
Wilcox waved the CNA who was about to move her leg back to the center away. "Just go. And if you need have a bowel movement now would work too."
So she did. While the CNAs washed the surface of her belly and her breasts she emptied her bowels and her bladder onto the table, although one CNA did grab some of the urine for a urine sample. She could feel her shit smearing underneath her and against the table. When they rolled her the table and her massive ass where rinsed first then carefully washed with them forcing the massive cheeks aside to clean deeply inside.
Bathing completed they then dried her, powdered every fold, and used antifungal cream under her breasts and inside a fold on her right leg. They rolled her back onto a hovermatt, not the same one the EMTs had used, and moved her back to the transport stretcher, sitting her up. She was taken back to the Admit room. She was disconnected from the CPAP and then they started doing everything else. Labs were drawn, an EKG preformed, blood pressures taken, and lungs listened too. Then her legs were tightly wrapped to force the liquid from her legs back into her abdomin. The plan was to force it up there where it could be eliminated natrually. She was then catherized, the plastic tube stuck up her urethra and into her bladder, where it was flushed with sterile water. It was all done rapidly and with her completely nude. Finally she was covered in a massive hospital gown and the team wheeled her down the hallway. Another move and she was in a massive comfortable bariatric bed. She was rolled to get the hovermatt out from underneath her, there was another between the fitted sheet and the mattress, and left alone for a few moments to catch her breath.
A knock on the door and Doctor Wilcox, in his late 30s, tall, and muscular, with glasses and a slight stoop, walked in, tailed by a younger man carrying a tray, and shook her hand. "I'm Doctor Wilcox the Director. Welcome."
"Thank you." Amber mummered, focusing on the tray as it was placed before her. The lid was removed revealing 3 large slabs of lasagna. The young man disappeared.
"Go ahead and eat." Wilcox said with a grin. "I'll get my speech out of the way while you do. We specialize in what we call Living Large. Our goal isn't to starve you until you loose weight. We're going to start you off at quantities of food that you're used to and we'll start to scale you back. It will be healthier food then you normally eat. I find that a lot of patient's are suffering from vitamin deficiencies and we're going to give you tablets at first, but we hope to maintain healthy vitamin levels by natural means. I've got a basic plan here and we'll adjust it as we move along. Basically we want to get you out of bed, just to stand at first, and eventually to turn and pivot to a wheelchair or commode. First with assistance and then alone. We'll also start managing your health problems better then before by adjusting your medications weekly. Our long term goal is for you to walk out of here to continue your weight loss at home. All this will start tomorrow. Starting tomorrow we'll be putting you on a fluid restriction as well so we can measure urinary output. Any questions?"
Amber shook her head, still devouring the lasagna. Wilcox smiled, taking in her massive pear shaped frame one last time before heading out of the room. He was going to meet his wife for dinner.
Tuesday, November 7, 2017
Wilcox Farms Introduction
Doctor Henry Wilcox had abandoned the historic family occupation of dairy farming and gone into medicine. Specifically bariatrics. As Doctor Wilcox had proceeded through his medical career he'd discovered a market niche.
Super morbidly obese people, one's who could barely walk, were immobile, or needed nursing support, were residing either at home, dependent on family with no medical training, or nursing facilities with limited bariatric experience and equipment. This resulted in increased hospitalizations of super obese patients. So Dr. Wilcox decided to open his own Residence and Nursing Facility specializing in morbidly obese patients. For insurance purposes, and because there needed to be quite a few medical professionals on site a standard Skilled Nursing Facility would never have, it was opened and classified as a subacute hospital. He could get away with it because the Center for Disease Control classified Obesity as a disease.
Since it had opened in 2005 it had done exceedingly well. Dr. Wilcox had focused his efforts on making it easier for his patients to live their day to day lives, rather then straight weight loss. In an effort to avoid patients, who'd been used to large quantities of unhealthy food for years, bringing unhealthy food in from the outside out of desperation he provided good tasting healthy food, in large quantities at first, then scaled back the amount of food slowly over time. Delicious, healthy snacks were also provided. Calories, carbs, and fats were tracked for record keeping purposes only and the diet was only incidental. Physical therapy played a huge role in his facility too. It was not unheard of for a 500lbs patient to enter his facility bed confined and leave, only 100lbs lighter but walking out.
He'd built the facility from the ground up on a corner of the family property, overlooking woods, hills, and dairy cows peacefully grazing. He was also only 20 miles from the city limits of the fattest city in his state. It started as a 50 bed facility but was soon upgraded and expanded, year after year, till he had almost 200 beds. He also had a specialized 50 bed ventilator unit (located in the original building) for bariatric vent patients, an in house operating room, ambulance bay with EMT office, and cafeteria for visitors and ambulatory patients. It also featured the largest and best bariatric showering room, a research and development office for the development of bariatric mobility devices, and outpatient services, including psychiatric, life coaching, personal finance training, and healthy cooking classes. Wilcox had realized that for many of his patients the first months or even years of their residences at his facility would be spent confined by their weight to the rooms so the rooms were comfortable, large and airy, yet warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Windows could be opened onto individual porches so the fresh country air could permiate the rooms and visitors, or ambulatory patients could step outside.
Wilcox had a secret though, a secret that only his wife (More on her later) knew. Wilcox was an FA. It was a secret because if it had been known the rising star in the American Society for Metabolic and Bariatric Surgery had been attracted to fat men and women (Wilcox is bisexual) it would have been a disaster, not only for Wilcox but for the society and all the doctors and healthcare professionals that sang his praises to their obese patients. For Wilcox his entire treatment plan, emphasising what he called "Living Large" over dramatic weight loss, was the result of his fetish.
Super morbidly obese people, one's who could barely walk, were immobile, or needed nursing support, were residing either at home, dependent on family with no medical training, or nursing facilities with limited bariatric experience and equipment. This resulted in increased hospitalizations of super obese patients. So Dr. Wilcox decided to open his own Residence and Nursing Facility specializing in morbidly obese patients. For insurance purposes, and because there needed to be quite a few medical professionals on site a standard Skilled Nursing Facility would never have, it was opened and classified as a subacute hospital. He could get away with it because the Center for Disease Control classified Obesity as a disease.
Since it had opened in 2005 it had done exceedingly well. Dr. Wilcox had focused his efforts on making it easier for his patients to live their day to day lives, rather then straight weight loss. In an effort to avoid patients, who'd been used to large quantities of unhealthy food for years, bringing unhealthy food in from the outside out of desperation he provided good tasting healthy food, in large quantities at first, then scaled back the amount of food slowly over time. Delicious, healthy snacks were also provided. Calories, carbs, and fats were tracked for record keeping purposes only and the diet was only incidental. Physical therapy played a huge role in his facility too. It was not unheard of for a 500lbs patient to enter his facility bed confined and leave, only 100lbs lighter but walking out.
He'd built the facility from the ground up on a corner of the family property, overlooking woods, hills, and dairy cows peacefully grazing. He was also only 20 miles from the city limits of the fattest city in his state. It started as a 50 bed facility but was soon upgraded and expanded, year after year, till he had almost 200 beds. He also had a specialized 50 bed ventilator unit (located in the original building) for bariatric vent patients, an in house operating room, ambulance bay with EMT office, and cafeteria for visitors and ambulatory patients. It also featured the largest and best bariatric showering room, a research and development office for the development of bariatric mobility devices, and outpatient services, including psychiatric, life coaching, personal finance training, and healthy cooking classes. Wilcox had realized that for many of his patients the first months or even years of their residences at his facility would be spent confined by their weight to the rooms so the rooms were comfortable, large and airy, yet warm in the winter and cool in the summer. Windows could be opened onto individual porches so the fresh country air could permiate the rooms and visitors, or ambulatory patients could step outside.
Wilcox had a secret though, a secret that only his wife (More on her later) knew. Wilcox was an FA. It was a secret because if it had been known the rising star in the American Society for Metabolic and Bariatric Surgery had been attracted to fat men and women (Wilcox is bisexual) it would have been a disaster, not only for Wilcox but for the society and all the doctors and healthcare professionals that sang his praises to their obese patients. For Wilcox his entire treatment plan, emphasising what he called "Living Large" over dramatic weight loss, was the result of his fetish.
Friday, October 6, 2017
How Long
NOTE: This is a complete fantasy, nothing is really supposed to be real or anything. I doubt that any human could actually live to be this big, but who knows, we may find out in a few years.
How much longer?
Some days, when I'm trying to sleep and failing, a rare occurance given how tired I constantly am I like to think. I think about my massive form lying helpless in my bed, unable to sit up, roll on my side, much less get up and walk.
As I'm thinking I think about my fat. I love my fat. The last weight we did was 1358lbs (616kg or 97 stone) but I'm sure it's over 1400 now. My massive belly, overflowing my body on both sides to rest on my hips, where the fat is spread out, although on the right it approaches the edge of the bed because my belly always hung lower on that side. My ass, which used to be very prominent, is now shapeless and flat from the years I've spent lying on it, and is also approaching the edge of the bariatric bed. My breasts droop low resting on my belly. My wrists are buried in fat, my forearms packed with flesh, and my upper arms droop. My legs are no longer definable as such, my inability to move has led to them swelling with fluid. My calves still touch even though my legs are the widest part of my body. I can't move my feet because the huge quantity of tissue down there has paralyzed my ankles. The size of my legs has forced the massive lymphodema on my right thigh off the side on the bed onto a cushion placed on a table to support it. I have several others, and they're always leaking. I'm 5'6" (66 inches) tall but my belly is 70 wide leaving me with two inches of room on the 72" wide bed.
I get aroused thinking of it and wish I was still able to pleasure myself. When He comes home he generally does it, but only after I've been a good Piggy and have stuffed myself to capacity, a number which gets higher each time. At 1400 pounds the combination of layers of flab, not to mention a sizable FUPA buried under my belly, makes sex extremely difficult. Since I'm unable to lift my massive belly at all, the caretakers have to help lifting it and gently moving my delicate legs so He can access my buried pussy and reward me for my hard work.
I wonder, how much longer will they be able to clean me? How much longer can they lift my massive rolls and roll my gargantuan frame to wash me and change my sheets? The caretakers clean me the same way, gently, and slowly, massaging lotion into each inch of my overstretched skin, and powdering every fold. They empty my urinary catheter as well as the fecal collection bag, before flushing sterile water up the tube. Since reaching my anus and urethra is such a chore with the layers of fat covering it we use the tubes and they work fairly well. They also change the oxygen cannula to keep bacteria from forming.
Which leads me to think of my health. My resting heart rate is around 120, my blood pressure in the high 190s to 200s, and that's WITH extremely strong medications to control both my heart rate and blood pressure. Even the shortest period of time without my oxygen makes me dizzy, and sometimes I require my CPAP. My cholesterol is always very high, even with multiple different pills to control it. My blood sugar requires quite an insane amount of insulin daily just to keep it within normal limits, due to my out of control diet and insulin resistant diabetes, but even with the strictest daily monitoring of my sugar levels the doctors still worry that my kidneys will be destroyed by my diabetes within a year or two requiring dialysis treatments. They also believe that my musculoskeletal system has been so damaged by my weight that even if I miraculously was able to drop my weight by say, 1200 pounds, the chances of me having a normal life, without significant confinement both to bed and a wheelchair, are very low. I take nearly 40 medications a day, from the blood pressure pills to the pain pills, insulin to nebulizers, I take practically one of everything in the pharmacy, just to keep me alive. Who knows how much longer though?
And I wonder, how much longer? How long until my heart gives out, finally overwhelmed by my diet and obesity. How much longer until my lungs can no longer expand against the pressure of my own weight? I come from a very athletic family and have a natural pulmonary and circulatory system that would be envied by professional athletes. Yet with a hundred stone of weight on my frame even my naturally superior internal systems can't survive much longer.
Generally, before I drift back to sleep, my thoughts come to a conclusion, realizing that the real question I'm asking myself is how much longer can I remain the massively obese sex and food consuming machine that I am before it kills me. Then I drift to sleep requiring only the certainty that I will consume massive amounts of carbs, and delicious trans fats tomorrow in my mind.
How much longer?
Some days, when I'm trying to sleep and failing, a rare occurance given how tired I constantly am I like to think. I think about my massive form lying helpless in my bed, unable to sit up, roll on my side, much less get up and walk.
As I'm thinking I think about my fat. I love my fat. The last weight we did was 1358lbs (616kg or 97 stone) but I'm sure it's over 1400 now. My massive belly, overflowing my body on both sides to rest on my hips, where the fat is spread out, although on the right it approaches the edge of the bed because my belly always hung lower on that side. My ass, which used to be very prominent, is now shapeless and flat from the years I've spent lying on it, and is also approaching the edge of the bariatric bed. My breasts droop low resting on my belly. My wrists are buried in fat, my forearms packed with flesh, and my upper arms droop. My legs are no longer definable as such, my inability to move has led to them swelling with fluid. My calves still touch even though my legs are the widest part of my body. I can't move my feet because the huge quantity of tissue down there has paralyzed my ankles. The size of my legs has forced the massive lymphodema on my right thigh off the side on the bed onto a cushion placed on a table to support it. I have several others, and they're always leaking. I'm 5'6" (66 inches) tall but my belly is 70 wide leaving me with two inches of room on the 72" wide bed.
I get aroused thinking of it and wish I was still able to pleasure myself. When He comes home he generally does it, but only after I've been a good Piggy and have stuffed myself to capacity, a number which gets higher each time. At 1400 pounds the combination of layers of flab, not to mention a sizable FUPA buried under my belly, makes sex extremely difficult. Since I'm unable to lift my massive belly at all, the caretakers have to help lifting it and gently moving my delicate legs so He can access my buried pussy and reward me for my hard work.
I wonder, how much longer will they be able to clean me? How much longer can they lift my massive rolls and roll my gargantuan frame to wash me and change my sheets? The caretakers clean me the same way, gently, and slowly, massaging lotion into each inch of my overstretched skin, and powdering every fold. They empty my urinary catheter as well as the fecal collection bag, before flushing sterile water up the tube. Since reaching my anus and urethra is such a chore with the layers of fat covering it we use the tubes and they work fairly well. They also change the oxygen cannula to keep bacteria from forming.
Which leads me to think of my health. My resting heart rate is around 120, my blood pressure in the high 190s to 200s, and that's WITH extremely strong medications to control both my heart rate and blood pressure. Even the shortest period of time without my oxygen makes me dizzy, and sometimes I require my CPAP. My cholesterol is always very high, even with multiple different pills to control it. My blood sugar requires quite an insane amount of insulin daily just to keep it within normal limits, due to my out of control diet and insulin resistant diabetes, but even with the strictest daily monitoring of my sugar levels the doctors still worry that my kidneys will be destroyed by my diabetes within a year or two requiring dialysis treatments. They also believe that my musculoskeletal system has been so damaged by my weight that even if I miraculously was able to drop my weight by say, 1200 pounds, the chances of me having a normal life, without significant confinement both to bed and a wheelchair, are very low. I take nearly 40 medications a day, from the blood pressure pills to the pain pills, insulin to nebulizers, I take practically one of everything in the pharmacy, just to keep me alive. Who knows how much longer though?
And I wonder, how much longer? How long until my heart gives out, finally overwhelmed by my diet and obesity. How much longer until my lungs can no longer expand against the pressure of my own weight? I come from a very athletic family and have a natural pulmonary and circulatory system that would be envied by professional athletes. Yet with a hundred stone of weight on my frame even my naturally superior internal systems can't survive much longer.
Generally, before I drift back to sleep, my thoughts come to a conclusion, realizing that the real question I'm asking myself is how much longer can I remain the massively obese sex and food consuming machine that I am before it kills me. Then I drift to sleep requiring only the certainty that I will consume massive amounts of carbs, and delicious trans fats tomorrow in my mind.
Saturday, September 30, 2017
Trailer Park Love
2008:
I got the job as manager of the Wyatt Estates through my cousin, who was basically a slumlord without the intelligence to be successful at it. I was out of work at the time and the offer of free housing with a small salary and benefits was to much for a high school dropout with minimal skills.
I'd grown up in a grimy little apartment in a grimy little beach city on the coast of Connecticut. My mother was a recovering heroin addict and former prostitute who fell off the wagon and wasn't around much after I turned 7 so I was pretty much raised on fast food by my much older sister. While my metabolism could handle the poor diet her's couldn't and she was at least 350 pounds by the time I turned 16 and she turned 26. Perhaps that's where my love of large women came from. Now that's I'm an adult I realize that my sister probably ate to excess, just like her smoking, both cigarettes and marijuana, to help with the stress of being a teenager with school, a full time type job at a fast food place, and raising a younger brother. I had started working at a cruddy little gas station/convenience store, where I would stay for 8 years, and dropped out of High School to make more money, although I did eventually get a GED. In 2008 when the recession hit the gas station did poorly and 4 months before the job offer at the trailer park I came to work to discover it in flames and the owner in custody for arson.
When I accepted the job for my cousin I had been out of work and borderline homeless since the my last job had gone up in smoke. My sister was in Bridgeport with a husband, twin babies, and a nice job as an assistant manager at a grocery store. I did odd jobs until my cousin called me up. Apparently the old manager had been arrested in a neighboring town selling stolen property. If you're getting the impression this wasn't the classiest of locations you'd be correct. I of course moved my belongings into the manager's single wide, located on the edge of the estate. It was pretty well hidden with trees and bushes on three sides and the office facing the driveway on the other.
The day after I moved in I was practically deluged in irritated tenants angry about everything from structural and plumbing problems to complaints about the tenants in 4SW. Apparently they had loud parties with people going in and out all night. I fixed holes in floors, cleared clogged drains, discovered the residents in 8NW had weed growing behind their place, and that the tenants at 10NE never walked their trash to the dumpsters.
I was wrapping up work on the wheelchair ramp to 12SE where a rather formidable woman lived with a severely disabled adult son. They had arrived back from somewhere by wheelchair van as I finished, and as I threw my tools into the back of the beat to hell club cart we used when I saw her. I hadn't seen her before.
She was Latina, 5'5" tall, and at least 350lbs. She was standing in the doorway of 11SE, wearing stretched leggings and a too small tee shirt that let her belly escape and flop over the top of her waistband. She had wide hips and big saggy boobs. She waddled out and I revised my estimate. At least 400. She was carrying a small child, maybe one year old, and waddled slowly down the four stairs to the level road and then waddled across. She ignored me and I forced my eyes down to my tool box. I looked up again though after she passed to see a beautiful round ass. The leggings were too small and the top of her ass crack showed as she slowly climbed the wheelchair ramp to knock on 12SE's door.
I made a point of looking up the resident of 11SE. It was occupied by a Regina Gomez and son. She was my age, 24, and behind on the rent several months worth. I flipped through the rest. One payment was delayed, but that address was also listed in the vacation ledger for the next two weeks, so I had been assuming they'd forgotten to pay before leaving. There were two others, one was the woman with the disabled son in 12SE and the other was the man in 5NE. The back cover had a single sheet of note paper, presumably for my cousin, One "12SE. Ejecting a disabled tenant is bad press." Two, "5NE, has 3 kids, and has been working around the park to help pay his rent." Three, "11SE, single mom with a sick baby and no where to go, what am I supposed to do throw her out!?" The note was clearly old and the entries had been made at different times, considering the 5NE one was in a different colored ink. I flipped back to the book. 12SE had payed her rent for this month, 5NE had paid a reduced amount and I'd seen a slip with his hours of work put in there, but11SE hadn't paid anything. I grinned impishly, and the next morning I grabbed the book and walked down the court to the southeastern road and then went to 11.
When she answered she was panting and sweating. She was wearing a too small shirt that exposed her midriff, which displayed stretchmarks, new and old, before running into her pants. Behind her heat rolled out of the trailer along with a stale dirty smell, a mix of sweat and stale cigarettes. I asked if I could come in and talk about the rent. She became very nervous and quiet. She waddled back inside the sweltering trailer, unfortunately these pants fit better then the ones from before, and sat in an huge armchair covered in an old sheet. I sat on a kitchen chair facing her.
It was messy but not like a hoarder house. It had been properly baby proofed and there weren't any bugs, or excessive dirt around. Several ashtrays were full of cigarettes. The packs read American Legend, the cheapest cigarettes locally available. She picked up the cigarette and asked "what about it?
"It's late" I said "I understand you have a child but surely you can arrange childcare for them for a few hours a day. We can work something out, a reduction in rent..." I trailed off.
She'd been watching me closely, and I'd been watching her. Watching the sizeable belly slopping inside her pants, her nice, but no where near as grand as her ass, breasts, large and saggy inside her shirt. She smiled at me. "I do some work for the woman across the road, but she only pays me $15 a day. I think we can work out another arrangement, help me up." I stood and she grasped my hand with a small fat and moist hand pulled herself to her feet and pulled off her top. She didn't have a bra on. She grabbed me and pulled me close. I had about 6 inches on her and I got hard against her belly as she kissed my chest.
We wound up in the back bedroom with her massive ass in the air while she gasped and wheezed like a stuck pig and I slammed into her watching the beautiful ass ripple with each thrust. The smell of sweat and general unwashed fat person were stronger, but even that added to the sexiness. Both of us came and I more or less fell onto her soft form. She scrabbled for a pack of cigarettes and I light her cigarette before placing one of my camels in my own mouth. The baby started crying in the other room and she waddled out, still naked, to deal with him. I dressed.
The next day I began reinforcing the floor under my single wide my placing cinderblocks underneath it hoping against hope.
Present:
I was in the office when my cell phone rang. "Come over here I need to take a piss."
I left the office and crossed through the small yard to the trailer zigzagging around my stepson's bike. That's what I called him anyway, since we were married in all but name and walked up the concrete stairs and walked in.
She was propped up on the bariatric bed. She'd prepared by putting her cannula in her nose, and I pulled her legs to the floor while she pushed herself to the edge of the bed. She put her left hand on the bed rail and I pulled up with my left hand while she braced herself on my right and pushed. All 650+ pounds of glorious obesity stood and she waddled the five steps to the commode leaning on her walker. She urinated and then I helped her to her feet. She leaned on the walker and bent over, exposing the much wider, somewhat flatter, but still glorious expanse of flesh in front of me. I wiped quickly and then caressed it as she slowly stood up and waddled to the bed. She slumped into it. "Before you go would you mind getting me some chips, and maybe a soda or something?" she asked between breaths.
I left her with three bags of chips and a 2 liter of Coke before crossing the yard. I paused outside the door to let my erection subside again and went back to work, hoping to finish before our kids returned from school so I could "ride the whale" as she called it.
I got the job as manager of the Wyatt Estates through my cousin, who was basically a slumlord without the intelligence to be successful at it. I was out of work at the time and the offer of free housing with a small salary and benefits was to much for a high school dropout with minimal skills.
I'd grown up in a grimy little apartment in a grimy little beach city on the coast of Connecticut. My mother was a recovering heroin addict and former prostitute who fell off the wagon and wasn't around much after I turned 7 so I was pretty much raised on fast food by my much older sister. While my metabolism could handle the poor diet her's couldn't and she was at least 350 pounds by the time I turned 16 and she turned 26. Perhaps that's where my love of large women came from. Now that's I'm an adult I realize that my sister probably ate to excess, just like her smoking, both cigarettes and marijuana, to help with the stress of being a teenager with school, a full time type job at a fast food place, and raising a younger brother. I had started working at a cruddy little gas station/convenience store, where I would stay for 8 years, and dropped out of High School to make more money, although I did eventually get a GED. In 2008 when the recession hit the gas station did poorly and 4 months before the job offer at the trailer park I came to work to discover it in flames and the owner in custody for arson.
When I accepted the job for my cousin I had been out of work and borderline homeless since the my last job had gone up in smoke. My sister was in Bridgeport with a husband, twin babies, and a nice job as an assistant manager at a grocery store. I did odd jobs until my cousin called me up. Apparently the old manager had been arrested in a neighboring town selling stolen property. If you're getting the impression this wasn't the classiest of locations you'd be correct. I of course moved my belongings into the manager's single wide, located on the edge of the estate. It was pretty well hidden with trees and bushes on three sides and the office facing the driveway on the other.
The day after I moved in I was practically deluged in irritated tenants angry about everything from structural and plumbing problems to complaints about the tenants in 4SW. Apparently they had loud parties with people going in and out all night. I fixed holes in floors, cleared clogged drains, discovered the residents in 8NW had weed growing behind their place, and that the tenants at 10NE never walked their trash to the dumpsters.
I was wrapping up work on the wheelchair ramp to 12SE where a rather formidable woman lived with a severely disabled adult son. They had arrived back from somewhere by wheelchair van as I finished, and as I threw my tools into the back of the beat to hell club cart we used when I saw her. I hadn't seen her before.
She was Latina, 5'5" tall, and at least 350lbs. She was standing in the doorway of 11SE, wearing stretched leggings and a too small tee shirt that let her belly escape and flop over the top of her waistband. She had wide hips and big saggy boobs. She waddled out and I revised my estimate. At least 400. She was carrying a small child, maybe one year old, and waddled slowly down the four stairs to the level road and then waddled across. She ignored me and I forced my eyes down to my tool box. I looked up again though after she passed to see a beautiful round ass. The leggings were too small and the top of her ass crack showed as she slowly climbed the wheelchair ramp to knock on 12SE's door.
I made a point of looking up the resident of 11SE. It was occupied by a Regina Gomez and son. She was my age, 24, and behind on the rent several months worth. I flipped through the rest. One payment was delayed, but that address was also listed in the vacation ledger for the next two weeks, so I had been assuming they'd forgotten to pay before leaving. There were two others, one was the woman with the disabled son in 12SE and the other was the man in 5NE. The back cover had a single sheet of note paper, presumably for my cousin, One "12SE. Ejecting a disabled tenant is bad press." Two, "5NE, has 3 kids, and has been working around the park to help pay his rent." Three, "11SE, single mom with a sick baby and no where to go, what am I supposed to do throw her out!?" The note was clearly old and the entries had been made at different times, considering the 5NE one was in a different colored ink. I flipped back to the book. 12SE had payed her rent for this month, 5NE had paid a reduced amount and I'd seen a slip with his hours of work put in there, but11SE hadn't paid anything. I grinned impishly, and the next morning I grabbed the book and walked down the court to the southeastern road and then went to 11.
When she answered she was panting and sweating. She was wearing a too small shirt that exposed her midriff, which displayed stretchmarks, new and old, before running into her pants. Behind her heat rolled out of the trailer along with a stale dirty smell, a mix of sweat and stale cigarettes. I asked if I could come in and talk about the rent. She became very nervous and quiet. She waddled back inside the sweltering trailer, unfortunately these pants fit better then the ones from before, and sat in an huge armchair covered in an old sheet. I sat on a kitchen chair facing her.
It was messy but not like a hoarder house. It had been properly baby proofed and there weren't any bugs, or excessive dirt around. Several ashtrays were full of cigarettes. The packs read American Legend, the cheapest cigarettes locally available. She picked up the cigarette and asked "what about it?
"It's late" I said "I understand you have a child but surely you can arrange childcare for them for a few hours a day. We can work something out, a reduction in rent..." I trailed off.
She'd been watching me closely, and I'd been watching her. Watching the sizeable belly slopping inside her pants, her nice, but no where near as grand as her ass, breasts, large and saggy inside her shirt. She smiled at me. "I do some work for the woman across the road, but she only pays me $15 a day. I think we can work out another arrangement, help me up." I stood and she grasped my hand with a small fat and moist hand pulled herself to her feet and pulled off her top. She didn't have a bra on. She grabbed me and pulled me close. I had about 6 inches on her and I got hard against her belly as she kissed my chest.
We wound up in the back bedroom with her massive ass in the air while she gasped and wheezed like a stuck pig and I slammed into her watching the beautiful ass ripple with each thrust. The smell of sweat and general unwashed fat person were stronger, but even that added to the sexiness. Both of us came and I more or less fell onto her soft form. She scrabbled for a pack of cigarettes and I light her cigarette before placing one of my camels in my own mouth. The baby started crying in the other room and she waddled out, still naked, to deal with him. I dressed.
The next day I began reinforcing the floor under my single wide my placing cinderblocks underneath it hoping against hope.
Present:
I was in the office when my cell phone rang. "Come over here I need to take a piss."
I left the office and crossed through the small yard to the trailer zigzagging around my stepson's bike. That's what I called him anyway, since we were married in all but name and walked up the concrete stairs and walked in.
She was propped up on the bariatric bed. She'd prepared by putting her cannula in her nose, and I pulled her legs to the floor while she pushed herself to the edge of the bed. She put her left hand on the bed rail and I pulled up with my left hand while she braced herself on my right and pushed. All 650+ pounds of glorious obesity stood and she waddled the five steps to the commode leaning on her walker. She urinated and then I helped her to her feet. She leaned on the walker and bent over, exposing the much wider, somewhat flatter, but still glorious expanse of flesh in front of me. I wiped quickly and then caressed it as she slowly stood up and waddled to the bed. She slumped into it. "Before you go would you mind getting me some chips, and maybe a soda or something?" she asked between breaths.
I left her with three bags of chips and a 2 liter of Coke before crossing the yard. I paused outside the door to let my erection subside again and went back to work, hoping to finish before our kids returned from school so I could "ride the whale" as she called it.
Thursday, August 10, 2017
Pinned By Lard - Henri
Henrietta was tired. She'd just worked a 12 hour day shift at a long term care/skilled nursing facility. Henri, as she was called by her boyfriend, the love of her life, was 29, about 5'3" tall, 180 pounds, and not very attractive. Her breasts were small, droopy, and shapeless, her face plump, pale, with acne scaring, and dark rings around her eyes. Her hair was always messy looking, and she smoked around two packs of cigarettes a day which gave her a raspy smokers voice and a chronic cough. Her best asset was her butt but it's large curvy shape of a few years ago was gone leaving it to look wide, flabby, and droopy.
Their rundown looking townhouse occupied the middle of the block. In the front window two window units hummed. Henri took a deep drag off of her cigarette and unlocked the door. The warm humid air and the familiar smell washed over her.
In the dim smog, lit by only a couple lights and the TV, she observed Eric, huge, immobile, sexy Eric. He was lying, as always, in bed, his massive body splayed around him, pinning him to the bed in what used to be the dining room. Currently he was taking short sporadic drags on a cigarette, another bad habit of his. Sweat beaded his forehead and she could smell urine through Eric's ever present BO. She stepped up to the bed grinding her cigarette out into the full ashtray just as Eric, with a final gasp, expelled the last of the smoke, stubbed his out, and carefully replaced his cannula in his nose. "How are you dear?" She asked and they kissed. She put her arms around his neck feeling her breasts pressing into his huge soft chest. He didn't reciprocate, his arms had long since gotten to heavy for him to go to the effort required hug her in return at that angle, where there was no support for the weight of his arm flab. As she released him he smiled at her, exposing his yellow teeth and said "Hungry."
She laughed. "You're always hungry."
He laughed back breathlessly. "Damn right Henri."
Henri headed to the kitchen and grabbed a container of cookies. She brought them to him and then asked "Do you still need to pee or can I clean you up?"
Through a mouthful of cookie he replied "I could piss."
Henri stepped across to the beautiful built in china cabinets, now full of various care products.The one on the left was full of bathroom care supplies. Henri pulled on a pair of gloves and grabbed a urinal and extra disposable chux pad. She stepped back across and pushed Eric's belly up. She pulled the used Chux pad out and then bracing the underside of his belly with her arm forced his FUPA back until she found his penis, uselessly buried inside his fat pad. She pressed the urinal against it and Eric emptied his bladder. Henri capped the urinal and quickly wiped down the area to prevent infection.
Henri dumped the urinal into the toilet and then got into the shower. She bathed herself as quickly as possible, changed into sweat pants and a tee shirt and started dinner. As soon as the chicken was out of the fridge she grabbed two bags of chips and a bottle of soda and walked it into Eric to give him something to snack on while she prepared dinner. Fried chicken and french fries tonight, along with the nearly dozen medications Eric took at night.
Henri ate her comparatively small portion in the kitchen while Eric devoured his in his bed, scarfing at the pile of chicken and fries. Henri finished and began the dishes. She stepped into Eric's room and found him looking satisfied, with grease on his face and hands, lighting his after dinner cigarette. She gathered the dishes and he breathlessly thanked her. Henri smiled the warm feeling of pleasing Eric filling her stomach. She started the dishwasher and stepped back into Eric's room. She opened one of the cabinets, got Eric's breathing treatment out, and filled the nebulizer. While Eric's lungs were bathed in medication to open them up so he could breathe, Henri filled a bucket with warm water, gathered the soup and bed pan and then headed back into Eric's room.
Eric hated this part of the day. His intestines were shot, so overloaded with fat that they had trouble moving his shit. They were helped somewhat by a large dose of laxatives. Every night after he was full and his breathing treatment was finished he would be rolled onto his side. Henri would remove the chux pads from his butt crack and he would roll onto his back again and start bearing down. Usually it wasn't to difficult but it was the hardest physical exercise he did all day. After he had emptied his bowels he then had to roll back on his side so Henri could remove the waste and clean him up. After she cleaned up his waste she then washed down his back quickly. He'd roll back to where he belonged and she'd do a quick wash and dry.
Henri watched Eric's back roll away from her. A mound of shit lay piled in the bed pan. She removed it and began cleaning his backside and back. She dried it quickly and he rolled back onto his back. Using the bed remote he raised his head so he could breathe properly. His face was red and he was wheezing. Eric took a washcloth and washed the surface of his form as far as he could reach while Henri worked up from his legs. Then she tackled the folds and crevices. Just a quick wipe and dry. Then she powdered inside his folds to try to keep it somewhat dry to prevent infection. Last she helps his use urinal again and cleans his fat pad and as much of his penis as she can find. Henri replaced the powder in the bathing supplies cabinet, carried the bucket to the bathroom and dumped it. She stripped off her pants and shirt and returned to Eric's room with more food and soda. It is understood that this is her time. She places the food on Eric's table, puts the soda in the fridge, and then takes off her panties and bra.
She climbs naked into Eric's bed and lays against him. Eric feels himself grow hard deep underneath all his folds. He drapes a huge fat arm across her shoulders and cups one of her breasts. Henri sighs. No words are exchanged. Eric switches the TV over to HGTV, her favorite network, and she snuggles in closer to him pressing as much of her curvy body into his soft flesh as possible. Sometimes she gets out lotion and tenderly lotions and massages his body. But tonight she's to tired. She lights a cigarette and takes a drag, the smoke and nicotine warming her insides. She finishes the cigarette and falls asleep next to Eric, head leaning on his shoulder.
Their rundown looking townhouse occupied the middle of the block. In the front window two window units hummed. Henri took a deep drag off of her cigarette and unlocked the door. The warm humid air and the familiar smell washed over her.
In the dim smog, lit by only a couple lights and the TV, she observed Eric, huge, immobile, sexy Eric. He was lying, as always, in bed, his massive body splayed around him, pinning him to the bed in what used to be the dining room. Currently he was taking short sporadic drags on a cigarette, another bad habit of his. Sweat beaded his forehead and she could smell urine through Eric's ever present BO. She stepped up to the bed grinding her cigarette out into the full ashtray just as Eric, with a final gasp, expelled the last of the smoke, stubbed his out, and carefully replaced his cannula in his nose. "How are you dear?" She asked and they kissed. She put her arms around his neck feeling her breasts pressing into his huge soft chest. He didn't reciprocate, his arms had long since gotten to heavy for him to go to the effort required hug her in return at that angle, where there was no support for the weight of his arm flab. As she released him he smiled at her, exposing his yellow teeth and said "Hungry."
She laughed. "You're always hungry."
He laughed back breathlessly. "Damn right Henri."
Henri headed to the kitchen and grabbed a container of cookies. She brought them to him and then asked "Do you still need to pee or can I clean you up?"
Through a mouthful of cookie he replied "I could piss."
Henri stepped across to the beautiful built in china cabinets, now full of various care products.The one on the left was full of bathroom care supplies. Henri pulled on a pair of gloves and grabbed a urinal and extra disposable chux pad. She stepped back across and pushed Eric's belly up. She pulled the used Chux pad out and then bracing the underside of his belly with her arm forced his FUPA back until she found his penis, uselessly buried inside his fat pad. She pressed the urinal against it and Eric emptied his bladder. Henri capped the urinal and quickly wiped down the area to prevent infection.
Henri dumped the urinal into the toilet and then got into the shower. She bathed herself as quickly as possible, changed into sweat pants and a tee shirt and started dinner. As soon as the chicken was out of the fridge she grabbed two bags of chips and a bottle of soda and walked it into Eric to give him something to snack on while she prepared dinner. Fried chicken and french fries tonight, along with the nearly dozen medications Eric took at night.
Henri ate her comparatively small portion in the kitchen while Eric devoured his in his bed, scarfing at the pile of chicken and fries. Henri finished and began the dishes. She stepped into Eric's room and found him looking satisfied, with grease on his face and hands, lighting his after dinner cigarette. She gathered the dishes and he breathlessly thanked her. Henri smiled the warm feeling of pleasing Eric filling her stomach. She started the dishwasher and stepped back into Eric's room. She opened one of the cabinets, got Eric's breathing treatment out, and filled the nebulizer. While Eric's lungs were bathed in medication to open them up so he could breathe, Henri filled a bucket with warm water, gathered the soup and bed pan and then headed back into Eric's room.
Eric hated this part of the day. His intestines were shot, so overloaded with fat that they had trouble moving his shit. They were helped somewhat by a large dose of laxatives. Every night after he was full and his breathing treatment was finished he would be rolled onto his side. Henri would remove the chux pads from his butt crack and he would roll onto his back again and start bearing down. Usually it wasn't to difficult but it was the hardest physical exercise he did all day. After he had emptied his bowels he then had to roll back on his side so Henri could remove the waste and clean him up. After she cleaned up his waste she then washed down his back quickly. He'd roll back to where he belonged and she'd do a quick wash and dry.
Henri watched Eric's back roll away from her. A mound of shit lay piled in the bed pan. She removed it and began cleaning his backside and back. She dried it quickly and he rolled back onto his back. Using the bed remote he raised his head so he could breathe properly. His face was red and he was wheezing. Eric took a washcloth and washed the surface of his form as far as he could reach while Henri worked up from his legs. Then she tackled the folds and crevices. Just a quick wipe and dry. Then she powdered inside his folds to try to keep it somewhat dry to prevent infection. Last she helps his use urinal again and cleans his fat pad and as much of his penis as she can find. Henri replaced the powder in the bathing supplies cabinet, carried the bucket to the bathroom and dumped it. She stripped off her pants and shirt and returned to Eric's room with more food and soda. It is understood that this is her time. She places the food on Eric's table, puts the soda in the fridge, and then takes off her panties and bra.
She climbs naked into Eric's bed and lays against him. Eric feels himself grow hard deep underneath all his folds. He drapes a huge fat arm across her shoulders and cups one of her breasts. Henri sighs. No words are exchanged. Eric switches the TV over to HGTV, her favorite network, and she snuggles in closer to him pressing as much of her curvy body into his soft flesh as possible. Sometimes she gets out lotion and tenderly lotions and massages his body. But tonight she's to tired. She lights a cigarette and takes a drag, the smoke and nicotine warming her insides. She finishes the cigarette and falls asleep next to Eric, head leaning on his shoulder.
Sunday, July 23, 2017
Pinned By Lard - Introduction
Eric, age 30, lay in his bed breathing heavily. Around him the detritus of his day lay scattered. He was in what was formerly the ground floor dining room of a small townhouse, Eric was completely immobile, pinned to his bed by his enormous obesity. Three months ago he'd managed to briefly stand on a scale and it had put his weight at 800lbs even. A week later he'd tried to stand again and been unable to do so. Eric's life expectancy with his weight and health issues was 37 years old.
Eric's body was a shapeless blob. His feet were swollen with fat, his thighs and shins swollen with lyphedema. His hands and arms were weighed down with so much excess adipose tissue that even lifting his hand to his mouth, his only true physical exercise, was a workout. His belly was massive, sitting on his thighs, it would have reached to his knees if he could have stood, covered in stretch marks and discolored skin. His "moobs" perched on top, with a thick layer of excess tissue circling under his arms to his back. Underneath his massive belly his "fat pad" had completely swallowed his penis. His head was sunk into his chest, and his face was completely shapeless. Pale, blotchy, with dark circles under his eyes. He kept his head shaved, and a nasal cannula ran from the oxygen cylinder in the corner of the room, to his shapeless nose. If he were to roll over his back would feature rolls of fat and his buttocks would be a mere shapeless mass of flesh.
Eric had given into the inevitable. He'd allowed his already precarious health to deteriorate completely. Instead of the health of a 30 year old his health was worse then many people three times his age. His list of medical conditions included High Blood Pressure, Rapid Heart Rate, Type 2 Diabetes, Sleep Apnea, Asthma, Gout, Osteoarthritis, Congestive Heart Failure, Lymphedema, Obesity Hypoventilation Syndrome, COPD/Emphysema, fatty liver disease, and Cellulitis. His blood pressure was chronically high, averaging at 170/90, (Normal 120/80) his resting pulse was around 90-100 beats per minute (Normal is 80 BPM) and even on 3 liters per minute of oxygen being delivered through his nasal cannula his blood oxygen level in his extremities hovered around 89-90% (Normal 95%-100%) due to his pack to two pack a day smoking habit and perfusion problems. His diabetes which was barely controlled by his medications was putting stress on his kidneys and his liver was so overloaded with fat that it was 50% functional or even less.
Eric's skin, overstretched by his obesity, was an additional constant source of issues for Eric. It was discolored and stretched so tight that if to much pressure was put on any part of it it could tear. Since his body weight had climbed faster then his skin could keep up so his fat was pressed into his body cavity, putting pressure on his internal organs. This led to increased difficulty breathing, as his diaphragm and lungs fought to expand against his own fat, decreased bladder capacity as the pressure onto the organ forced urine either back up into his kidney's or down his urethra. He had constipation issues due to high fat content in the organ itself and pressing against it from the outside.
Eric's challenges were not limited to the physiological. Unable to walk he was confined to a bed for everything. His girlfriend, Henrietta, who he called Henri, had to bathe him there and take care of his bodily functions too. Both were a challenge. For defecation if Henri was there he could roll on his side, roll back, and use a bed pan. If she wasn't he would simply go onto a chux pad that had been tucked into his rolls to try to create some sort of a diaper for him. For urination Henri would force the rolls of fat aside until she got to his penis, and he would go into a male urinal, Henri would then dry any urine that had dribbled from his useless dick into his fat folds. On the occasions she wasn't there he went into a chux pad, folded into his fat pad to hold it's position.
Cleaning Eric was a problem because Henrietta had to work 40-50 hours a week as a nursing assistant, Eric, who really should have been cleaned well daily with special attention to his folds, was bathed completely and totally, only about twice a week. Daily Henri would clean every crevice and surface around his ass and fat pad, but for everything else she could only do a quick wash, dry, and powder. Twice a week, on her days off, she would fill several buckets with soapy water, pile up a bunch of towels, and get to work, digging gloved hands deep into his folds, applying copious amounts of baby powder, and then massage lotion every inch of Eric's massive form. Eric hated these days but accepted them as a necessary evil to keep the stench, bacteria, and fungal infections at bay.
Eric smelled. Bad. Especially in summer Eric would smell bad as the oppressive heat overwhelmed the small window units that cooled his room. Because Eric's gargantuan form produced tons of heat and sweat, Eric was constantly hot and sweaty. The sweat, coupled with difficulties cleaning up after he used the bathroom, the enclosed space of the room, the smoke from his cigarettes, and the garbage he accumulated, added up to quite the smell. Henri had built up an immunity to it, but an outsider would have been knocked flat on their back.
Of course Eric's weight wouldn't have been a problem if it hadn't been for his eating. Eric always ate three large meals a day. But someday's he would eat only those three meals, sometimes he would eat breakfast, snack slowly through to lunch, (grazing) eat lunch, and slowly snack through to dinner. But sometimes he would stuff himself for hours, eating everything he could, wheezing through full mouthfuls, as his body struggled to keep pace with his colossal appetite. Henri always kept tons of snacks and liquids within Eric's reach because when "the hunger," as she jokingly referred to it, struck, he could eat pounds of food. For a while she kept track of the calories he consumed in a day. At the very least he consumed about 3'000, in the big meals she cooked for him. On those days he smoked 30-40 cigarettes, painstakingly removing his oxygen and trying to breath without it for each one. On his bad days he would smoke almost nothing but once consumed nearly 80'000 calories worth of snacks and soda. Henri would come home and find that the floor was covered in wrappers, empty chip bags, crumbs, empty soda bottles, and Eric, lying wheezing and gasping, covered in crumbs and stains, rubbing his belly.
Eric's body was a shapeless blob. His feet were swollen with fat, his thighs and shins swollen with lyphedema. His hands and arms were weighed down with so much excess adipose tissue that even lifting his hand to his mouth, his only true physical exercise, was a workout. His belly was massive, sitting on his thighs, it would have reached to his knees if he could have stood, covered in stretch marks and discolored skin. His "moobs" perched on top, with a thick layer of excess tissue circling under his arms to his back. Underneath his massive belly his "fat pad" had completely swallowed his penis. His head was sunk into his chest, and his face was completely shapeless. Pale, blotchy, with dark circles under his eyes. He kept his head shaved, and a nasal cannula ran from the oxygen cylinder in the corner of the room, to his shapeless nose. If he were to roll over his back would feature rolls of fat and his buttocks would be a mere shapeless mass of flesh.
Eric had given into the inevitable. He'd allowed his already precarious health to deteriorate completely. Instead of the health of a 30 year old his health was worse then many people three times his age. His list of medical conditions included High Blood Pressure, Rapid Heart Rate, Type 2 Diabetes, Sleep Apnea, Asthma, Gout, Osteoarthritis, Congestive Heart Failure, Lymphedema, Obesity Hypoventilation Syndrome, COPD/Emphysema, fatty liver disease, and Cellulitis. His blood pressure was chronically high, averaging at 170/90, (Normal 120/80) his resting pulse was around 90-100 beats per minute (Normal is 80 BPM) and even on 3 liters per minute of oxygen being delivered through his nasal cannula his blood oxygen level in his extremities hovered around 89-90% (Normal 95%-100%) due to his pack to two pack a day smoking habit and perfusion problems. His diabetes which was barely controlled by his medications was putting stress on his kidneys and his liver was so overloaded with fat that it was 50% functional or even less.
Eric's skin, overstretched by his obesity, was an additional constant source of issues for Eric. It was discolored and stretched so tight that if to much pressure was put on any part of it it could tear. Since his body weight had climbed faster then his skin could keep up so his fat was pressed into his body cavity, putting pressure on his internal organs. This led to increased difficulty breathing, as his diaphragm and lungs fought to expand against his own fat, decreased bladder capacity as the pressure onto the organ forced urine either back up into his kidney's or down his urethra. He had constipation issues due to high fat content in the organ itself and pressing against it from the outside.
Eric's challenges were not limited to the physiological. Unable to walk he was confined to a bed for everything. His girlfriend, Henrietta, who he called Henri, had to bathe him there and take care of his bodily functions too. Both were a challenge. For defecation if Henri was there he could roll on his side, roll back, and use a bed pan. If she wasn't he would simply go onto a chux pad that had been tucked into his rolls to try to create some sort of a diaper for him. For urination Henri would force the rolls of fat aside until she got to his penis, and he would go into a male urinal, Henri would then dry any urine that had dribbled from his useless dick into his fat folds. On the occasions she wasn't there he went into a chux pad, folded into his fat pad to hold it's position.
Cleaning Eric was a problem because Henrietta had to work 40-50 hours a week as a nursing assistant, Eric, who really should have been cleaned well daily with special attention to his folds, was bathed completely and totally, only about twice a week. Daily Henri would clean every crevice and surface around his ass and fat pad, but for everything else she could only do a quick wash, dry, and powder. Twice a week, on her days off, she would fill several buckets with soapy water, pile up a bunch of towels, and get to work, digging gloved hands deep into his folds, applying copious amounts of baby powder, and then massage lotion every inch of Eric's massive form. Eric hated these days but accepted them as a necessary evil to keep the stench, bacteria, and fungal infections at bay.
Eric smelled. Bad. Especially in summer Eric would smell bad as the oppressive heat overwhelmed the small window units that cooled his room. Because Eric's gargantuan form produced tons of heat and sweat, Eric was constantly hot and sweaty. The sweat, coupled with difficulties cleaning up after he used the bathroom, the enclosed space of the room, the smoke from his cigarettes, and the garbage he accumulated, added up to quite the smell. Henri had built up an immunity to it, but an outsider would have been knocked flat on their back.
Of course Eric's weight wouldn't have been a problem if it hadn't been for his eating. Eric always ate three large meals a day. But someday's he would eat only those three meals, sometimes he would eat breakfast, snack slowly through to lunch, (grazing) eat lunch, and slowly snack through to dinner. But sometimes he would stuff himself for hours, eating everything he could, wheezing through full mouthfuls, as his body struggled to keep pace with his colossal appetite. Henri always kept tons of snacks and liquids within Eric's reach because when "the hunger," as she jokingly referred to it, struck, he could eat pounds of food. For a while she kept track of the calories he consumed in a day. At the very least he consumed about 3'000, in the big meals she cooked for him. On those days he smoked 30-40 cigarettes, painstakingly removing his oxygen and trying to breath without it for each one. On his bad days he would smoke almost nothing but once consumed nearly 80'000 calories worth of snacks and soda. Henri would come home and find that the floor was covered in wrappers, empty chip bags, crumbs, empty soda bottles, and Eric, lying wheezing and gasping, covered in crumbs and stains, rubbing his belly.
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