Wilcox Farms 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Family Traditions

Present Day Christmas:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas, 20 years in the past

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas, Present Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christmas, 6 years in the past

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

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

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

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

Christmas, Present Day

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

Christmas, Near Future

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

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

Eating to Death - SSBHM

Life for me is a serious of constants. It never changes for me.

I wake up early, I don't know the time, in my bed. I use the remote to raise the bed up a little bit and take off my C-PAP mask. I switch over to my nasal cannula, to help with my breathing. My heart thumps away inside my chest, much faster then it should. I am starving, my massive stomach growls.

I don't know how much I weigh, I don't really care anymore. Somewhere over 800lbs. I was 780 when I left the hospital after my last heart attack. It had been my third. The next will probably kill me. I don't walk anymore, my hearts too weak, and I don't have the energy. I can't even raise myself into a sitting position anymore. I've got high blood pressure, heart failure, aggressive diabetes, and fatty liver. My body is failing me. My organs are overloaded with fat, my legs and arms swollen with fat and lympodema, and my massive belly covers everything in an ocean like layer of adipose tissue. Buried inside a huge fatpad is my penis which I haven't seen or been able to touch for years. I'm dependent on oxygen, but even with it I'm constantly panting.

None of that really matters to me. If it did I would've gotten healthy a long time ago. I need food. Constantly, I'm an addict. The unhealthier the better. Burgers, pizza, cake, ice cream, fries, sugary soda ANYTHING. I'm craving all of it all the time. Thankfully my feeder left me a box of donuts and a 2liter bottle of coke. I polish off the donuts and half the bottle of soda.

My feeder comes in with my breakfast, mounds of eggs, bacon, sausage, and biscuits. I plow through them, gasping and wheezing from the effort. After breakfast I get cleaned, with my waste cleaned from me. Usually the catheter gets emptied first, then I get rolled onto a bed pain and poop, then roll back to be wiped clean.

My bowels, like the rest of me, are destroyed. My dysfunctional digestive system can't keep up with my diet, and the result is disgusting. Flatulence that adds to the already putrid B.O. of my body. Usually I have a normal shit like everyone else, but sometimes I'll get runs of diarrhea that will last for days, or I'll get constipated and have to be administered an enema. My constant high blood sugar and high fluid intake leads to me urinating frequently so they used to install a foley catheter up my penis. But as I gained weight finding my penis became so difficult they went under the fold of my belly and installed a suprapubic catheter, through the skin and fat of my abdomen and into my bladder.

I usually snack my day away. Around dinner I start anxiously listening to the kitchen. Then I hear a cart. That means I'm going to be stuffed. I feel my buried dick get hard. My feeder comes in and the cart is loaded with foods. All fattening incredibly unhealthy food. I feel the sharp prinprick as they poke me with a dose of insulin and then I see the burger rise towards me.

During these stuffing sessions it's too exhausting for me to lift my heavy arms from plate to mouth so my feeder does it for me. Bite after bite, I feel the delicious food pour down my throat. It's washed down with sugary soda, both to bloat me, and hydrate my throat for more carbs. The main course is soon finished and then the massive pile of desserts. After nearly 40 minutes I gasp "I'm stuffed."

"No" my feeder replies "There's still some food." They edge a cookie towards my mouth, the smell and sight makes my mouth water. "There's not much, you're almost done." My stomach feels like it will burst but I continue to eat. Then it's gone.  My dick is rock hard inside my fatpad and I can hardly bear the pain in my stomach. My breathing is short, hard pants. My naked body quivers in agony as my abused stomach and intestines struggle to digest away the nearly 4000 calories. My heart pounds in my chest and I wheeze with the effort of breathing. I look up at my feeder, "One... Of... These... [Gasp] days... [wheeze] you're going... to kill me with that."

"It would be a wonderful way to die though." They don't wait for an answer knowing that I'll be unable to talk for quite some time. I lie there, stomach aching, trying to prevent my ruined body from failing, collapsing under the massive amount of food I just consumed. Deep inside I love the feeling and hope I can do it again tomorrow.

The Roleplayer - Part 3

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

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

"For what?" I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Roleplayer - Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" She said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

The Roleplayer - Part One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Hospice - SSBHM

He was dying. The once pale white skin, pockmarked by stretch marks and occasional rashes was a sickly yellow color. His breathing was labored and he looked at the ceiling with dull eyes. Around him a huge mound of yellowed flab covered the large bed. His arms were huge and heavy, his legs shapeless, swollen to quadrulple their normal size by fluid and fat. So much so bandages covered his legs where the pressure had ripped skin. His belly covered his lower body, hiding a FUPA so big that it had swallowed his penis, making urination impossible without help. His moobs were big and flat, and there was a roll under them. His face was jaundiced, fat, and exhausted. It wasn't supposed to be like this.



He'd been rather thin but let himself go during highschool and his Freshman 15 was a freshman 50 in college. He went for 4 years and got a job in IT. And continued to let himself go. At 350lbs a websearch landed him in the world of fat fetishism. While not addicted to fat himself he'd discovered that he enjoyed his size. Soon he was piling on the pounds and posting pictures of himself online. That's how he'd met his feeder. A curvy brunette it had been her encouragement, with the help of those online, that had made him super obese. By the time he was 34 he was bed confined from his weight. He hadn't cared how fat he was, but his feeder did. He'd managed to walk till he was 780lbs.

Health problems had always been there, each one tackled squarely by him with new medications, and they'd doubled in 4 months after being bed confined. He'd ignored them. He wasn't delusional enough to pretend they weren't related to his weight, he was simply indifferent. A heavy drinker, he'd started experiencing stabbing abdominal pains and fatigue. The doctors had diagnosed him with Fatty Liver, and explained it was due to his heavy drinking and extreme obesity. Now with cirrhosis of the liver and heart failure he only had weeks to live. He was too obese for a transplant. He'd been transferred to Wilcox Farms, and placed in a quiet wing, overlooking a garden. They'd weighed him when he arrived. 902lbs. Oxygen was given for comfort, pain meds were plentiful, and the food wasn't unhealthy but it was good and their was plenty of it. After all it's not like a diet would help him any, not now.

His feeder sat next to him. She'd put on weight, making her curvy frame flabby. She was a BBW now in her own right. Her face was said. Finally she asked "How are you doing."

He huffed and then replied "I'm okay. Tired."

"They don't think you'll make it through the week." She said sadly. For himself he was surprised. He would've thought he was healthier then that. But he was relieved. The constant pain and hunger would go away, as would his horrible feelings of withdrawals from alcohol.

"Wow." He replied. "I didn't think I was so bad."

She wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry I did this too you."

He stroked her face. "Don't be. I loved every minute of it." A thought struck him. "Do you think... I know that I can't make love to you. Not anymore." He had to pant to catch his breath, it was so much harder then it used to be. "But do you think I could get a blowjob?" No way he could help her get his penis, so swallowed by fat that it was only two inches at most, inside her.

"Of course." She closed the door and climbed on the bed. Carefully to avoid hurting his swollen and painful legs she carefully moved them aside. She climbed between them and found his fat pad. His now tiny penis was erect but buried inside him. Rubbing the fat pad and digging at his buried cock she got to it and then started to move it in and out of her mouth. She was an expert on giving him head, and he was horny with pent up sexual frustration. It wasn't long before he exploded inside her mouth. She wiped her face on the bed and looked up. He smiled weakly at her. "Thanks [pant, wheeze] so much. I love you. I'm just [cough, wheeze, gasp] sorry I couldn't make it." He paused to breath.
"Make it to what?" She asked, concerned.

"Make it to 1000 [wet hack] pounds." And he drifted to sleep. He was 36 years old, on hospice, due to his massive unhealthy obesity.

Practically Immobile

CW: Scat, obesity related health issues

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These four walls

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hidden Away 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you have any problems working alone?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not a problem" Julie answered.

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

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

"Do you smoke?"

"Yes."

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

"Yes."

"Fine. Have you ever tried drugs?"

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

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

"No."

"Religious?"

"Yes, but not often."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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