It was my first day as a home-care nurse. I was excited to get out in the world and help people, but I didn’t know what was in store for me. My professors and Clinical Instructors always said that “your first patient will be one you never forget.” The thought of that was just as exciting as it was worrying.
This must be the place, I thought to myself as I stood outside of a single-floor home. The outside of the house was not well-kept. The yard was a mess, and the siding was covered in green moss. I double-checked the address on my patient files and then triple-checked just to be sure. After a deep breath, I approached the house and walked up the two, small cement steps.
On the door, was a sign saying: “All packages: Please go around to side window and drop it in window. Thanks.”
I didn’t think much of it – in fact, things like this were expected for clients like this one. According to the file, the patient was Mr. Mike Jacobs. He had “limited mobility” and required a “high level of assistance with all activities of daily living” and “activity monitoring.” I was not told much more than that – I was only told the information I needed to know. How he got hurt, or whatever rendered him with limited mobility, was not part of the information I needed.
I knocked on the door.
-Silence-
I knocked a second time.
-Silence-
I knocked a third time.
“Yeah… who’s there?” Called a thick, deep voice from inside. I slowly opened the door, after the baritone voice called from deep within the house.
“My name is Sam, and I’m a Home Health Nurse. I’m here to help Mr. Jacobs…”
“That’s…me!” The man coughed. “Come in! I’m in… the bedroom here!”
I slowly opened the front door. Immediately, I was met with a musky, damp smell. I covered my nose at first, but then stopped as I felt it was unprofessional. After regaining my composure, I slowly walked through the house and toward the bedroom. The carpet itself was torn and stained, small wheel treads were indented into the carpet, all leading from the couch to the kitchen.
The entire house looked like it was on the TV Show “Hoarders.” Old boxes and bags cluttered the rooms in large heaps. The furniture was snapped and broken. Everything was covered in dust – even the appliances in the kitchen. The heaps of trash managed to pile almost as tall as me, but at 5’6” (167cm) I was not terribly tall anyway. Inside the kitchen, was a broken-down mobility scooter. The wheels had all burst, and the seat was crushed and flattened like a pancake.
“I’m in here… come in, boy!” The man wheezed.
I slowly opened the door and my jaw dropped. In the middle of the room were two, full-sized beds resting side-by-side, connected by a plank of wood in the front that was nailed into the bed frames. The legs of the bed frames were reinforced and wooden blocks, as well as books, were shoved up under the sagging frame to help add extra support. The mattresses on the frames were both flattened until they were no thicker than a pillow, both overwhelmed by the mound of blob-like lard on the bed. Next to the blob was a rolling cart with one pizza box on top – a plethora of empty boxes was scattered along the floor.
“I’m Mr. Jacobs… you can call me… by that… or by ‘Sir’… either is fine.”
The man was immense. I was surprised he even managed to muster the energy to speak between mouthfuls. This man was not human – his size was not physically possible. In fact, I had to rub my eyes just to be sure, and I looked around for hidden cameras to see if I was on a prank show or if this were a test. This man was easily over 1000 pounds, or maybe even 1400 or more pounds. Either way, it was a sight to see – he must have been the fattest man around, or even alive.
Wobbling dangerously close to the end of the bed was the blob’s belly. Flabby, doughy piles of flesh spilled outward and sagged down from his front. The looming mass of blubber covered most of the mattresses beneath the tub of lard. At the front of Mr. Jacobs’ belly was a deep belly button, which must have been out of his reach for a long time. The cavernous belly button marked the division between two vast, distended folds of pure fat that sat atop each other. The bottom fold, which forced the mattress to sink downward, spilled all around the fat man’s frame, where it rounded his sides and became a series of substantial love-handles that oozed over his gelatinous, mammoth thighs.
I could not distinguish the different segments of the obese glutton’s legs. It was just a series of rolls and folds piled against each other. Every roll sagged down towards his fat feet, where the lard oozed around his long-lost ankles. The fat from his thighs blended in with his massive rear, which spilled out far behind him. Two gigantic globes of ass fat smothered multiple pillows that were placed at the head of the bed. Even while standing in front of the blob, I could make out his wide load of a rear.
My eyes were drawn back to his belly button. It looked deep and was starting to become hidden away by the looming roll of flesh that swelled over it. At the crest of the blob’s belly, were two massive moobs. These moobs splayed off to the sides of the man’s belly with two nipples that were easily the circumference of my hands. The bottom half of his fattened areolas had started to become hidden as his own expanding chest fat forced them to point downward.
Neck, shoulder, and upper arm fat all blended into what seemed like one massive, sagging mound of dough. The only distinction was the pillow-sized forearms that emerged from his flab-engulfed upper arm. Due to the daunting magnitude of the fat mounds that sagged off of his side, Mr. Jacobs’ arms were stuck almost parallel to the ground. However, it just seemed to make it easier for him to eat since he only needed to grab another slice of pizza and bend his elbow.
Everything about this man was fat. Similarly to how he did not have a discernable neck or ankle, this man’s wrist was also engulfed in lard by his own gluttony. The seemingly most mobile part of him was his fingers. The cheeks on both sides of his face were swollen to the point where they started to impinge on his field of view.
“I-I-I’m…um…” I stuttered as I continued to ogle the blob.
“Surprised?” The man interjected as he swallowed the last slice. “You’re surprised to see me… ain’t ya?” He grabbed the empty pizza box and shoved it off the rolling cart. It fell to the ground with the rest of the empty garbage that fell victim to his ravenous feeding.
“Um.. no… well… I meant to say, I’m Sam. I’m your new nurse.”
“Fuckin’ finally!” The man wheezed and panted. His massive moobs heaved up and down with each labored breath. “I have a ton... of shit for… you to do… I’m too big to… do things on my own…”
“Yes, sir! That’s why I’m here.”
Mr. Jacobs quickly got me to work. He rattled off a long list of things, but before I could do anything though, I had to take a baseline of his vitals. When I took out the blood pressure cuff, Mr. Jacobs laughed at me. He pointed to his arm and laughed some more. There was no way that the cuff could fit around his arm. I then approached him and asked for his wrist, so I could measure his pulse.
That did not work either.
The gluttonous blob relaxed, and the immense heaviness of his arm alone was too heavy for me to hold. I tried to dig my fingers into the fat that engulfed his wrist, but I could not find a pulse. As I dove my fingers deeper and deeper into his fat arm, I was met with only more lard. I then attempted to maneuver to his neck, but I couldn’t find it. I leaned against the side of his belly, and slid my fingers between his chins and tried to find a pulse in his neck, but like his wrist – there was way too much blubber.
“So… what are…my vitals, boy?”
“I-I- um…”
The fat man laughed, “Couldn’t do it… could ya? Don’t worry… it ain't the first time... The other nurses… failed too… You’re lucky ya cute… I gave… other nurses a harder time… How bout you… get to doing… what I ask ya?”
Mr. Jacobs had me running around the entire house doing work for hours. I first needed to remove all the garbage from his room. I picked up dozens and dozens of empty pizza boxes, heaps of fast food bags, and even threw away old, torn clothing that fit him a few hundred pounds ago. Afterward, I did the same through the rest of the house.
Once finished, he then asked me to add some extra support to his bedframes. I grabbed bricks from outside of the house and piled them beneath the buckling frame. I even grabbed extra wooden planks and hammered them into the sides of the bed frame, which was starting to crack and snap. Once a few more boards of plywood were added to the sides, as well as underneath, the frame seemed a lot sturdier.
Mr. Jacobs scoffed at my work without even saying a thank you. He then asked for me to rub his belly for him – he was far too full and tired. Besides, the lack of mobility combined with his impinged range of motion stopped the obese man from even being able to reach his belly button. The man had eaten until he was beached under all his lard and stuck on his own bed in a reclined position.
“Sir, I’m not sure if that’s part of my job-“
“-I don’t… give a fuck… I’ll pay extra… just rub me, boy!”
I pulled over a chair, one of the few that were not broken, and set it down near his side. I leaned over his fat thigh and started to caress his weighty love-handle. Despite being in a haze from his belly-bursting fullness, Mr. Jacobs reached lazily under his moob and took out his phone. He quickly started typing away, with his mouth hung open as he moaned from my rubbing him. I rubbed in clockwise circles – this was the best way to help with digesting food.
The immobile, beached whale of a blob continued to type and type on his phone. He then reached back under his doughy moob and pulled out his wallet. His fat fingers lazily fumbled for his credit card, which he eventually managed to pull out. He rested his credit card on top of his chest as if it were a desk.
“What are you doing, Sir?”
“What... do you think? I’m buying… more food… It’s almost dinner time… you want… anything from… Chan’s, boy?”
“Sir, I don’t think you should be eating. I’m here to get you active again. You should be ordering something light, with low calories-“
“I’mma stop you there,” The looming mountain range of lard lazily reached his fat hand down and grabbed the collar of my shirt. He pulled me in close, nearly forcing me onto my feet and pulling me in against his love handles. My face was centimeters from his fat nipple.
“You are here… to feed me… to do as I say… to rub me… You ain’t changing… anything about me… Those other nurses… tried and failed… I’m meant to be like this… I’m a real fuckin’ man… Back in the day… weight was a sign… of power and wealth… Hate to break it to ya, boy… but you’ll never stop me… from eating…”
With each lethargic wheeze and every baritone murmur, the sea of lard that I was being pulled up to rippled and wobbled. The bed groaned and popped loudly. I could hear some of the wooden planks start to splinter as I was now leaning against the already weakening bed frame. I just looked up at the swollen fat face that glared down at me. Mr. Jacobs let go of my shirt, and I peeled away from his gelatinous flesh.
After the incident, I decided to just keep rubbing his belly. Mr. Jacobs huffed and puffed angrily as he completed his order. He commented that I would only be able to eat the left-over scraps if I behaved. I did not want him to contact my supervisor – this was my first real client and something was interesting about him – this huge, mountainous tub of lard.
Under my fingers and palms was a sea of soft lard. The blubber only seemed to wobble and slosh as my hands gently caressed its canvas. My eyes gazed across the landscape of fleshy tones in front of me. The size. The vastness. The weight of it all. It started to feel…hot. I could feel my mouth water as I continued to gawk at the obese glutton – the man who ate himself into immobility. The man who beached himself on his bed after years of stuffing himself until his belly was about to burst.
-DING-DONG-
The ringing doorbell knocked me from my euphoria. I looked up at Mr. Jacobs and he took his fat hand and shoved me away. He wheezed and demanded I answer the door, and I did as he asked. At the door were three delivery boys, each carrying about 5 bags of Chinese food in each hand. I had them put the bags on the ground, and I brought them in for Mr. Jacobs.
He had me empty the bags and place the cartons and boxes of food on the rolling cart next to him. There was more than enough food to feed over 20 adults. I pulled out dozens of boxes of white rice, several trays of lo mein, a large container packed with sauce packets, and over a dozen containers of sauce drenched General Tsao’s Chicken. This was only from the first few bags. As fast as I was pulling them out, Mr. Jacobs was ripping into them. He tossed the silverware and chopsticks aside. All he did was bring the containers up to his face and dump the contents into his fat mouth. I watched in awe as the gluttonous beast ate and ate. It was as if he had never eaten before in his life.
“Jack me off… while I eat…” The obese glutton commanded.
“What? I really don’t think I can-“
“-You’re job boy… is to…mmmfff… help me… with my… needs, right?”
“…yes, sir…”
“Don’t keep… me waiting!”
He immediately returned to stuffing himself. I walked over to the front of his vast belly. Bits of rice and chicken fell down from his mouth and rolled down the large sloping gut. I started to slide my hand under the front of his stomach, reaching deeper and deeper inside. The warmth of his soft, ravenous belly smothered my hand under its vast weight. Next, my wrist slid underneath. Then my forearm. Then my elbow. Finally, my upper arm slipped under his gut, and still, I did not feel any signs of a fat pad nor dick.
Mr. Jacobs leaned forward. The weight of his belly felt increasingly heavy and pinned my arm against the bed. Mounds of looming belly fat rolled forward, spilling against the side of my head as I was stuck in place. He looked down at me from atop his mountain range of blubber and scoffed.
With a mouth filled with fattening, greasy slop, he commented, “Ya never… jacked off… a man like me have ya?”
I shook my head.
“Well… ya can’t… reach it… like that… gotta go in… from the side… less fat in… the way…”
He leaned back and panted heavily. I felt his heavy gut ease off of my arm. I slid it out and walked back over to his side. I leaned over his fat, immobile leg. My tight torso sinking into his blubbery thigh. I reached my hand deep underneath his love handle. This time, I was able to trace my fingers along the mounds of fat of his thigh right up to where it met his fat pad.
My boney fingers felt the hairs on his fupa. I walked my fingers down, feeling a crevasse form in the supple, warm sack of lard. I slid my hand inside the cleft. My entire arm was submerged under the landscape of pure blubber. Mr. Jacobs moaned softly and continued to stuff his face.
The hole was not tight by any means, but it was warm and soft. My fingers alone caused tiny ripples throughout the fat pad. Once I was wrist-deep in his fupa, my hands felt something hard and wet. I wrapped my fingers around it and started to gently play with it. I looked up at the obese glutton and he laughed. That was not his dick. I pulled my arm out, and inside my hand was a small vibrator. It was covered in partially dried cum and covered in hairs. Mr. Jacobs chuckled and mentioned that right before he got too fat to touch himself, he stuffed a vibrator in his fat pad. That way he could wirelessly turn it on to use it, but it had run out of batteries. He finished by saying he completely forgot it was there, a few hundred pounds later. I left the device aside and reached back in.
My head was pressing into his love handle as I was shoulder deep under his fat. The heavy lard sloshed and rippled against me. I could feel his fat churning and his fupa trembling as his cock and balls prepared for my fingers. As my fingers snaked into the warm, hairy cave, whose walls were drenched in some viscous cream, I felt the tip of a fat-engulfed cock. Mr. Jacobs trembled and moaned loudly with a mouthful of food. His tip nearly surged with life as I touched and played with it.
I clutched onto whatever I could. The mounds of fat consumed my hand as I adjusted inside the cavernous fat pad. Mr. Jacobs continued to eat and grunt loudly. I could hear the slurping and squelching of the moist fupa as I started to jack off the obese glutton.
-SCHLURP-SCHLURP-SCHLURP-SCHLURP-
The moans came out louder and louder as I continued to play with the fat man’s dick. Mr. Jacobs even stopped stuffing his face to tilt his head back and moan with pleasure. The bed began to groan, and the legs started to snap as the immobile ocean of fat started to use all of his energy to hump my closed fist.
I held my hand still, with my fingers tightly holding his dick, and let him rock his hips back and forth as much as he physically could. Beads of sweat started to trickle down his love handles and land on the back of my head. His tiny, fat-engulfed dick slid in and out of my fingers as I continued to clench tightly. With one last, powerful thrust, I felt his entire body surge and the tip of his meat twitch. A final smack from the side of his immense landscape of fat hit the back of my head.
-SNAP-SNAP-TTTHHHUUUDDDD-
The bedframe snapped to pieces. We collapsed to the ground. The back of my head was struck by a tsunami of lard and blubber. Mr. Jacobs just moaned loudly as his balls emptied into his fupa, lubricating my fingers. I slowly pulled out my fingers and they were covered in seed. I walked into the bathroom to clean off my hand, then returned with a towel to begin cleaning him off.
Mr. Jacobs started to eat again, stuffing his face with more and more Chinese food. He dumped containers of rice and tilted platters of chicken towards his open mouth. I barely even noticed him chewing – as if he just swallowed it all whole. The obese man, immobilized by an ocean of flab, spent the rest of the night either eating food or commanding me to cook for him. Before it was time for me to leave, I did one last clean up around his house and dragged the broken-down mobility chair into his room.
“Would you like me to try and get you a new chair, Sir?”
He lazily looked up from stuffing himself, “Hmm… no… don’t bother… Too puny… I’m too heavy…”
“I can try to find a larger one…”
“No… better off… putting wheels on… a bed, boy…”
I shrugged my shoulders and turned around. Before I could take a step, I heard an ominous creak from the floorboards and Mr. Jacob grunting loudly. Soon after, I felt a fat hand cup my rear-end and squeeze firmly. The obese glutton moaned softly and licked his lips. He leaned over as much as he could as if trying to whisper in my ear. My crotch lept in my pants.
“Don’t go… too far… boy… Daddy’s gonna… need ya… again…” He huffed between breaths.
I smiled. He was quickly starting to grow on me – something about his confidence. Over the next few days, I continued to assist him in all his daily activities. He would just eat away all day and watch me work, and I would periodically try to get him moving. I managed to set up a pulley system above his bed which he could grab and hoist himself up if he laid down, and it doubled as a way to lift his belly. I would hook a tarp up to the pulley and slide it under his gut. The device would lift up his belly, and I would be able to clean underneath it, among other things.
At the end of my first week with him, Mr. Jacobs asked me to move in permanently. He would pay for my living expenses and continue to pay me for my services. I didn’t even need to think – I already knew I wanted to. Thus, began a truly great first-client experience.
