hedonisticfeedee
Uncle Junior
Published: May 30th 2020, 5:13:58 am
Disclaimer: This story is based on true events. Almost all of this story happened. The biggest changes include real names being changed and the timeline/dates are altered by about 4 years. I tried to stay away from dialogue because then it might not have been as accurate as it happened, but I do remember topics and specific phrases I’ve included from my memory. While a lot of this story isn’t sexual, it felt wrong because I was still a minor when I first met and had to assist Uncle Junior. I’m also sorry for any of my psychological trauma that may come out. This is my real account of meeting an immobile man.
Uncle Junior
I’ve wanted to be fat ever since I could remember. Fat is the most basic word for it. It’s the word I used to be polite when talking about my own body as I went through periods of weight gain and loss in my teen years. I still use the word fat to describe my own body now with my friends and family. What I don’t say, but should if I’m being accurate is morbidly obese for myself. I can’t wait to put the word ‘super’ in front of morbidly obese.
I spent a lot of my younger years dreaming of super morbid obesity before it ever had a sexual appeal. I’d sneak coca colas and pudding cups in my little bear backpack because my parents wouldn’t let me indulge. Something deep down in me when I was very young had the urge to consume nothing but sugar.
Early on, I noticed cartoons with weight gain episodes. I checked out the Guinness Book of World records from the library countless times. When my parents left the home, the larger clothes and blankets came out for a padding session. My notebooks filled with bullet points, collecting statistics on morbidly obese people in documentaries. Yet, nothing in my early childhood prepared me for seeing someone so obese in real life.
When I was around ten years old, my parents finally got divorced after years of fighting. Most of the time I stayed with my mother. Every other weekend was reserved to see my father. In all honesty, I didn’t care for my father and he didn’t care for me. We still don’t get along and only see each other once a year. After the divorce, my dad dated several women, sometimes more than one at once. That’s not meant to allude to my father being polyamorous. The women never knew about each other and he used them for sex.
Regardless, my father finally decided to settle down with a woman named Angie many, many years later. I hated Angie with a passion. She very much fit the mold of a “Karen” many years before her time. She insisted that I not be present at their wedding before she even met me. When she finally met me weeks after their wedding, she mistreated me. She had also had a son and expected my father to put her son’s needs over mine. For example, her son and I shared a birth month. My father once mixed up our birthday cards. I opened up my card to find $100. Angie’s son opened his card that only had $20. Angie took the $100 away from me and explained to me that the money was actually for her son. My dad quietly agreed.
Needless to say, Angie was an evil stepmother. The stress of her being around plus the desire to gain caused me to pack on about 50 pounds. Angie noticed and didn’t like it. She tried everything to restrict my diet when I went to visit my dad. I wasn’t allowed to eat anything that belonged to her or her son. They locked up the cabinet when I came to visit. Angie even went grocery shopping with us every other Saturday that I would visit. I wasn’t allowed to pick out any snacks for myself and she convinced my dad that my lunch on those days was free samples. I have no idea why she was such a hateful bitch all the time.
The final straw broke for Angie on New Year’s Eve. At this point, I was sick of her bullshit. I learned to bring my own snacks hidden in my backpack, but I craved ice cream. I decided to bring ice cream and put it in the freezer. As we stayed up in the living room throughout the night she noticed that I kept eating bowl after bowl of ice cream. In a few hours, I finished the whole container. Eventually, she said something to me. She told me I was a fat pig and that being this fat was unhealthy as she puffed on her cigarette, surrounded by her pile of empty beer bottles. Angie also told me that I was going to kill myself eating as I did. It felt weird hearing her day that considering her goal was to starve me whenever I visited.
When I went to visit my father two weeks later, Angie told me we were going to go visit her beloved uncle. Her son spent the weekend with his biological father that weekend, making the situation awkward. I only knew two things about Angie’s uncle at this point based on prior conversations. First, they sometimes referred to him as Uncle Junior. Second, Uncle Junior was the reason Angie and my father met. Uncle Junior hosted virtual poker games every weekend. My dad got involved online somehow through a local friend.
I had no interest in leaving the couch that weekend. I only wanted to play Call of Duty. I’m not so much into those types of games now, but I was back then. Most weekends I spent on that couch because I hated going to my father’s house. I tried to spend as much time on the couch as possible during the day until I fell asleep at night. The couch was also my bed because I wasn’t allowed to sleep in either of the two spare bedrooms. I was pissed that Angie’s Uncle Junior was the reason I had to give up my weekend of sitting around.
Approximately 30 minutes later, we arrived at Uncle Junior’s house. My father and stepmother led me to the door and knocked once before entering through the front door. Then, I saw him. Nobody warned me about Uncle Junior’s weight problem. When I walked in I didn’t expect to see someone so massive: multiple chins, bingo wings, a fat apron closing in on his knees, and the width of an entire armchair. He wore a green shirt with a few holes and black sweatpants with his belly tucked in it. He also happened to look older than I imagined with brown hair fading to gray quickly, wrinkles forming on his face, and thin-framed glasses.
Uncle Junior greeted me with kindness. He asked me my name as we all sat down around him. Stereotypes suggest obese men are jolly. Uncle Junior tried to be jolly, to show a stranger that he wasn’t miserable being mostly confined to a chair. I don’t remember most of what he asked me, but he tried to show interest in getting to know me. At one point, he tried to show me a magic trick by making a ball disappear from a paper bag. I was too old for a shitty, fake magic trick like the one he tried to pull, but I recognized his effort.
Eventually, he asked me what I wanted to major in when I start college. I told him I wanted to be an English teacher, but I learned more towards social sciences like sociology. I never met this supposed daughter, nor did he bring her up again in the short time I knew him. He built rapport not because his niece married my dad. He built a rapport with me for two reasons. First, I could serve as a caregiver in case of an emergency. He knew our paths might cross again before I did. They all knew they’d end up using me at some point to help him. Second, Uncle Junior could be used as a cautionary tale, but at that moment I thought nothing of meeting Uncle Junior.
While in his presence I also listened to him talk about his gun fetish, Derek Jeter, poker, and a show about fishing. I just nodded and used phrases like “right” and “mhm.” I didn’t care about anything he wanted to talk about, but it didn’t matter with the eye candy he provided me. Instead, my father kept the conversation going with more substantial dialogue. After about an hour of pointless conversation, Uncle Junior’s stomach growled. Nora invited us to stay for lunch. My father and Angie agreed that we could stay for lunch. However, Nora told us that she hadn’t gone to the grocery that morning so there weren’t any sodas. Angie quickly volunteered to go get us drinks to go with our lunch. Angie and my father left to go get the drinks. Uncle Junior lived in the middle of nowhere so they would be gone for about 45 minutes.
Once they left, Nora asked me if I could help her with Uncle Junior. Taking care of him was a lot of work and she would greatly appreciate the help. I wouldn’t have to do much, just provide her with the tools she needed and then help cook lunch. At first, I wasn’t sure what she meant by helping Uncle Junior. I asked if she could clarify what she wanted me to do. In response, Nora told me that Uncle Junior hadn’t been cleaned up yet as the morning got away from her. Having the family over so early prevented her from getting all of her tasks done and this monumental task would take some time to do it alone.
The subtext of the question confirmed my thoughts. Uncle Junior ate himself so big that he couldn’t reach anywhere or stand long enough to get into the tub safely. I agreed and told her I could do whatever she needed me to do. Uncle Junior turned red, embarrassed for someone he never met before to be helping him. He didn’t fight her on the request. Uncle Junior probably knew how big of a burden his body put on Nora.
Nora put on gloves and created a soapy solution in a pink container. She had me put on gloves too. She carefully took a washcloth to his rolls, swabbing them like a precious car. I tried to keep quiet. Many questions filled my brain, but I wanted to be polite. Asking a bunch of personal questions would raise suspicion and potentially cause embarrassment or anger. Honestly, I didn’t do much to help Nora, but she made me feel like I was doing an important duty. Over the years the task of bathing him became easier for her. She learned all the best practices and became a veteran of sponge baths. I took mental notes of everything that had to be done. I figured it would be helpful to know what goes into the entire process to teach my future feeder. I mostly handed Nora wipes, washcloths, and bed pads. Sometimes she asked for help holding up a fold while she wiped him clean.
After trying to dry every crevice, Nora used a powder to keep Uncle Junior’s folds from getting moist. When Nora finished, she removed the gloves and started to make dinner. She decided spaghetti and garlic bread would make enough food for us all. Soon after the water started boiling my father and Angie returned.
We sat at the kitchen table, eating our pasta together while Uncle Junior sat in his recliner off to the side. I concentrated on him more than I did the meal. The plate of pasta wobbled around as he used his belly as a table. I remember thinking how strange a mountain of pasta found its way onto a plate instead of a bowl. I suppose it gave him more room for the cheesy garlic bread stacked like legos on the side. He moaned and groaned while eating. He tried to tone it down to be polite with company, but the true nature of his food addiction couldn’t be masked.
The fork wasn’t cradled between his fingers like a pencil, twisting the noodles. Instead, he held the fork like a shovel, similarly to an infant learning to eat. The method was deemed messy with small amounts of spaghetti dragging sauce across his flabby chins with bite after bite. It was like watching a toddler eat. I understood now why he tucked the napkin into his shirt. I couldn’t look away through the entire meal, especially when Nora loaded his plate with a second helping. The act formed out of habit as she stopped caring how big he got over the years.
After lunch, Angie took my father and Nora to the back bedroom. Angie told my father that he needed to see old photos of her that Nora preserved in photo albums. I tried to follow, but Angie stopped me. Someone should stay with Uncle Junior because it wouldn’t be fair to have him sit alone. I didn’t know at the time, but this was Angie’s plan. She brought me to Uncle Junior and convinced him that my weight problem was getting out of control.
When we were alone, Uncle Junior told me that morbid obesity is a living hell. Obese people live to eat, not eat to live. He told me that health and mobility rapidly decline. Uncle Junior tried to convince me that if I didn’t start eating healthier and less that I might end up like him. Everyone wanted me to use him as a cautionary tale and if my weight was left unchecked, I might turn out like him. I remember my heart racing with anxiety as I felt weak and embarrassed at the intervention. I just politely nodded at his warnings. A few minutes after his speech, everyone returned to the living room. We left Uncle Junior’s house shortly after.
On the ride home, Uncle Junior’s Weight penetrated my mind. I never said this to anyone in my family, but this moment made me want to be like him. Something was arousing about being food addicted. Seeing someone immobile in real life only confirmed my fantasies that were originally inspired by books and television. I wanted to be helpless and have a caregiver. I’d be so lucky to be his size one day.
We didn’t visit Uncle Junior anymore after that. I continued to visit my father twice a month until I became a freshman in college. The first month into my college year Angie called me and asked if I could do a favor for the family. After the way she treated me since becoming my stepmother, I was inclined to deny her request. The desire to help her just wasn’t there. I didn’t want to cause issues, so I at least decided to hear her out. Angie told me that she and Nora were out of town for the weekend.
Nora made her money off guest lectures to discuss her childhood and culture. She wrote several books over the years about her experiences and even once made an appearance on a TLC documentary. My father’s job called him in for overtime, leaving no one to care for Uncle Junior. She said it would just be cooking dinner and maybe helping him use the bathroom. She told me the spare key was under the welcome mat. Angie also told me Uncle Junior’s son, Matthew, would be able to check in on him around eleven after work, but Nora was worried about him being alone for the evening.
I wanted to tell Angie to go fuck herself. Instead, I just wanted to see Uncle Junior again. At that point, it had been a year since I met him. He was the largest person I had ever met. Who knew if I’d ever meet anyone this large again. I rationalized Angie wouldn’t be there. The decision became obvious. I stood outside or Uncle Junior’s door an hour later. I let myself in on the side of the house with the garage. Their mat wasn’t on the front of the house, but rather on the side because before Uncle Junior spent his days in a recliner, he used the garage. Nora and Angie took the van, leaving an empty spot beside a homemade wheelchair ramp. One of Uncle Junior’s wheelchairs sat in the corner gathering dust. I opened the door leading to the living room. No one was to be found in the living room. Not even Uncle Junior. The recliner where Uncle Junior sat also disappeared leaving a large, ominous space.
“Uncle Junior?” I called out trying to get a response. I thought I heard a response down the hall, but the voice was weak and raspy. I walked toward the direction of the noise. As I got closer to the bedroom in the back of the house, I heard the faint sound of the television. I made it to Uncle Junior’s room and opened the door. I found Uncle Junior in a bed wearing nothing but an ugly green quilt looking bigger than ever. His gut stretched across the width of the mattress. The room he lived in contained two beds. I’m sure the twin bed that took up less space on the other side of Uncle Junior’s bed belonged to Nora. Junior’s hefty body engulfed the entire queen-sized bed at the very front of the room. The couple slept in separate beds. A bariatric wheelchair sat in the corner gathering dust emphasizing unspoken understanding that he was confined to the bed now, immobile under his weight.
Uncle Junior greeted me like an old friend. He asked me about following my dreams, and if I made any friends in college, and about my grades. I don’t know if he was really that invested or if he was grateful that I came home from college to look after him for the evening, or at least until Matthew would be able to come home. Approximately 30 minutes later we decided together that I should cook dinner. I thought hot dogs might be easier to eat than the spaghetti dinner we had roughly one year prior. Uncle Junior agreed to the hotdogs and told me Nora usually kept cans of chili for meals like hotdogs in the cabinet. He was right because I found the chili with ease.
On one burner I cooked the chili. I decided cooking would be easier and faster if I emptied a few packages in a giant pot of water instead of grilling or baking them. Thus, on another burner, I brought a pot of water to a boil. I assume Uncle Junior had a preference, but I didn’t want to attempt something back then with zero skill points in cooking.
Soon I felt that the meal would be presentable enough for the enormous man. I loaded up a plate for him and brought it to his bedroom. “Mmph,” he grunted repeatedly, eating his hot dogs with much gusto. He ate one so fast I was shocked he didn’t just swallow it whole. He deep throated a few more like this, sloppily dropping the chili onto his plate. Occasionally, chili missed his mouth, splattering on the top of his chest. I’m not sure he even knew what was happening. I learned he tended to zone out for meals.
The man went full force like a hungry beast. The plate emptied fast. In response, I found myself back in the kitchen throwing together meat on buns and smothering the buns with chili. I ate my own two hotdogs as quickly as possible while preparing the second plate for him. Uncle Junior polished the rest of the hotdogs. Small remains of chili clung to Uncle Junior’s pudgy fingers. Across the room, I noticed the baby wipes and brought the container over to him. I assumed it was either this or for him to lick his hands clean. He took the wipe and then asked me if I could help him. He specifically told me that his son didn’t bathe him before leaving for work and asked if I could help him clean up enough to make sure his skin didn’t get infected. I felt like I couldn’t decline. The idea made me nervous, but I reminded myself that Nora showed me how to help him a year prior. I also rationalized cleaning him the same way I rationalized helping last time: I could develop a skill set for helping an obese partner in the future.
Uncle Junior didn’t even try to get out of bed to make the process easier. The absence of trying highlighted to me that he gained more weight and lost his strength. The grunts and attempt to roll to his side confirmed the suspicion. I tried my best to quickly wash him and dry him because I didn’t know how long he could last trying to keep himself on his side. He grew breathless with each passing minute as I used the soapy solution all over his body. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew an expression of pain carved into it by the time I finished his other side minutes later. His blubber shook through the entire process.
I did what I had to do without being awkward about it. Being able to touch a body that big filled me with excitement. I dared not let him know or let my hands linger too long as they ran the washcloth between his warm thighs and belly with one hand and struggled to hold up a small amount of his bulk with another. The rolls of fat between his thighs and lower belly radiated a soft, comforting heat. I completed every task Nora showed me with precision.
Something felt so right but so wrong about the whole situation. He was the size of a man I always dreamed of becoming after googling and masturbating to fat men or watching obesity documentaries on tv. I just always pictured all the blubber on myself, not having the opportunity to help. He was in an unfortunate position that could and would eventually take his life. I wasn’t thinking of the health repercussions back then. I was just jealous of his size. Yet, I felt blessed to be able to physically touch a massive amount of lard.
When we were both satisfied with the half-assed sponge bath, Uncle Junior suggested we should watch a movie. When I asked what movies he owned he told me where to find Cheaper by the Dozen in his collection. I’m not sure why he suggested that movie. Maybe he thought I wasn’t sophisticated enough to watch something else, or maybe he just liked the movie. I didn’t watch it when it came out in 2003. The movie was already dated at this point, but I just wanted him to experience a good, fun evening. While we watched the movie, I focused more on him. His breathing made rattling sounds over the volume of the television. If he had a medical emergency, would I be able to help him? I rationalized I could call 9-1-1, but that would be the extent of my help if I found myself in that position that evening.
I pushed the morbid thoughts to the back of my mind until he asked for candy. He said something to the extent of “There’s a box of candy bars in the cabinet above the fridge. Matt put them there. He sometimes brings some to me, but we don’t let his mother know.”
“Oh,” I said awkwardly with a long pause. I continued to try to watch the movie, ignoring his implication.
“If you bring me the box, I’ll give you a couple.” I felt tested. Would my fuel to the fire cause issues if Nora found out? The whole situation seemed bizarre considering the last time Uncle Junior saw me he warned me about getting so obese. I wanted candy. The campus continence store sold candy for a jacked-up $2 and I was strapped for cash back then. I wanted to feel like a greedy pig boy and eat several of them. Granted, I was much skinnier the second time around because I tried to lose weight to convince college men I was attractive enough to date.
Every once in awhile I’d slip up because I wanted to be a gainer guzzling soda and double fisting chocolate. The desire was just enough to give in to Uncle Junior’s sly demands. I went to the kitchen and brought back the chocolate bars. The variety pack had Snickers, Milky Way, and Three Musketeer bars. The 30 pack variety came from Sam’s club. I counted 7 wrappers from him and 3 of my own. I either felt sick from the candy or anxious from the candy consuming secret we shared. My stomach cramped for the rest of the movie. We finished it and cleaned up for him. I washed the dishes and snuck the evidence from his candy bar binge into my backpack. I tried not to make the assumption that he was diabetic, yet I always wondered how his blood sugar and blood pressure numbers stacked up against a normal range.
The rest of our evening, we spent playing cards. I was only good at Go Fish and Bidding War. I’m sure I disappointed him being a young adult who couldn’t play poker. We played until his son returned home to check on his father. Matt came back with pizza. I was offered to stay, but my stomach still felt queasy. I declined and went home feeling good, but uneasy.
I sometimes still reflect on my time with him. Everything during the two times I met him ended up innocent. Uncle Junior just really needed help and I was put in the position to be the one to assist him for one evening. He felt abandoned and trapped in his body while everyone continued to live their lives. Nothing odd transpired between us, but I still think about how lucky I was to be able to meet someone so large. I still want to be that big and the experience was important for my identity development as a gainer. I feel like I understand how much of a burden obesity can be, but Uncle Junior didn’t turn me away from such extreme weight goals.
However, the second time meeting Uncle Junior was the last time I ever got to see him. My father divorced Angie a few months after I helped Uncle Junior. I graduated from college three and a half years later and moved on to graduate school. Around the time I finished my Master’s program, my father told me about Uncle Junior’s passing. While my father learned to loathe Angie and see her for the bitch she was, he continued to remain on good terms with Uncle Junior. I didn’t get too many details from my father, but I did learn a few things. It is my understanding that Uncle Junior started to lose weight. I never had his weight officially confirmed when I knew him, but I heard that he was close to 800 pounds. He managed to get down to about 550 pounds on a crash diet. He was able to get out of his bed and regain some mobility for a short time. I confirmed this by finding photos attached to his obituary. I found photos from a professional photography company, him sitting in a new living room chair, and eating at a restaurant. He’s in his bariatric wheelchair in every single photo.
However, my father also told me that he was bed-bound again in a few years. He reverted to his old ways by overeating. Science tells us that fat cells do not disappear. Instead, they only shrink and are always ready to be filled again. Uncle Junior propelled himself again into effortless obesity. I don’t know if this is confirmed by a medical professional, or if his highest weight is only speculated, but Uncle Junior ate himself to death at 900 pounds. My father has also recognized my massive weight gain now that I am gaining again. I went from 150 pounds to 322 pounds. I think my father hopes and prays that Uncle Junior’s story can be a cautionary tale. Instead, Uncle Junior’s story is a tale of inspiration for me as my father watches in horror as I gain more weight every year.