FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Urgh..." Nathan groaned in the dim morning light as he reached ineffectually for his phone, pinned in place as he was by his irrepressible weight. It took him almost ten minutes to summon the energy to roll over, listening to the bleating of the smartphone the entire time. Eventually he managed to slap clumsily at the glass surface, breathing heavily as he did so. In the bathroom, he quaffed water from the sink and pissed like a horse in the tub despite having got up three times during the night to do the same once again, each time his throat as dry as a sand trap. He at least remembered to wash down another dozen pills with more water before he got into the tub, and he was already noticing the difference as his flu-like symptoms were mostly gone at this point. The fact that the drugs seemed to be working, however, added an extra 'real' factor to the concept that he was apparently not very healthy. Nathan tried to focus on just getting himself extra clean this morning and especially preventing his rash from getting any worse. Almost on cue, however, three soggy cotton balls wound up in the drain trap as he was washing out his inner thighs with the power sprayer. It was so difficult reaching down, however, Nathan decided to just leave them for now.

After drying himself the best that he was able, Nathan was faced with a new challenge: putting on clothes for the first time since his transformation. He was weirdly apprehensive, having gotten used to the feel of his pale, pale skin in the open air and running his hands over his form, or as much of it as he could reach at least.

He pulled open an unused panel in his bathroom to reveal a walk-in closet, however, unlike most of the doorways in the house, this one was of standard size which made it hassle-some to squeeze his bulk through, not to mention that there was nowhere to sit inside the closet itself. Nathan found himself planning his movements carefully to conserve energy and reduce time spent on his feet while he was still toweling himself off while sitting on his seat in the jacuzzi tub.

He got up with another groan and then positioned himself sidelong to the closet opening after having stared at it for as long as he could bear. He measured the insufficient space with a new eye to the depth of his body and took a deep breath, holding it in as he shimmied in sideways. The wood rubbed roughly against the soft skin of his front as well as across the titanic buttocks behind him. "Woof!" Nathan breathed as again he went stiff seeing his pudding-like flesh bunch up against the frame of the closet door. Thankfully his member made little difference in his ability to squeeze himself through, though he found quickly that he actually needed to press in the fat on his front midway through as the skin pulled painfully there. After pushing in his excess fat a few more times he popped his way through into the closet, mostly filling the small space and he took a deep breath, regretting as he bent forward because a back muscle twinged uncomfortably as he straightened up afterwards.

To Nathan's immense relief, most everything in the closet seemed to be of an appropriate size and it did not take him long to pick out a shirt and a pair of elastic bottoms resembling sweatpants. This did not take long at all because there were only about a dozen outfits in total to choose from. Nathan did not even bother trying to get dressed in the closet, however, as the pain mounted in his knees and calves. He shoved his thick body through the closet opening again, rubbing the skin on his front roughly so that it turned a bright hue of red in the mirror before waddling back to bed and sitting on it heavily. Tired again already, he reluctantly pulled the shirt on over his head, the fabric pulling tight across his mammoth chest with the pancake boobs sticking out prominently. The sleeves were also too tight with white flesh welling out of them near the elbows like rising cake batter. He then stared at the bottoms, almost not knowing what to do with them, even as the minutes passed and he eventually managed to catch his breath. He became uncomfortably aware of how fast his heart was beating... basically all the time.

He did manage to get them on... eventually, but it took far more work than Nathan was expecting. For starters, with his arms hanging from the elbows, he had trouble even reaching to about waist level on his lower body let alone the legs. At first, Nathan kicked his way into the slack cloth just with his feet on the bed, but had no real way to pull them up past the knee; he had already decided to forgo undergarments to spare his sanity and take the consequences as they came. He actually tried scooting his ass forward to try to bring the elastic fabric bottoms up, but he was so heavy, this movement quickly left him gasping for breath and did little but crumple up the fabric around his lower thighs, still out of reach! Nathan had to stop for ten whole minutes just to catch his breath and by the time he was able to move again, somehow it was already 9:30! Stomach rumbling from a missed breakfast, Nathan finally thought to use the hook from the bathroom and he waddled his lard-filled ass in there with the sweatpants still hanging around his ankles. Using the hook, it was not too hard to pull up the sweats, but the fabric hugged his upper thighs firmly and was tight across the seat of his ass. Granted, this tightness he felt all over might have been partially in his head after having spent so long in the freedom of his own skin. To his surprise, however, the irritation of Nathan's inner thigh rash decreased once he pulled up some fabric padding to separate the inflamed skin.

Shuffling and then rolling his way into the living room, Nathan collapsed into the sofa and reclined his head against the abundant thick rolls behind his skull, feeling bone tired. Never would he have thought that getting ready in the morning with just a few basic chores could take so long or be so exhausting. He closed his eyes momentarily, listening to the wheezing, whistling noise coming from the back of his throat, but had to open them again seemingly instantly as the doorbell rang.

"Umph!" Nathan grunted as he leaned forward, piling weight onto his thick legs which he still had not had a clear glimpse of until he was unsteadily on his feet again. He took a few shuffling steps to the door and opened it gingerly, undoing the three locks. Opening the front door, he was initially fascinated by the view outside which he had never bothered to look at previously and only belated saw the man standing on the threshold. "G-good morning." He said nervously.

"Good morning, Nathan." Said the man, doctor presumably, and he waited patiently as the obese man remembered to take a step back to allow him enough space to pass through the expanded doorway. "You can take a seat." Said the doctor, gesturing Nathan to his own sofa as the big man shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Missing the slight entirely, Nathan waddled over, grateful just to sit down again. He then proceeded to have the shit scared out of him several times in quick succession.

The doctor introduced himself as Garfield, but when Nathan asked if he enjoyed the comic, he just raised an eyebrow at him in confusion; Nathan still had not quite realized the depth of his cultural isolation in this new world. The doctor began with a perfunctory routine of tests Nathan was familiar with including blood pressure, temperature and listening with the stethoscope. He spent an unusually long time listening to Nathan's chest in the large man's opinion, however, and Garfield said fairly little during all of this. Then the doc had Nathan stand up and do a number of stretches most of which Nathan did abysmally poor at, in particular lifting one leg and also bending forward to 'touch his toes.' Nathan had bent forward only slightly before he could literally feel the air being pushed out of his lungs. Nathan sagged back into the couch with relief once his utter lack of physical ability had been sufficiently tested.

"Hmm..." murmured Garfield, still reserved and Nathan had a feeling that most of what he was jotting down on his tablet was bad news. "...and how have your blood sugars been lately?"

Nathan swallowed and realized after a few moments that he had no idea how to respond. He did not even know enough to lie about it. "I don't know..." was the only thing he could say and before the doctor could press him, he added, "I haven't checked them in a while."

Garfield made another note. "Well, lets check that next..." He reached into his back and pulled out something not too dissimilar from an old school tamagotchi with a blunt wand on one end. He applied the wand to Nathan's left index finger and the obese man was shocked by a sudden sharp pain as the meter clicked loudly like a mechanical pencil. The meter displayed a number, "364" as a tiny spot of red welled on Nathan's stinging finger.

"Is that bad?" Nathan murmured as he struggled to resist the compulsion to suck on the end of his finger.

Garfield glanced at him reproachfully, but when he spoke his tone was perfunctory. "Still about three times as high as we want them, Nathan." Nathan registered the 'still' in his mind as they went along.

Shortly thereafter, the doctor produced another instrument from his back, this time something that looked like a pen with a long and very thin plastic frond on one end. "Hold out your hands." Said the doctor who proceeded to lightly touch the ends of Nathan's fingers with the thin frond. "Tell me if you feel anything."

To Nathan's amazement and horror, he could not feel the light frond even as he saw it clearly touching the skin of his fingertips. Only when the frond was poked into his skin hard enough to bend significantly did he register any pressure. When repeated on his toes, there was even less sensation, though at least Nathan had already noticed this right away; he still avoided looking at where his left toes were missing. "Still losing nerve sensitivity..." muttered Garfield and this time Nathan did not experience an unexpected erection.

Garfield wound up taking a seat on his stool and having Nathan lift his engorged leg up onto his lap. It was difficult for him to lift his leg even that high and required a lot of shifting around of his bulbous hanging belly. "Uph..." Grunted the obese man as he finally managed it, sitting at an angle as he felt abnormal pressure on his hip. When he looked up, however, he was able to see more of his foot and lower leg than he had yet been able to. He watched as Garfield examined his foot carefully, tugging at the toes which barely registered the sensation, and prodding at his bloated calf which was covered with bumpy, cellulitic skin. The texture was highly unusual, however, almost as if his lower leg were covered with hundreds of small warts where it bulged like an overripe fruit. Garfield pulled at the loose skin. "Have you been wearing your compression socks?" He asked, his tone only increasing in coldness and formality.

Nathan could only hem and haw, but he had had no idea his leg had looked like that and was again forced to realize how little feeling his foot registered. The appointment only seemed to go downhill from there. Nathan discovered that both his blood pressure and resting heart rate were critically high and Garfield mentioned "exercise tolerance" multiple times. However, when the doctor asked Nathan to 'avoid stressful situations' it truly drove home the point that he was on a threshold with a sharp precipice waiting for him below. If Nathan's ignorance registered with the doctor at all, he didn't show it, but he did have Nathan waddle into the restroom to stand on the scale as if he did not trust him to report his weight accurately.

"Well, that's not the direction we want to go..." he muttered and made another note as the scale read "901.8."

"He guess not..." Nathan replied weakly, on the verge of an existential crises.

Garfield tapped his tablet with the stylus he carried, "You realize that we won't be able to do the weight reduction surgery until you're at least under 600 pounds, correct?"

Nathan just looked at the doctor blankly, unable to respond. Eventually they walked back into the kitchen. The obese man had to place a hand on the counter to catch himself as Garfield came to a sudden halt, however, "You realize I'm going to have to increase your insulin prescription?" He said in an accusing tone which was the most emotion he had displayed yet. "It will put more strain on your kidneys, but your sugars will kill you faster..." More writing on the tablet and this was followed by, "I do hope you understand that you're taking your life into your hands with your life choices, Nathan." He shook his head slowly, "You've got to get the weight off or you'll be looking at multiple system failures in a few more years." He reached out to touch Nathan on his dome belly briefly, the first sign of sympathy he'd given so far. "It's not too late to turn things around, but you have a long road ahead of you." He wasn't too much longer before the visit was over. Garfield wound up taking several vials of blood with a phlebotomy kit before walking out the door. "I'll send you a set of instructions by email and I'll need to see you again next month." The doctor let himself out of Nathan's house and the obese man just sat there, unable even to lock up after him for the longest time.

*****

Checking his blood sugar constantly sucked as Nathan quickly found and it was almost as bad as administering insulin to himself, though as Nathan discovered, his diabetes was already so bad that he had to use an actual insulin pump attached to his body rather than a syringe. The pump, as it turned out, had been inside a shelf in his refrigerator the entire time, along with cartridges of insulin. Dialing a number into the pump unit after he ate something was easier in some ways than injecting himself, Nathan figured abstractly, however the needle which was imbedded into the flesh on the underside of his belly was a constant pain, both to put in each morning as well as occasional odd movements which jostled it unexpectedly. And of course, there was still the painful finger pricking which Nathan never got used to even though his fingers were disturbingly numb to light pressure.

By the time he had spent three weeks in his new body, however, Nathan had learned a surprising amount given the short period of time. It helped not having a job in that regard. Nathan never would have imagined that he would know as much about sugar, carbohydrates and metabolism as he had learned in such a short time. As well, it turned out that Garfield responded to email and was able to give Nathan advice on how to improve his personal hygiene given his physical limitations and how to deal with the constant threat of rashes and skin infections which seemed to hound him from different angles day by day as well as the more troubling effects of fluid retention in his lower extremities and the accompanying tissue degradation.

In the days immediately after Garfield's visit, Nathan was very anxious about the proximity of potential death. He was so anxious that he found it hard to eat anything and his weight promptly fell back under 900 pounds, which was something of an initial relief but soon began to grate on his mind. The fact that he had been there, had been a colossal 900 pound fat ass seemed to dwell in the back of his mind, particularly when he did begin to feel hungry again and even more so as his fattened self continued to arouse him. Nathan tried to recall Garfield's words, his serious, knowledgable expression when his thoughts turned back to the numbers on the scale, but this became more and more difficult over time.

It initially shocked Nathan when he lost 15 pounds that first anxious week as Nathan replaced the time he would have spent eating with research and additional time working with his unworkable body. The doctor informed him by email that this was normal and that the initial loss was just water weight and a lot of excess sugar and fat being released by his liver. This calmed Nathan down somewhat as he was filled with conflicting emotions even though the difference in the tone of his body was almost negligible despite the loss.

Well, there was one difference, he was feeling much better the week following, in fact, he felt so good he almost thought he could manage a short walk outside, though honestly he did not really want to risk being seen by anyone. Between the medication and the insulin schedule, his flu-like symptoms went away completely and his energy levels practically doubled. Even his rash cleared up gradually, though Nathan still had a hard time keeping his innermost confines dry. And as Garfield had predicted, the scale remained almost fixed at 884.9 pounds. One or two days that second week, Nathan had given a go at dieting, but he knew his heart wasn't in it.

"600 pounds..." Nathan muttered to himself late one evening on the third week. He was coming off one of his long research binges and slowly stuffing cookies into his mouth one by one. He was adapting quickly to this world which seemed more polished and convenient than the one he had left. Not only was his rent and food costs completely covered by his checks from the government, but Nathan had found the service his other self had been using to have food delivered right to his apartment. With that, there was basically no reason ever to leave the house which suited him just fine for the present.

Nathan knew that Garfield was going to scold him for his lack of progress on the weight front. In fact, just in the past week, he had regained four of the fifteen pounds he had dropped so suddenly during his initial freakout. Yet it was hard now to find the will to care inside his psyche, despite all of his multiple health concerns. Nathan loved to the core of his being how outrageously huge he was and that made the thought of losing 300 pounds ludicrous and not just for the obvious practical reasons.

Nathan had not sold his life away just to come here and struggle with a diet for the rest of his life! And yet, Garfield hadn't been lying. His stats were redlining on multiple fronts, heart, breathing, liver, kidneys... his pancreas already was almost completely shot. Nathan knew rationally that his life was at risk here, and in fact, just getting this unhealthy had already shaved a couple decades off of this body's potential life span. And yet, and yet... His libido was thriving, the heart palpitations and back pain he felt when he stood up for too long made him hard as a rock under his titanic gut. Even the sugar alerts when his insulin pump buzzed him after eating too many carbs in one sitting were beginning to elicit a response from him. Nathan ran his thick hands through his long hair again and again, these thoughts and feelings were driving him mad! He knew that he was never going to be able to do what Garfield wanted, even if he did somehow manage it, all it would do would make him miserable at what he had lost, and for what? The damage was already done, all he would be buying himself is one or two more decades going in and out of hospitals. Garfield had admitted that much already. With the prospect of having his one life's dream utterly demolished, it seemed like too high a price to pay... and yet, at the same time, of course Nathan did not want to die!

"Damn that fox! The fucker!" This was exactly like those genie scenarios in popular culture. "Careful what you wish for..." laughed Nathan to himself before tugging at his hair again.

Ever since the doctor's visit, Nathan had thought strongly about trying to contact his vulpine wish granter again. Only for the sake of the pleasure he received being so utterly bloated had he postponed the idea and tried to make things work out. However, faced with the choice between fulfilling his desires and dying within the next eight or ten years or making himself completely miserable for the rest of his life and still dying young, Nathan felt like the best option was to get out of this situation entirely.

He got onto his phone and pulled up the Skype equivalent, "Phyto." He tried searching for a user named "MagicSexFox5656."

To his dismay, the results came back, "No User Recorded." Nathan swallowed heavily.

*****

Over the next three months, Nathan tried in vain to scour the internet for the elusive, possibly nonexistent fox-man. He did find several users with the same profile name on various social media platforms and online forums. He spammed their inboxes ruthlessly, but invariably either they played dumb or didn't respond at all.

Nathan kept at it in his spare time, but gradually devoted less and less time to the project. The specter of death hung over him less and less intensely as the months passed and he found that he could keep himself feeling reasonably good by sticking to his medications and insulin religiously. Of course he did not follow through with Garfield's weight loss plan. After all, why should he when, inevitably, he would find that fox-person and bargain to get his old life back. The scale ticked up pound by pound, passing 900 pounds again and rolling over for the final stretch to four digits. Nathan wasn't trying to gain weight per say, but sometimes when he was feeling especially horny, he would go on a bender, emptying out the fridge and stuffing himself until he was too stunned to move. Lately, chocolate protein shakes spiced with butter and whiskey had been his drug of choice, 5,000 Calories a pop. Nathan at least tried not to do that to himself too often, however. His insulin pump certainly did not care for it, and he tended to get headaches afterwards anyways from the sky-high sugar rush that followed.

It was hard fully covering his larger than average food costs with Uncle Sam's penny, though, especially when extras like the weight-gain shakes and alcohol had to come from his own account. Watching his funds steadily decrease with no means of cash infusion troubled Nathan and he was beginning to feel a bit isolated and lonely too at this point; one can only play with their boobs and belly for so long after all. Nathan decided to attempt to remedy both problems by re-entering the fat-admiring community. He was honestly surprised at the level of response he received.

Apparently, even in this age of social welfare, there were remarkably few people over 900 pounds and fewer still who were not coy about photographing themselves. Nathan found it ludicrously easy to sell even basic and primitive pictures of himself taken with his phone's timer function. Soon after that, he gained more of an online presence than his prior shut-in version had ever seemed to have. People were enthusiastic and appreciative of his size, which assuaged Nathan's ego immensely, and he chatted with men, a lot of men, but also a surprisingly large amount of women! It was not long at all before he was being propositioned, but Nathan tried to take things slowly, knowing that his physical location likely could not be changed should anything go wrong with his online image.

But given the hunger of fat admiring women (and to an even larger extent men), less than two months had passed before a half dozen of his closest followers were sending him offers of meeting locations, paid dates at expensive, and pre-vetted restaurants that could accommodate his size... and paid hotel rooms, if only he could come. Nathan only had so much fortitude in him to resist these carefully laid plans and the scooter was fully charged and ready to go. Even the prevarication that nothing in his wardrobe fit any longer, he was rocking 950 pounds easily by this point, was quickly tackled and disposed of as overnight packaging arrived at his stoop, his measurements being public knowledge and updated weekly.

He told the first one, "Okay, I'll come..." the first of many, as it turned out.

The first time Nathan left his home since being transferred to this alternate world was six months to the day since he first arrived. However, it was not nearly as eventful as he had been expecting for someone so unusual in appearance as he was. He waddled out of his front door, dressed in well fitting clothing, the trousers held up with suspenders hidden under his shirt and with an expansive 'belly pocket' sewn into the front. He dragged the scooter behind him and sat down on it heavily. Nathan was not feeling too bad with his medications being adjusted each month, however, the extra 50 pounds and more was telling on his knees and the diminishing amount of time he could tolerate being on his feet.

Nathan was so fat that his ass sagged heavily over both sides of the actually generously sized seat and it was difficult for him to get both of his feet onto the scooter's body due to the thickness of his thighs. He felt like the literal incarnation of those obese twins riding the miniature motorcycles, then realized that he was probably a lot fatter than either of those guys had been. His gut pressed heavily into the steering column of the scooter even though it had been bent outwards to try to minimize that as well as filling most of the space between his ankles, almost resting on the floor of the scooter itself.

"Here goes nothing..." said Nathan as he turned the key to bring the electric motor to life. It came on silently and jolted forward with a decent kick as he inexpertly tugged on the acceleration lever with a fat finger. Soon he was rolling down the pavement of the apartment complex, marveling at the sights he hadn't seen before and following the directions his phone gave to him. The scooter's motor whirred loudly as he built up to a walking pace, but that was good enough for his purposes, he didn't actually have to go too far.

Nathan rolled to the nearest bus stop, which as it turned out was less than a block away, but he didn't have to get on the bus. A car came and fetched him, a van actually and with the middle row rolled down to accommodate him and his scooter. The van took him to a surprisingly swanky restaurant and Nathan had the best date he'd had in quite some time, perhaps ever if he was being honest with himself.

Her name was Dorothy (she had no idea what the Wizard of Oz was), and she was pretty, middle aged and recently divorced, or so she told Nathan. They made good conversation as Nathan was catching up fast on the alternate movies, the alternate television and the alternate history of this place. She was friendly and highly likable and intensely interested in his body. "I've never had a boy as big as you before..." she teased as she encouraged Nathan to indulge in both the wine and the chocolate drizzled bacon. Dorothy was a little heavy herself, but at less than 200 pounds, she was still a waif sitting next to Nathan who took up an entire three-person booth and was still too fat to sit at the table properly. Dorothy had had the regular table replaced with a smaller bar table half the size which she placed in front of herself and fed Nathan most of his food with her fork. He didn't delve too much into her personal life as she had made it clear earlier, and did so with her mannerisms during the date, that this would be a one night stand.

She took Nathan upstairs into the hotel which filled the upper floors of the same building, tolerating and, in fact, relishing at his numerous mobility handicaps and need for the scooter. "How far can you walk on your own?" She asked him huskily.

He looked down the long hallway. "Maybe that far... maybe." He said with perfect honesty as she suddenly began to grope at his huge breast which was probably three times the size of her own modest rack. They were kissing and fondling each other even as Nathan wobbled in through the threshold of the room. They did the normal stuff first, Dorothy surprised at the intense body odor Nathan had under his enormous paunch even though he'd cleaned religiously just before he left. But even that didn't seem to bother her after the first hand job. Due to Nathan's sheer size, she had difficulty riding him and, of course, he could do almost none of the work himself. His belly was so big and heavy and his reach so short he couldn't even properly hold his tummy back for her. But Dorothy had an intense stamina for a "49" year old woman. It was not ultimately his first orgasm since Nathan had gotten this big, but the full release had indeed been few and far between.

After the second time as Nathan lay on the bed panting, feeling his heart pulse rapidly in his throat, and thinking that he should have taken a double dose of aspirin before he left, Dorothy said, "Did you know that you have a second belly under here?"

"What?" He asked, as he struggled and ultimately failed to lift his head.

"Yeah, this thing." She said and reached under, pulling at some mound of fat he could feel right above his dick. The sensation was both illuminating and stimulating because nobody's hands had touched there before, not even Doctor Garfield's.

"I think that's..." He struggled to remember the term from the forums, "...my FUPA."

"You're what?" Asked Dorothy, still fondling the huge mass of fat that straddled his member.

"Fatty Upper Pubic Area, FUPA." He recited. He took a few deep breaths, she was getting him going again.

"Yeah, well..." she pushed up with her arm and elbow and stuck her head under Nathan's wave of belly fat with effort. "Your dick's basically inside a cunt." She said teasing Nathan not for the first time. However, her words were new to him.

"No it isn't!" He protested.

She slapped his meaty breast, she was getting more physical the longer the night drew on. "Is too! Hell I practically had to dive in there to pry the little guy out!"

"Show me," He insisted.

"That's going to need like two... maybe three mirrors, Nathan." She mused, resolving back into stroking the ample bulk that was everywhere for her to grab.

"Well get them..." Nathan continued and would not relent until Dorothy had gotten up and was on her way to the luxurious bathroom. It was no too long, however, before Nathan was forced to admit, "Well fuck me."

"Yeah, it's pretty much all the way in there now, lard ass."

Nathan looked at himself for the first time for at least a minute longer through the complex arrangement of hand mirrors. The FUPA looked like nothing so much as a round mound of fat, though unlike his old one, this thing flowed forward heavily, longer even than Nathan's flaccid length, indeed, resembling something like a miniature pannus. At its terminus, however, rather than the head of his penis, there was a vertical slit. The slit sat on top of his ball sack which was currently being crushed by the inner thighs. By the time he was done looking, however, Nathan was able to say, "Not all the way, Dorothy!" Needless to say, she took advantage of the situation.

They did some crushing, some light role play and ordered more food before going to bed. Dorothy was even interested in Nathan's insulin pump which he had to nearly drain due to the volume of calorific food he'd eaten. She wanted to listen to his too-rapid and slightly irregular heart beat also. She didn't get too into his health conditions though, for which he was grateful, but Nathan was also somewhat relieved that he wasn't the only one who was turned on by his seemingly self-destructive lifestyle.

Dorothy was the first, and that wasn't the last time Nathan saw her either as it turned out, but she was hardly the last. By the time he had agreed to the first date, there were already five other women on his short list, three of whom were willing to fly to his location to meet him. He was being treated as little more than a hunk of meat, he knew, but he honestly didn't mind. After all... that was basically how he treated his body himself. However, the initial rush of dates didn't last even though his view count and online popularity continued to grow. There was increasing male attention as well with strangers offering surprisingly large sums of money for non-sexual encounters like feeding and crushing. He was listed as heterosexual on all of his profiles, yet he was heavily tempted by his decreasing bank account, if nothing else. Eventually, he relented to the highest bidder and a guy he'd been chatting with comfortably for over two months beforehand, but gave him a long list of rules.

Nathan... had a surprisingly good time.

*****

December rolled around in a golden haze. Between his online and new real life acquaintances (as well as one or two who he considered actual friends!), Nathan's self-confidence and mood were higher than he could recall since childhood. By that time, he was fully wrapped into the feedee lifestyle and was quickly becoming a familiar, if notorious, face on the internet. Nathan's sheer size alone pushed everything forward as he was pretty much the fattest person online who made regular material of himself, not to mention actively gaining weight by this point. And it was hard to deny that even though ostensibly, he 'simply made no effort to lose weight.' All of the weight-gain shakes Nathan chugged through hoses and all of the added butter and lard to his diet begged to differ, even if he still did so only occasionally and now exclusively when he was paid to do so. The live streams and videos and chatrooms and patrons made him more money than he could have ever imagined. In fact, after just half a year, he was bringing in enough cash to rival his old full time job!

Given how active he was, it was not hard to see how Nathan was entering into the last month of the year fully loaded into half-ton territory. He knew that much because he could no longer weight himself on the scale which just read "Errr" when he stepped on it now. Garfield was irate and unconsolable, though at least he did not refuse his monthly visits which Nathan still needed, even if he had now come to dread them. He couldn't totally blame him. It was not as though gaining over 100 pounds in a year had done anything to benefit Nathan's health.

All of Nathan's prescriptions had been either increased or compounded. The costs of prescriptions, in fact, was eating a big chunk out of his new income as he transitioned to more expensive medications. He was now chugging more than 30 pills a day. A daily leg strengthening routine helped build muscles in Nathan's legs and forestall the worst of the mobility decreases and lack of 'exercise tolerance' as Garfield would have put it. However, his leg lymphedema, as he'd learned that was what the swelling was called, got progressively worse despite using the compression socks. His calves both swelled with the skin thickening like a troll's and he had to spend a couple weeks back in September in the hospital dealing with a persistent infection in the swollen lymphs there; during the worst of it, they were literally scooping infected tissue out of a gaping hole in his leg. Issues with heart palpitations and skipping heart beats became more frequent as the year progressed, though Nathan did not frequently have chest pain.

One bright spot in Nathan's health regime was that by selectively sourcing his calories from sugar and carbs to fat and protein and following Garfield's advice within Nathan's own sensibilities, he had largely gained control over his once rampant diabetes. He was no longer using his insulin pump, or insulin at all for that matter, just an admittedly aggressive prescription of oral medications as well as his diet.

With his new funds, Nathan did invest in a CPAP machine which helped him breath at night. By forcing air into his fat clotted airways to keep them from collapsing at night, Nathan went from needing 10-12 hours of rest per day or longer to a more regular 8-9 hour schedule and felt better for it. Though the air hose made disentangling himself for his still frequent nocturnal pisses more complicated.

Though socially, Nathan had never been more fulfilled in his life, monthly reality checks made his mounting health complications an inescapable part of his daily life, not to mention the large time commitment the maintenance on his body dictated. Part of him had resigned himself to living out the remainder of his current life, never seeing Magic-Fox/Douglas again, and dying young. However, that nagging rational part of his brain that wanted to live for another 50 years kept him from completely forgoing his effort to track down the mysterious user who had sent him spinning in this satisfying but ultimately doomed arc. He paid someone five dollars to make him a crude bot which automatically sent messages each week to the various social media and other accounts he had identified and he spent time each week looking for new ones.

It came as a complete shock when, on December 20, his program informed him that he had received a response. It read, "Please for fuck's sake, stop blasting my inbox!"