Bad Habits | Chapter 17 | Dead Weight (Patreon)

[Content warning: This story includes SSBHM weight gain, queer sex, messy eating, drug use, romanticizing abusive relationships, immobility, and extreme obesity-related health issues. Reader Discretion advised.]

Author’s Note: I appreciate all of the support you’ve given me in this endeavor. The last chapter was a happy ending, and I hope you enjoyed it and that this one doesn’t ruin it for you. This is the dark, terrible, and sad ending to the series. I’m so sorry. Please remember the last conclusion can be how it ended for you. This story was so fun to write. I enjoyed all 17 chapters, but we all knew how this was going to end. This chapter isn’t sexy, but it serves a huge purpose. I’m really sad about how I finished it, but I think that makes this chapter raw, emotional, and powerful. It makes you wonder what is next for Dylan. I wanted to capture scenes never included in deathfeederism fiction. Again, I am so fucking sorry. RIP Oliver. 

Bad Habits

Chapter 17: Dead Weight

Dylan holds in his mixed feelings. He feels terrible about Oliver’s fate. Dylan encouraged Oliver, despite Oliver going off the deep end a few years ago. Did Dylan create an obese hell for Oliver, or did he just foster what would eventually happen on its own? They both needed Oliver enormous, soft, and helpless. It became an essential part of their identities and sexuality. Dylan will never get his Ollie-pop back, which makes Dylan go through cycles of sadness, but they both acknowledged the consequences way before they took it too far. As upsetting as losing his partner is to Dylan, something dark deep inside him seems right about the situation. There is something erotic about the blank check for his carnal fantasies that left behind the fattest, pale corpse. There is no coming back from the moral bankruptcy of feeding your spouse to immobility and then death. 

Nonetheless, Dylan keeps himself composed. Dylan shakes the hand of Anthony Wells, a local mortician. “Thanks for meeting with me again, Mr. Wells. I’ve been thinking about the best option for my deceased husband. As you know, he passed away from a heart attack, and I’m just not sure how to have closure regarding the circumstances.” 

Oliver was still weak from his earlier episode that day. His face turned white, his vision blurred, but he wanted to go out doing what he loved. Dylan understood what was happening. Dylan wanted to call the ambulance again as Oliver cried, but Oliver was afraid of the EMTs. He begged Dylan to put the phone down. At that moment, the two young men faced the absolute reality of Oliver’s situation. They both started crying as they exchanged “I love you.” His final words were, “feed me, Dylan.” Oliver consumed cake, fed to him by Dylan until he drew his last breath; He ate himself to the grave as everyone warned him he would. 

“I’m certainly here to help you make the best decision for your loved one. I want to make sure that we are doing what you think is right and to give Oliver the most dignified send-off that we possibly can at this time. I know the circumstances are challenging regarding his state,” Mr. Wells informs Dylan with empathy. 

“Thank you. I want to do what I think is best and the least painful for all involved in this process. I’m not looking to have an actual ceremony. Oliver didn’t have any remaining friends except my brother, and the only relatives I met passed away. I have some questions. I guess I’m just concerned about the consequences.”

“I have some experience with 600+ pound individuals, but not someone as large as Oliver. However, I’m happy to give you my professional opinion. Do you have specific questions?” Mr. Wells asks without confidence in his ability to make calls about disposing of the remains of the world’s fattest man. 

“Can someone so morbidly obese be cremated?” Dylan asks with a dark curiosity. 

“Theoretically...yes?” Mr. Wells hesitates. “You’d have to do some research to find a facility that can handle a body his size. I’m going to be honest with you. Any average facility won’t be able to handle a body his size.”

“Oh?” Dylan wants to know more.

“Any average facility likely has a limit of 400 to 500 pounds. People of size usually cause grease fires. I don’t want to be morbid or anything, but it’s the reality.”

Dylan swallows, his mouth feels dry. “That’s no good. Do you know of somewhere that does cremations of larger people off the top of your head?”

“Well, I probably wouldn’t recommend it, but we’d probably have to transport him on a flatbed truck after hours to the Zoo. I know it sounds terrible, but Zoos have very large wildlife and use a crematorium when animals die. It’s good enough for an elephant. It’s an option.”

“I mean, it is an option, but I’m not sure that’s the right decision for him. I almost wonder if donating his body to science would make any sense. I watched a documentary about a biopsy of an obese woman. Would that help medical science?” Dylan investigates logistics through the mortician. 

“I don’t have the authority to make that call, but I know a few doctors we could ask if you’re serious. My concern is that he’s ineligible for normal studies. Sorry, not normal. Let’s say typical studies. There might be a study on obese mortality and comorbidities. May I ask again how much we think he weighs?”

“He’s in the neighborhood of 1400 pounds. I figure we will know an actual weight soon,” Dylan informs Mr. Wells. 

“Right. My thought is that the average person of size is closer to 300 to 400 pounds. Oliver is over three times that weight, meaning he’s a fraction of an average morbidly obese patient. He’s the equivalent of two men one might recognize on a show like America’s Fattest F*cks. Does that really do much for the medical community? It doesn’t hurt to ask, though. I can inquire for you,” Mr. Wells offers. 

“That sounds to me like the only semi-logical option is a burial,” Dylan suggests.

“I think all of the options are challenging, but I agree with burial. Let’s think this through. I think we will struggle with the embalming process. I’d probably suggest a closed casket funeral or just move straight to burial. Do you think anyone would want an actual funeral home visitation?”

“I think we will just need to bury him. I’m his only family. I want this to be as easy and dignified as possible.”

“That’s probably for the best. We will try to embalm him, but how can I put this politely?” Mr. Wells attempts to find the words.

Dylan gets the hint. “I understand. I’m sure it takes a lot of formaldehyde and effort trying to find his spaghetti noodle vein lost in cottage cheese fat.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not ideal, but it’s whatever you want. We can figure out the details once the custom coffin comes in later this week. I’ll also figure out the logistics of moving him to the cemetery.”

Dylan knew he’d be the one to make all the expensive arrangements, whatever they may be for a man of Oliver’s enormous weight. Perhaps that’s why Dylan received such a large share of the will from Dale and Linda; Oliver’s parents knew Dylan would be around to bear the expense of burying their glutton of a son.

“Thank you for your condolences. It’s just what happens when you’re married to a food addict,” Dylan says softly, hiding all guilt in his role.

“I want you to know that you’re not alone. Unfortunately, I keep seeing younger and bigger. Oliver probably is the biggest and youngest, but it seems every month I meet with a relative of an obese loved one who passed on. It’s quite common seeing quarter ton young adults dying of heart attacks. I had a guy last week who was approximately 600 pounds at age 29.”

“It is unfortunate. I know it’s hard to see someone so young dying because of their food addiction. It’s probably better that Oliver’s parents are already dead. They would have outlived him if it weren't for a car accident. I’m sure they’d be devastated burying their 1,000lb child in a custom coffin. It’s for the best that it’s me baring this tragedy.”

“Absolutely. Anyway, I’ll let you know when the coffin arrives, but if anything comes up, feel free to give me a call,” Mr.Wells hands Dylan his business card. 

A few days later, Oliver’s body makes it to the cemetery in a custom casket through Goliath Casket, Incorporated that resembled more of a piano crate. The task of moving Oliver to his grave feels different than the removal of any body for everyone involved. From the ambulance crew to the individuals involved in lowering him to the ground, the whole process seems surreal. The job doesn’t feel like moving a human at all, but instead a piano or an enormous safe. None of them should feel that way. The task is burying a person, not cargo. Oliver was a person with thoughts, feelings, and aspirations. Yet, everyone involved can’t help but wonder why the man inside the casket couldn’t lose weight. If only Oliver laid off the chili cheese fries and went for a jog before it got too bad, he might’ve lived a little longer. Even in death, Oliver takes the blame, and Dylan gets away with murder for a fetish.

Dylan thinks about this, waiting around for the burial to begin. Rain falls from dark clouds stationed above the cemetery. Dylan stands near the plot in his peacoat, channeling his grief into his grip on the umbrella’s handle. Josh walks up to the plots in the cemetery to find his brother already there. Josh doesn’t speak for a moment, holding back rage for Dylan. Then, Josh turns around, surveying the cemetery. “Who is that?” Josh asks, trying to keep his collected composure, locking eyes with a man who looks to weigh close to 800 pounds.

“That’s my friend from college. His name is Dan. He’s here to pay his respect for Oliver,” replies Dylan. Dan is taking shelter inside a wide nearby gazebo designed with access for people with physical disabilities. 

“Are you serious? I can’t believe you’ve already moved on to another obese man after your husband died,” Josh growls, making eye contact with Dan in a bariatric power chair across the cemetery.

“He is just here to comfort me. I didn’t ask him to come. He heard the news and wanted to help.”

“You’re a piece of shit. Did you make him that big like you did Oliver? Does he know what you did to my best friend?” Josh mutters under his breath. 

“Listen, I know you’re angry with me. Can we talk about this later? I’m burying my husband, and you’re burying your best friend. Can we at least be civil with one another until after we say goodbye?”

Josh swallows as a crane begins to lower Oliver into the ground. Josh contorts his face before trying to hide it in his hands. His breathing gets heavier, his thin chest moving up and down rapidly. Despite the anger and disbelief from Josh, Dylan feels slightly guilty watching his half-ton husband’s massive coffin lowering into the two plots of land. Dylan breathes out heavily, successfully fighting back the tears. 

Josh can’t handle the funeral anymore. Josh falls to the ground and weeps into the wet grass and mud patches. He makes unintelligible sounds through his crying from the heartbreaking experience of watching his childhood best friend slowly put into the ground. Josh stays in place for ten minutes, rocking back and forth.

Dylan starts to walk toward Dan and the gazebo but stops when he hears his name.

“Dylan,” Josh sniffles as he pulls himself up from the ground. Dylan turns around to face his brother, mud on Josh’s black pants. 

“You’re just going to walk away?”

“They are finishing his burial. I brought flowers, but we have to let the crew finish the job.”

“Just like how you finished the job?” Josh tries to shout, but his voice cracks.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dylan growls.

“If Oliver received love from somewhere positive, like with me, he would still be alive! Instead, he died at the hands of his abusive husband!”

“You had every chance in the world to be with him. You abandoned him and harassed him instead of helping him. At no point did you tell him how you felt, even when I was out of the picture. You can’t blame me for your regrets or lack of closure,” Dylan attempts to keep his composure.

“I’m not blaming you for my lack of closure with him. I’m blaming you for fucking murdering him!” Josh shouts again.

“I didn’t murder him. He wanted to be fat. He craved it. I enabled him to be his best self. He died happy. Look, I miss him too, but...” Dylan gets cut off.

“He wasn’t happy with you. No one who is so big they become the world’s fattest man is happy. He would have been happy with me, living a healthy life!”

“Then, why didn’t he choose you? He loved me. Why didn’t he choose this so-called happy and healthy life? He chose me! He didn’t give a shit about you after you hurt him emotionally regarding his weight. He would never have loved someone like you. You weren’t good enough. You would never have satisfied his needs of being stuffed while getting fucked. Are we seriously having the same conversation again?” Dylan asks.

“Admit it! You used him for sexual pleasure, and now his blood is on your hands,” tears drain from Josh’s face. 

“You want to make me out to be the villain? Fine! I’ll be the villain! I fed him to death, and he loved every minute of it! I would feed him to death again! He wanted it, and I loved him for it,” Dylan spits in his brother’s direction.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Josh charges at Dylan like he used to run on the track. Dylan’s body is healthy working for a gym, but he doesn’t have the agility Josh developed over the years. Dylan tries to brace himself for impact, but the force of Josh sends them both to the ground. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” Josh screeches again, this time landing a blow to Dylan’s face. “He never could’ve loved someone as reviled as you,” Josh taunts, punching Dylan again. 

Dylan shouts in pain, before grabbing his brother by the neck with both hands and rolls them over, so he’s on top of Josh. Dylan removes his right hand from Josh’s throat and punches him in the face. “You’re not better than me. He loved me,” Dylan yells. The grip gets tighter with his left hand as his fist makes a harder impact on Josh’s face over and over again. Blood smears on his face as Dylan repeatedly punches him and starts to choke him out. 

Dylan notices he’s about actually about to murder his brother. He forces himself to get off his younger brother. Dyan stands up, wiping the blood off his face with his right hand. “Maybe one day you’ll understand, baby brother,” he says, catching his breath. Josh whimpers on the ground in the fetal position, gasping for his life. Dylan sighs and continues his walk toward Dan.

*~*~*~*~*~*

A month passes after Oliver’s funeral. Dylan keeps everything the same as Oliver left it: a bariatric bed in the living room, a mattress without sheets, and untouched oxygen tanks. Dylan feels lonely without the wheezing and body heat of his Ollie-pop. The empty house doesn’t feel like a home without Oliver. Then, an idea sparks in Dylan’s mind. He pulls out his phone and calls Dan.

“Hello?” comes the voice from the other line.

“Hi, Dan. It’s Dylan.”

“Hey, Dylan. How’re you feeling today?”

”Honestly, it’s a little tough today. I miss Oliver terribly. Some nights I lay on his disgusting mattress where he was confined for years. It still smells like him. Sometimes I wish I made him get the help that night, but we were both greedy and selfish. He'd still be here if I weren't so fucked up.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that, Dylan. It’s hard, but I need you to know it’s not your fault. He wanted to be morbidly obese just as much as you wanted him that way. I watched his cam shows. He enjoyed letting loose and gaining as much as you loved feeding him. These things happen. He lived a good, fulfilling life, or as fulfilling as being a full-time immobile gainer can be. You gave him a good life,” Dan assures Dylan.

“You're a feedee who wants the same fate as Oliver.”

”Does that make me wrong? He lived my dream. I knew from the only time I met him that his fate was sealed, not because of you, but because he was  just like me. Listen, I know I'll never replace him in your heart, nor would I ask that of you. Would it be so wrong to want what Oliver had?”

“Let me finish, Dan. I’m not saying what you want is bad. It doesn’t make you wrong. I know there’s always going to be a hole in my heart that Oliver left. I don’t think anyone will ever fill that hole, but there is something that makes all of this a little less painful.”

“What’s that?” asks Dan. 

“The news spread quickly about Oliver’s size after his death. I get phone calls and emails to my work account from individuals or their families, letting me know Oliver’s fate was tragic,” Dylan tells his friend.

“It is tragic. Do these people say anything else?”

“Some let me know they too lost a morbidly obese loved one. Others let me know they are 700 pounds or more and trapped in their home, hoping for advice from a personal trainer. The contacts come from all across the country. One mother sent a picture of her son, who is supposedly pushing 1,000 pounds. They want to connect and invite me to their support group with no idea how Oliver and my relationship operated. It's dark and erotic hearing these stories about bed-bound fatties. I feel so terrible some days. I need to do something to make myself feel better. I do the only thing that will numb the pain: I exchange instant messages with some of those desperately immobile men that reach out after seeing Oliver in the world record book for the heaviest man ever. I speak with them for hours while jerking off.”

“That’s so fucking hot. You’re a lucky man that you and Oliver had such a great relationship and experienced such radical feederism, but where are you going with this, Dylan?”

“Despite what happened to Oliver, I’m still a fiend for the most grotesquely obese bodies I can find. I don’t think I can stop myself. We both know you want to be immobile under a 1,000 pound body. You’ve been gaining for years. If you want to follow in his footsteps, metaphorically speaking, I think you should do it. I have an empty bariatric bed, and there’s a new world record out there to beat, old friend. I want to feed you for old time's sake and help you achieve the goals we set out to achieve a long time ago. What do you say?” Dylan’s offer sounds perfect to them both. In memory of Oliver, together, the two men will do the only thing there is to do: reinforce each other’s bad habits until the next helpless fat boy finds his way into Dylan’s clutches.