Bigger in Texas (Patreon)

Ever since Clark was a child, he found ranch life interesting and exciting. As a child, he was fortunate enough not to have to put in as much work on the family ranch in Texas because of his father’s ranchers taking most of the daily tasks. He didn’t have to wake up at 5 am to start his day, but he did anyway so he could learn the ropes and help his family any way that he could. Moreover, he always dreamed of being a cowboy. Clark watched old Westerns and thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity to dress up in western wear. He immersed himself in the culture as his father lead his group of men. The work was challenging but interesting and increased his appetite. By the time Clark entered high school, he had become more involved with riding horses and started to put on weight from a hard day’s work helping out with smaller tasks.

As Clark grew up and outward, he continued to learn a lot. As an adult, he finally took over the family ranch when his father passed away from cancer. Clark learned about the daily operations. He found the courage to make decisions about breeding and rotating the stock. Clark hired additional cowboys to supplement his labor, as working on a ranch requires a great deal of work. The ranchers lived on-site and were responsible for herding cattle between pastures, maintaining the fences, and tending to sick cattle.

After all, Clark wanted to be successful as the ranching and livestock industry is growing rapidly; the sector is the fastest-growing agricultural sector globally. In Clark’s role, the stress of managing a ranch caused him to gain friendship with two of his ranchers, Rowan and Dustin, as well as Little Debbie. Clark became obsessed with eating anything he could find for snacks and enjoyed his meat and potatoes for meals. His friends and employees became his best friends, chefs, and sometimes lovers on the lonely ranch. They all really cared for one another.

*~*~*~*~*~*

That’s how it all started. Rowan and Dustin loved to enable their friend and help him get through challenging situations. They were his only support network left and the only ones who didn’t harass him about his weight gain. The men were clear in how Clark started gaining weight; Clark was in an incredible amount of denial about what he put into his body. One time Clark tried to eat celery but spit it out in disappointment.

“God damn, that’s disgusting! What is this?” He asked. The men looked at each other and went through several more vegetables. Clark found the answer to be miserable.“I can’t eat this,” he whined. Clark also insisted on drinking two full glasses of Coca-Cola with every meal, claiming to cut out sugary fruit drinks. From then on, Dustin and Rowan knew they should just let Clark have whatever he wanted. It was no wonder he started piling on the pounds. Despite his apparent gains, he still wears his hat and a cowboy shirt, unbuttoned, even if his shirt fits like a vest. His dark beard covers his double chin, but his clothes highlight his growing stomach.

One June evening in the oppressive atmosphere, the three men have an after-dinner idea. They decide to ride horses. Clark loves riding horses, but they make him nervous because he knows he’s somewhere over 350 pounds, well-over what a horse can comfortably carry. Clark hasn’t ridden a horse in almost fifty pounds. The larger he gets, the more likely he will never ride again. He hopes he can get his weight under control.

Clark steps out of his home and walks to the barn. The short journey makes him sweat and pant intensely. The two men notice how much Clark struggles more now than even a few months ago. Within minutes, the three men gingerly lead their horses out of the stable for safety from the low roof and narrow doorway. Then, they run the stirrups down the leather and adjust a saddle on their respective horses. Clark missed being able to ride his horse all day, but the labor in the heat makes him sweaty and uncomfortable. For a moment, he ponders that he would almost rather be inside relaxing in his recliner in the air-conditioning while watching television with a beer. Still, he is grateful his friends are willing to ride with him.

Clark hesitates at first. A feeling in the pit of his stomach causes him to get a little anxious. Nevertheless, he decides he should ride. Besides the horse, he uses his right leg to push himself up. Horses sense fear, so he tries to compose himself and appear less frightened about the weight on the horse. So far, so good.  Clark springs himself with his leg to try to propel himself upwards. Immediately, his body strains and his heartbeat quickens. The air leaves his lungs from physical exertion as he grunts, trying to pull himself onto the horse. The goal is to become balanced on the horse, but he barely gets on in an awkward position. The horse feels the pressure of having an obese man on its back.

Clark is hardly able to hold on to the saddle. The horse lets out a long, high-pitched cry bucking Clark off its body. Clark flies forward but still pulled down by the gravity to the dusty ground. Panic enters Clark’s mind as he falls. He knew he shouldn’t have went riding. He knew he was too heavy for any of his horses, but he thought it would be okay.

His hands feel as if he tried to chop concrete, incredibly bruised but not broken. The feeling in his lower half tells a different story. The feeling of his bones snapping in his right knee and leg makes him howl in pain like a wounded animal. “OH, SHIT! FUCK! GOD DAMN,” Clark shouts in pain.

*~*~*~*~*~*

After eleven months of spending most of his day on bed rest and physical therapy, or lack of because he thought he could handle his pain, Clark put on a severe amount of weight with no indication of slowing down. His knee and leg ached long after his bones healed from the fall. He still couldn’t put much pressure on them, making the logical option to take care of all the non-physical aspects of the ranch from the comfort of a chair. Dustin learned to sew to make Clark more western wear because he knew it made Clark happy. Normal western wear maxed out at 3XL, making this the only option for him as he grew outward and downward.

Dustin and Rowan handled all of the supervision and physical labor pieces for Clark. Barely able to move from the pain made Clark depressed and longing to try something that didn’t make him feel so worthless on the ranch. The first sign of being able to get out makes him metaphorically jump out of his seat.

“Clark, do you know where the fence posts are? One of the pastures has a broken fence, and we are afraid the cows will escape,” Rowan asks.

“There should be some in the shed. Do you need any help?”

“No, I think Dustin and I can patch it up quickly,” Rowan reassures Clark.

“I should go anyway! It’ll be good for me, and I can see what’s going on just in case,” Clark lies. Clark takes half a minute to rock back and forth in his tight chair before he manages to stands up. A pained look spreads across his face as his knee pops, and he grunts.

“Are you sure you’re supposed to be doing this? You didn’t really do the physical therapy, and I can tell you’re always in pain.”

“I’m fine,” Clark groans.

Clark starts to shuffle toward the front door. “Are you sure you’re up for it? Won’t that be too strenuous on your body?” Rowan asks with concern.

“The physical therapist doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’m as strong as a bull.”

“Fine,” Rowan agrees reluctantly and follows Clark’s lead toward the red Dodge RAM in the gravel lot.

A dark thought enters his mind. What if he’s too big to drive? The truck was getting small one hundred pounds ago. His belly is sure to hit up against the steering wheel. “Can you drive my truck, Rowan?” Clark asks, red in the face from shame. He looks his truck up and down, knowing that his body hasn’t fully healed and that his belly might be a driving hazard. He just wants to be comfortable and not worry if he’s going to fit.

Clark tosses Rowan the keys as Dustin loads the materials to mend the fence. Then, Clark goes to the passenger side of the truck and opens the door. The climb into the truck is more challenging than he remembers. Thank goodness there is a step to leverage himself up. He grunts as he puts his weight on his right knee and balances himself by holding onto the door frame. He squeezes himself into the truck slowly. His ass grazes on the seat, and his belly grazes against the dashboard. He has to readjust his belly to get his whole body to fit and lean into the driver's side to be able to close the door.

“You’ve really let yourself go, huh?” Dustin teases Clark.

“This is absolute fucking hell, and it’s only getting worse,” Clark exhales from being worn out getting into the vehicle.

“You can’t have it both ways. You can’t be as strong as a bull and then call living like this hell,” Rowan rolls his eyes.

“It’s just a tough and confusing time. After all, you both are so complimentary of my size, but it’s a nightmare. A bariatric nightmare. I just needed to get out of the house,” Clark admits shyly.

“We care about you,” Dustin says.

“Yeah, we really do, and you’re still recovering. We all need a little help,” Rowan tries to reassure Clark.

“It’s just I feel so helpless these days. I can’t even put on my boots by myself. I do appreciate you both, though. You’re my best friends.” Clark’s body is already breaking down and going numb being in the cab. He feels constrained.

“Let’s get a move on, then. I’ll ride in the truck bed,” Dustin says.

The trio makes it to the site of the broken fence. They get out of the car, but Clark struggles to get his fat rolls out of the door frame. Rowan and Dustin work hard to ensure the post gets placed back in the hole and the barbed wire gets fixed. They hardly break a sweat while Clark holds himself up against the truck, his knees buckling from the weight of his massive belly.

All Clark can think about how he used to fatten cattle with high-calorie feed to get them to market weight. Now he’s the fattened cattle, helpless, and soon to be sent off to meet a terrible fate. The thought made a shiver run through his cushioned spine. He feels useless and like his body will give out soon even though he’s only been standing for five minutes.

“We’re almost done,” Rowan tells Clark.

“My feet hurt, my back hurts, my knees hurt! I need to sit!”

“Get back in the truck cab. We will be done soon, I promise,” Rowan tries to comfort Clark.

“I..I don’t think I c-can get... back into that cramped truck,” he wheezes from just standing in the heat while his friends fixed the fence. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m going...to— to collapse,” Clark’s voice drops as a single tear leaves his eye.

“Poor thing,” Dustin says, pulling the hatch for the tailgate, so it opens downward. “Rowan, can you stop for a minute? We need to get Clark up on the tailgate, so he has a place to sit while we finish.”

Clark pathetically attempts to raise his leg, but he’s too short, fat, and stubby for his knees to raise high enough to get in the back. Rowan and Dustin notice immediately how their fat friend struggles to do the bare minimum. “Okay, let’s help ya, big boy,” Dustin says. Dustin and Rowan get behind Clark. Clark lifts his leg as far as he can again while Dustin grabs one side of Clark and Rowan grabs the other. They use all their strength to push Clark upward. He struggles like a fish out of water, but he eventually makes it into the truck bed, wobbling his massive ass. The truck’s bed lowers from the immense amount of weight. He attempts to crawl forward but ends up rolling over instead. Clark looks like a beached whale. Laying in the truck bed, Clark realizes that he can’t keep this up. His mobility is failing, and soon he will develop health issues. Something has to be done.

*~*~*~*~*~*

After the situation with the fence, Clark noticed his mobility drained and his weight increased day by day. It only took nine months later, gaining 17 pounds per month, for him to realize that he’d be confined to his bed permanently if he didn’t make a change. At this rate, Clark worried it would take his life. The gains were insane as if he was born to be a fat making machine. The thought scared him, so he always pushed it to the back of his mind. He couldn’t get out of bed without the help of Rowan and Dustin. They did everything for him: fed him, bathed him, and even touched him when he got too big to reach his member.

A week ago, Clark asked Dustin to set up an appointment with a bariatric surgeon before his situation becomes too dire, although it might already be at this point. Rowan and Dustin wake Clark from his slumber for the appointment. His eyes flutter open, his vision still blurry as he yawns with his CPAP still on. Dustin takes Clark’s CPAP off his face. The sudden lack of oxygen always startled Clark as if he will drown in his neck fat.

Clark lies back on his mattress on the floor. The bed splintered beneath him long ago, leaving him trapped on the floor; Clark can’t get up on his own. Occasionally, Rowan and Dustin try to help him up, but with every pound, the task becomes more challenging and hopeless. He’s nothing more than a wobbling blob of mass. Sweat forms on Clark’s brow as he struggles to adjust himself in bed. His breathing quickens, and he lets out a quiet grunt to hide his suffering—an unbearable pain in his knees and lower back jolts under his weight. Clark’s body permanently aches while his lungs struggle for oxygen under his weight.

Rowan brings a gray laptop to Clark’s bedside for the appointment with a bariatric surgeon. Clark’s stomach growls from waking up and not being greeted with his usual breakfast buffet. “I want biscuits and gravy,” he pouts with his country accent.

“You’ll get them soon enough, dear.” Rowan tries to reassure Clark. He knew what he was getting into scheduling so early, but it didn’t make the decision any better. He just wants to eat. Clark signs while grabbing the computer with gratitude and opens the machine as Rowan leaves the room with Dustin to cook breakfast and give Clark privacy. His fingers travel across the mousepad to the Zoom icon to meet his doctor.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Grant Montgomery. I’m a bariatric surgeon, but of course, you know that. Thank you for attending your appointment today, so we can find out what concerns you have and help get your life back on track. I see your name is Clark. Tell me a little bit about yourself, Clark,” The doctor requests.

The straightforward attitude of Dr. Montgomery throws Clark off.

“Oh! Well, uh, my name is Clark. I was born and raised in Texas, about two hours from your office. I’m a cowboy and took over my father’s ranch when he passed away. I’m here because of my... problem,” Clark hesitated.

“Clark, can you tell me what that problem is? I think admitting it would be a starting point in your journey.”

“My problem is... I’m...overweight,” Clark’s voice trembles.

“Clark, this seems to be more than being overweight. You’re super morbidly obese. That’s okay, though, but let’s call it what it is. My job is to help you lose weight. Do you know how much you weigh?”

“No,” Clark admits.

“Hmm,” Dr. Montgomery hums while biting his pen. “Have you always been fat?”

“I was an overweight child, and I ended up getting to about 350 pounds before I had a horseback riding accident. Since then, my weight has been out of control.”

“Tell me a little about your diet,” Dr. Montgomery ponders.

Clark knows where this is going. “Well, I eat a lot of steaks, fried chicken, potatoes, macaroni and cheese, and other types of things like that. I know it’s mostly carbs and sugars, but they are hard to resist, and if I don’t get them, my head starts to hurt.”

“Do you cook for yourself, or does someone cook for you?”

“Well, I do eat a fair amount of fast food, but someone cooks for me. Well, two people, actually.”

“Oh, I see. You’ve got several enablers who do everything for you,” Dr. Montgomery snorts. “What about exercise. Do you get any exercise?”

“Does getting out of bed and walking count? I used to do that, but it’s gotten hard recently. Whenever I can get out of bed, I need help, and then I get all sweaty and can’t breathe after ten steps.”

“All of this is really concerning. You don’t diet or exercise. You’re going to need therapy to change your relationship with food. I think we can make this work, but with tons of changes to get approved. Let’s talk a little bit about the pre-approval process. Were you aware that there are some requirements we will need you to meet?”

“Uhm, what do you mean? I can’t just get the surgery?” Clark asks, perplexed by the question.

“Well, There are a lot of factors that we need to consider here. For example, there are a few types of surgeries that you can have: a gastric bypass, a sleeve gastrectomy, an adjustable gastric band, or a biliopancreatic diversion with a duodenal switch. They all have pros and cons.”

Clark’s eyes get wide at all the options. He never thought there would be so many choices. “We can talk about this later, but there are more critical factors to address. I need to make sure that you will not die on the operating table. You’re going to need to find a way to get to the hospital where I am so we can monitor and evaluate your progress. Since we do not know how much you weigh, we will need an accurate number and examine your current health issues. From there, I can determine how much weight you’ll need to lose before surgery. Then, as I said, you’ll need to focus on a diet and exercise plan I create for you while you go through therapy. How does all this sound, Clark? You’re looking a little angry. “

“Excuse my language, but I just don’t fucking understand. You’re giving me a pretty big blow. I need to lose enough weight to be viable for weight loss surgery, but I’m always starving, and I’m never satisfied with my diet. What I need is a smaller stomach so I get full faster so I can lose weight, but no one is willing to operate, so me and my stomach get bigger and bigger. I need someone to cut me open and staple this thing now, or I’m going to fucking die! If I could lose the weight on my own, I’d fucking do it, you know?”

“Don’t let that affect your progress. Everyone takes steps back, but it is pivotal to your success to move forward with diet and exercise. You’re not doing this on your own. I’m going to send you a 1200 calorie diet. I also encourage you to build in light movement into your day and build upon it. The more exercise you can do, the more calories you’ll burn. The weight will drop right off you.”

“I’m also anxious about the loose skin. If I get this surgery, I will need you also to book skin removal. I don’t want to be walking around with loose skin sagging from my whole body or nothin’,” Clark says.

“Don’t worry about the loose skin. If it happens, it happens. It’s way better than being dead. You’ve got a lot to do before we even consider this,” Dr.Montgomery attempts to educate Clark on the process.

“Loose skin will prevent me from moving around and doing all the work that needs to get done to lose weight,” Clark grits his teeth.

“I don’t know what to tell you. You haven’t lost a single pound yet. You’re nowhere close to getting skin surgery. We are at least two years out. You need to work on losing the weight first.”

“I’m going to have to live in this body for at least about two years!? There’s not a quicker fix? You can’t just carve into me like a Thanksgiving Turkey?”

“Surgery never has been and never will be a quick fix to problems that have built up for years and is destroying you from the inside out.”

Clark looks up at the ceiling and rolls his eyes at the doctor’s words before looking back at the computer screen. A heavy sigh leaves his body. The cowboy tries to tone his temper to an appropriate level of frustration.

“You’re going to need to change your attitude about all of this. You keep fighting me on this, Clark. I’m the weight loss doctor. I know what I’m talking about, so I need you to do what I’m asking positively, or it’s not going to happen. If you don’t, you’ll be in a grave in the next five years.”

“You don’t understand because you’re not fat. Any time I lose any amount of weight, the collapsed fat cells end up filling back up and play with my body. I feel water retention in my legs, and my heart feels like it could collapse at any moment,” Clark becomes increasingly more and more frustrated.

“I do understand, Clark. It’s my job to understand,” the doctor says calmly.

“You don’t understand, Doc! There is not enough help in the world for people like me. Unless you’ve been this size, then you don’t understand what it’s like being obese or having a food addiction. No degree or credential is going to give you the fat experience. You cant put a salad on a diet and say you’re doing your part to help against obesity,” Clark begins his monologue.

“I am providing you with all the resources: a diet sheet, exercises for obese people, therapy—,” Dr. Montgomery interjects.

Dr. Montgomery’s words go through one ear and out the other. Clark continues, “It’s a real fight and once someone gets to be our size, getting out of it is a fight like no one understands. It costs so much money to diet, and hard to motivate ourselves to exercise and do the things we need to get better. Depression and anxiety take over, and we give up just like the world gives up on us.”

Dr.Montgomery can’t take Clark’s whining anymore. It’s either do or die, and with Clark’s attitude, the latter is more likely. “I’m not turning my back, but I’m not going to sit here and fight you. You’re going to have to lose weight to get surgery. That’s final. You have to be willing to save your own life. You have a tough decision, Clark. I hope you make the right one. Call me whenever you get serious about weight loss.”

The call ends abruptly, but Dustin and Rowan enter the room to bring him his breakfast.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Clark didn’t get better. Instead, he got so much worse off. In the sixth months following the doctor's appointment, he managed to put on more weight, feeling hopeless and disenchanted by the path life took him down. Clark used to be full of hopes and dreams before he ended up completely bedridden. Losing weight no longer made it on the priority list. How could weight loss be a priority when he exhausted the surgery option and ruined his chances?

In that time, Clark only got bigger, more grotesque with the morbid obesity that plagued his body. The poor fat ass no longer fit into any of his western wear, but he’d occasionally wear his cowboy hat for fun. His large, pillowy chest sagged to the bottom of his diaphragm, rolling into thick stomach rolls. The end of his titanic gut spread well over his knees and spread around him, making him look wide. His ass would be equally wide if he could see any of it, but only Rowan and Dustin could see how flat and enormous it was when they rolled him over to change the sheets, clean him, or patch up bedsores that started to form under him.

Clark feels like he doesn’t have any decisions left in his life because all his options are stolen by morbid obesity. There are only two choices he feels he can make moving forward. The first, which he often considers due to his depression, is ending it all immediately. Quick. Painless. There’s one thing that always stops him: food addiction. The alternative option is just entirely to give in and eat himself to death. Regardless, he’s going to die incredibly young. He’d instead go out eating because food is that important to him. He’d rather suffer if it meant spending just a little more time in his bed satisfying his cravings until his overworked heart gives out. As if on cue, Rowan and Dustin cart a buffet fit for a king into his bedroom. The old cliche rings true: Everything is bigger in Texas. Clark is going to be the biggest thing in Texas with the help of Rowan and Dustin.