Lola + Continuation

Lola hated mornings. As far as she was concerned, they were just about the worst times in her life – besides, perhaps, gym class. They were long, boring and tiring, and cruelly insisted on occurring every single day.
It was her own fault, of course. She had a habit of staying up late at night playing video games alone in her room, and the mornings were all the more exhausting as a result. Her mom would wake her two hours before they were due to leave for school; a long time, but every minute was needed for the young girl to get ready for the day ahead, for Lola was not a normal girl.

She was, to put it bluntly, incredibly fat. Those words weren’t actually spoken aloud by anyone, but that was the phrase that invariably burdened the mind upon meeting the huge ten year old girl. The way people actually communicated the sentiment was by mincing it to various degrees. Her doctor said that she had a ‘serious weight issue’, or, if he was trying to scare Lola’s mom a little, that she was ‘morbidly obese’. Her mom, if forced to address it at all, called it their ‘little problem’. Teachers at school noted that she had ‘special educational requirements’. Other students would say that she was just ‘really big’.
And as for Lola: if she had to acknowledge it at all, she’d just blush, and stutter, and say nothing at all.

So, it was because of this ‘little problem’ that Lola required quite so long to get ready for school in the mornings. Her mom would wake her up early in the morning, and after a moment’s pleasantries, would help her yawning daughter up and out of bed. First stop was the bathroom, and for Lola this was perhaps the worst part of what was already her least favourite time of day. Still drowsy and lethargic from a short night of restless sleep she’d waddle slowly down the corridor to the bathroom, leaning heavily on her mom the entire way, until she could collapse onto the toilet and do her business. Then, again with the help of her mother, she’d clean up, wash her hands, and head downstairs for breakfast.
It had only been since last year that she’d needed her mom’s help to go to the toilet. For a few years she’d been free to go on her own – but then last March, to her abject and enduring horror, she’d found herself finally too fat to reach between her own legs to clean herself after using the toilet. Since then her mom had had to help her even with that most personal of matters, and what little freedom and privacy she’d had was gone. As such, visiting the bathroom was now a thoroughly unpleasant experience for her – she dreaded it, and tended to put it off for as long as possible.

By the time she was back out into the corridor and heading downstairs, almost half an hour had passed since she first woke and she was still in her nightgown, still unfed. Hunger pangs were now hitting her in full force, so sharp that sometimes she couldn’t help but groan aloud. As her mom helped her slowly descend the stairs, the rumbling of her stomach would become so noisy it was almost obnoxious, a constant gurgling and grumbling as the smell of food tantalised her. Eventually they’d reach the kitchen and Lola would collapse into a seat, in equal measure blissfully relieved to get her weight off her aching legs and urgently lusting for the meal that was now so close. Then, after a few agonising seconds of waiting, the meal would arrive and she would enter heaven.
If visiting the bathroom was her least favourite part of the morning, then this was her favourite. Now, finally, she was allowed free reign to eat, and eat, and eat. It was an incredible display to behold, platefuls upon platefuls of food vanishing as she tried desperately to fill the vast emptiness inside her. A decade of constant overfeeding and gluttony had left her with a stomach stretched far larger than a normal child’s, or, indeed, most adults. More significant than the physical though was the mental conditioning. She’d been trained to overeat in a way that most couldn’t even comprehend, stuffing herself even beyond her now massively expanded capacity. All the biological mechanisms in place to prevent injury through greed were overcome; Lola was the perfect eating machine, and eat she certainly did.

Before seeing her eat a meal, most literally couldn’t comprehend how a girl as young as her could be so horrifying obese. It only took the witnessing of one meal though, one of the five she ate every day, to understand. On this particular morning her mom had made pancakes – drowning in syrup, naturally – and over the course of forty minutes, Lola ate just over six plates of the sickeningly sweet stuff. Extraordinary for an adult; almost unbelievable for a ten year old girl.
Now feeling nauseous, uncomfortable, and more than a little worn out, but happily satiated by the three thousand empty calories sitting in her gut, Lola was ready for the rest of the morning. With fifty minutes left until school, there was still more to do.

The trip back up the stairs was much worse than the one down them. Now, with an intense pain spiking into her swollen stomach with every step, combined with the obvious issue that moving so much mass upwards was more difficult than letting it move downwards, by the time she reached her room again she was absolutely exhausted. She’d fall onto her bed once again, wheezing, almost fainting from the sheer stress on her body as she waited for her mom to find her an outfit. Occasionally she would legitimately pass out as she waited, exhaustion from the climb up the stairs compounding with her insufficient night’s sleep to knock her out.

After a time though – a time that was only growing lengthier as she got heavier - she had recovered enough of her strength to get to her feet and allow her mom to dress her. This was tiring, as well as being a little embarrassing as her mom stripped her completely naked then helped her dress again, but compared to the sheer humiliation involved whenever she had to visit the toilet, it was nothing.

It is a fact that obesity hastens puberty in girls; as a result, it was no surprise to Lola’s doctor when she began to show signs of development before she was even eight years old. Now, nearly three years later, she was rather alarmingly buxom for a ten year old – though how much of that was due to puberty and how much was just simple flab was hard to say. Standing completely naked in her room, breasts sagging onto the vast swollen globe of her stomach, she couldn’t help but feel an urge to cover herself up a little as her mother fussed around her. Girls her age needed privacy, but she had none. Her mom knew her body far better than she did – Lola could barely see much of her form, and could reach even less. Her mom, meanwhile, saw and touched all when she cleaned her daughter every other evening.

First one foot, then the other was raised as Lola’s mom began the lengthy process of dressing her daughter. She slid a pair of panties up her daughter’s thick, flabby legs, struggling to get them past to sheer bulk of her daughter’s massive thighs. Eventually she managed to get them in place, the fabric immediately disappearing from view between her huge buttocks and beneath her sagging belly. The next item, a skirt, was a little easier; Lola’s mom pulled it up to her daughter’s waist, then buttoned it beneath her swollen gut.
Now that her panties and skirt were on, Lola could finally sit down again, slumping back onto the bed to let her mom pull socks onto her numb feet. Now she just had to raise her arms long enough to allow her mom to pull a t-shirt over her head – another task that was becoming harder and harder for her. The drooping pads of flab hanging from her arms caught briefly in the arm-holes, delaying the process for a moment and making her whimper from the strain of keeping her arms raised, but then her mom was stretching the shirt over the mounds of her breasts and belly and she could let them fall back heavily to her sides.

Now, she was finally just about ready for school. After another minute to catch her breath once again, she embarked on the journey back down the stairs. That ate up yet more time, and from the irritable clicking sound her mom made upon checking her watch, they were now officially behind schedule. She was once more permitted to sit down, this time on the stool that was placed sensibly besides the front door, and her mom hastily tied Lola’s shoes for her. Then it was just a few select steps out of the front door, down the path, and into the car.
Her mom helped her in and buckled her up, then hurried back into the house to grab Lola’s schoolbag and lock up – and that was the first time in the day Lola was alone. Sitting in the car, trying to ignore the massive pressure in her gut that was only exacerbated by the uncomfortably tight seatbelt digging in between her breasts and across her belly, she had just a few moments to reflect. Then her mom was back, the car was coughing into life, and they were setting off once again for school.

Thus ended Lola’s morning routine, aged ten years old. The rest of the day was usually a lot more enjoyable for the unusual young girl – at least compared to the exhausting, humiliating mornings. She could nap in school to catch up on some sleep, after all, and snack during break. However, the lethargy and daze of weariness she felt in the mornings were becoming constant, whether she’d had a good night’s sleep or otherwise.

Like all things in Lola’s life, things were only set to become worse.
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And become worse they did. Lola’s five meals only ever increased in size, which meant that she herself increased as well. Therefore, it was not long before her usefulness decreased even further; after the end of the summer holidays, a time where Lola’s sedentary lifestyle was able to reach new heights of lazy, it was quickly realized that Lola’s already easy routine was proving to be too much for the rapidly growing girl. Her humiliation was only increasing.

The only good thing about Lola’s new morning was that she could sleep a bit longer. Everything else was much worse; this was due to the fact that all the waddling she had done in the mornings was now enough to tire her so much as to not be able to make it to school. To conserve what limited strength Lola had for the school day, her mornings now took place entirely in bed.

Even using the restroom.

Two months had passed since this horrific practice started, but Lola was still not used to the bedpan. It was horrendously embarrassing; she was eleven years old and too fat to even roll herself to the side, leaving that for her mother to do in addition to everything else involved in that awful process. Even that was sufficient to make her tired; by the time she was rolled back over and breakfast was served, she was wheezing.

Breakfast, however, was still the saving point of her morning; it was now that she could drown herself in food until her chest and stomach both hurt, even though her arms weren’t always strong enough to finish the job. It now took over seven thousand calories for Lola to feel full; in practice, that only kept her sated for about two hours, at which time her belly would start up again with angry rumbles. That, however, was later; for now, there was still more humiliation to get through.

She had become too fat to get dressed while standing; she could no longer lift her feet from the floor, with or without help- one was impossible, the other way would make her lose her balance. For this reason, her pants had to be put on in her bed, her mother tugging the parachute-sized leggings up her enormous legs inch by inch. These leggings had been purchased online two weeks ago; already, they were showing strain, small rips appearing throughout the black fabric. Even then, they had no hope of covering all of Lola; some of her butt was always visible, and each shuddering step she took would cause them to ride down. Her shirt didn’t help matters; this equally large piece of fabric barely went down half of her flabby torso. This shirt resulted in the most difficult part of Lola’s morning, apart from the actual motion: she still had to lift up her own arms, even though her upper arms were no longer capable of leaving her sides. This was only for a few seconds- her mother would quickly grab it and put the sleeve around it- but that alone would break her into the first sweat of the day. After that, socks and shoes would be tied to her chubby feet, then she would have to something absolutely horrendous:

Move.

It wasn’t a long walk- she had been moved to the first floor, and the walk out to her mom’s new minivan was only about 25 feet- even so, by the time she, with the help of her mother, reached a seat, she was exhausted, fat chest heaving desperately for air. Sweat poured down her face and into her shirt; then, they were off, rather on time. They had to be- Lola needed to be handed off to her aide for the day.

This aide was, if anything, even more humiliating for the poor girl.

The school, in order to fulfill the “special educational requirements” she was determined to possess, had appointed Lola a large wheelchair and an aide to assist her with those daily tasks that evaded her body’s largeness; this aide did assist, and Lola hated it immensely. School used to be a place where she could possess some independence, such as it was; now that was gone. Her aide wheeled her from class to class, made sure she had enough snacks to survive until lunch, cleaned her up after she used the restroom- which she, given her increased consumption, had to do often- and would even write notes for her when her fat arms failed to be equal to the task. Everywhere she went, she felt eyes on her; everything she did, and everything that somebody else had to do for her, was the subject of great interest among the student body. The whole thing was like torture.

When she got home for the day- after seven hours of near-starvation and constant attention- her mother allowed her to collapse back into her bed, where she would remain for the rest of the day. There, she had a television, a bookshelf, food, and a bedpan; as far as the rest of the world was concerned, she needed nothing else. When Lola eventually went to a wheezy, unpleasant sleep, the one thought always on her mind was:

<i>What happens when I’m twelve?</i>