Mean
Girls by Lucy Felthouse
Adele Blackthorne is a big girl, a curvy
chick. She knows it, and she’s been picked on all her life because of it. But
she’s gotten to the stage where she doesn’t care. She may be Rubenesque, but
she’s healthy, too. Much healthier than the mean girls at the leisure center
that point and stare and say spiteful things about her. Adele rises above it
all, and simply enjoys her secretive glances at the center’s hunky lifeguard,
Oliver.
As the bullying of Adele becomes worse,
Oliver finds it increasingly difficult not to intervene. He doesn’t want to get
into trouble with work, but equally he can’t stand to see Adele treated in such
a horrible way. Especially since he doesn’t agree that she’s fat and
unattractive. He thinks she’s a seriously sexy woman, and would like to get to
know her better. Much better.
*****
Excerpt:
As usual, Adele Blackthorne felt the weight
of gazes on her as she walked from the changing room to the steps to get into
the swimming pool. She was used to it by now, and had learned not to react, to
just carry on as though she hadn’t noticed people staring and not-so-subtly
pointing at her.
With a polite nod to Oliver, the lifeguard,
as she passed him, Adele was grateful for his much more favorable reaction. If
he thought she resembled a beached whale, he hid it much better than everyone
else did. The warmth in his eyes as he nodded back even looked genuine. But she
had no illusions, he probably slagged her off the moment he got into the
staffroom, or home, talking about the fat woman who went swimming three times a
week without fail. But for now, she’d pretend he didn’t. Pretend he thought she
was sexy, and wanted to get lost in her abundant curves. God knows she’d like
him to.
It was true, she was a big girl and she was
most definitely aware of it. Ever since she’d gotten to the age where her
excess weight could no longer be called puppy fat, she’d tried to do something
about it. Every diet under the sun, ridiculous amounts of exercise… nothing
worked. Adele had grown so depressed in her teens that she’d become bulimic.
Naturally, she’d lost some weight that way, but she’d also made herself so ill
that she’d had to be hospitalized. It had terrified the life out of her, and
ever since, she’d resolved that she’d much rather be healthy than skinny.
Which was why she visited her local leisure
center three times a week. She used the gym and sauna, and went swimming. And
every single time she went, she’d catch someone gawping at her. But because of
the years she’d spent—especially at school—being called all the names under the
sun, she’d developed an incredibly thick skin. She was happy and healthy—so
healthy in fact that she could probably beat all of those skinny bitches at a
swimming race. Of course she never offered, never called anyone out on their
rudeness and ignorance, but it made her feel better to know that she was fitter
and much more polite than them.
Slipping into the fast lane, she settled
her goggles carefully into position—she hated getting water in her eyes—then
lifted her legs to rest the bottoms of her feet against the end of the pool.
Looking at the clock on the wall that counted seconds, she waited until the
hand reached the top, then pushed off from the side and launched herself into
the lane. It was quiet, so she had this section of the pool to herself. Her
arms cut through the water, her legs flapped wildly and she did ten laps
without losing any speed. Emerging from the water, she checked the clock again
and was pleased to note she’d beaten her previous time.
She was just about to start another ten
laps, when she heard voices from the other side of the pool. Voices that clearly
forgot how well they carried on water. It was as though they were right next to
her.
“God, I’m surprised all the water doesn’t
jump out of the pool when she gets in. And the way she swims—she’ll cause a
tidal wave one of these days.”
The spiteful words were followed by a trio
of sniggers, and Adele gritted her teeth. Part of her wished that she could
create a bloody tidal wave, so it would sweep those bitches under water and
drown them. The other part of her tsked at the thought. Ideas like that made
her just as bad as them, just as unpleasant, just as cowardly.
Because they were cowardly—the way they
spoke about her behind her back proved that. If they ever passed her somewhere
in the leisure center or its car park, they never said anything, not one word.
They’d just scurry away as fast as they could, then titter when they thought
she was out of earshot. She hoped that just one time, someone would say
something to her face, so she could retaliate, speak up for herself. There was
no way she’d start anything—she didn’t want to add confrontational to the list
of faults that the mean girls had obviously compiled about her.
Sucking in a deep breath, Adele launched
into another ten laps, allowing the chilly water and the exertion of powering
through it to burn away her irritation. Because that’s all it was—irritation.
She wasn’t angry. Anger was too powerful an emotion, and one that was totally
wasted on those ignorant women. She almost felt sorry for them, actually. If
they had nothing better to do than to stare at her and slag her off all the
time, then they clearly had very dull lives.
The thought cheered her considerably and
when she completed her twentieth lap, she lay her forearms on the edge of the
pool and hoiked herself up. Her back was pressed against the side, and from
here she had a perfect view of the rest of the pool. Tugging her goggles down
so they hung around her neck, she had a damn good look at everyone else. The
small children and their guardians in the kids’ pool right at the other end of
the enormous hall, the old people who swum so slowly as they chatted that she
was surprised they stayed afloat, the relentless movement of the man in the
medium-speed lane and, of course, the mean girls who were in the same sort of
position she was, but at the side of the pool rather than the end. The side
which faced the lifeguard station.
Adele narrowed her eyes and watched
them—the two waif-like blondes and a brunette—as they chatted and giggled, and
it seemed for a change, not about her. They’d clearly changed the subject since
their previous spouting of vitriol. Their focus was very firmly on Oliver as he
sat on his lofty perch, surveying the pools before him, ready to jump in should
anyone get into trouble. She often toyed with the idea of faking a problem,
just to get him into the pool and his strong arms around her. However, she knew
that although he’d undoubtedly do his duty and help her, he’d never believe
such a strong swimmer would need his assistance. Then he’d lose all respect for
her, and probably stop hiding his disdain for her so effectively. And the
polite nods and smiles she got from him were the only thing—aside from the
center’s top-notch facilities—that made the place bearable. She was sure that
if the three witches—a nickname she’d secretly come up with for the women—had
their way, there would be a sign on the main doors to the building saying ‘No
Fat People Allowed.’
*****
Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She
writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and
has over seventy publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline.
These include Best Bondage Erotica 2012, 2013 and 2014 and Best Women's Erotica
2013. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a
number of anthologies. She owns Erotica
For All, and is book editor for Cliterati.
Find out more at http://www.lucyfelthouse.co.uk.
Join her on Facebook
and Twitter, and subscribe to her
newsletter at: http://eepurl.com/gMQb9
