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.’
About Lucy
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
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