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Poolside with Delta Nu


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Poolside with Delta Nu

A short story about fat sorority girls visiting the pool. 

#####

Bismont city pool was closed for a private function. According to the scheduling calendar, it was for the “Bismont University Delta Nu Chapter Pool Party.” The pool staff had a more direct name for the annual event: “Beached Whale Day.” Not one of the sorority women enjoying a day of sun and fun was under 200 pounds, and many were far above it. It was like the obesity epidemic had popped on a swimsuit and waddled down to take up two lounge chairs at a time. 

Most of the girls were relaxing in the jacuzzi or tanning poolside, evidently intent on conserving every one of the thousands of calories they gobbled down. A few of the more active girls had actually ventured into the pool, though they were not doing much swimming. They bobbed around like lazy corks, giggling and splashing each other between slow swims to the pool’s edge, where their snacks and drinks waited. 

A bored lifeguard sat above the party, wishing he had his phone or a book or anything to pass the time. When they arrived that morning, he’d been shocked by the women, and unable to look away from the spectacle of fatness before him. His eyes boggled as he observed hundreds of crimes against fitness, all gathered around his pool. 

Bikinis that had been tight a thirty pounds ago strained to contain breasts far into the latter half of the sizing alphabet. Thighs rubbed together when walking, or spread like thick molasses over outmatched poolside recliners. Bellies hung, some in single round blobs, others in sets of two or three rolls. In truth, few of the girls here really needed the bottom of their bathing suits. The combination of tire-sized guts and tree-sized thighs did a fine job of preserving their modesty. Cellulite was everywhere, in spite of the youth of the women. Cellulitic butts were nearly standard-issue, and some of the girls had it in more exotic locales: on their bellies, their hanging upper arms, their calves. One brunette, with an apparent tendency to gain in her extremities, showed a few divots of cellulite on her forearms.

After three hours of seeing what could be accomplished with industrial agriculture and a total disregard for physical fitness, the lifeguard wasn’t shocked anymore. The novelty had worn off, and he was no longer appalled when he saw a girl ask two of her friends to help her out of a chair, or when he saw a girl with mayo on her lips and a burger in each hand taking alternating bites while eyeing a plate of freshly-grilled hot dogs. Now that he wasn’t shocked, he was just bored. 

As a lifeguard at Bismont pool, he had two responsibilities. Number one: save lives. Number two: enforce pool rules. He was confident that it was physically impossible for women with this much natural buoyancy to drown, whether they knew how to swim or not, so there wasn’t much reason to worry about lifesaving. The only safety equipment he could picture using today was the emergency defibrillator. 

Since no drownings were likely, that left only the second part of his job, rule enforcement. These girls weren’t built for horseplay. Standard infractions like running near the pool or trying to do backflips off the diving board required fitness that nobody in Delta Nu possessed. The waterslide was usually a magnet for misbehaviour - people were often compelled to ride it face first, or backwards, or holding hands with their friends. None of that today; the slide sat empty, protected by the ladder that led to it. Apparently, nobody in Delta Nu wanted to engage in an activity that required preliminary climbing. 

There was, however, one rule they broke, and they broke it frequently: taking food and drinks into the water. At first, he blew his whistle and shouted and tried to get them to stop. But after trying to force a tipsy 400 pound brunette to put her plate and beer down before lumbering into the jacuzzi, and getting called a “fascist asshole” for his trouble, he backed off. $11.50 an hour wasn’t enough to deal with that. 

So he resolved not to come down from his perch until the end of his shift. Letting his mind wander and pretending not to see anything might not be standard lifeguarding procedure, but this rollicking salute to obesity was not a standard pool situation. Some of the girls glanced up at him from time to time, giggling and whispering. He rolled his eyes at that. Not a chance.


#####

Karen couldn’t help but stare at Lana as they ate lunch. It was actually the second lunch of the day, though a stickler might argue that since the first lunch never really stopped, they couldn’t move onto the second. Karen wasn’t that sort of pedant. As far as she was concerned, lunch could end in only two ways: First, it could end if you were so full you physically couldn’t eat anymore. Second, it could end if it was interrupted by the start of dinner. Lunch was a process, and it took however long it took. Perhaps it was this pro-lunch attitude that had bloated 23 year-old Karen up to 411 pounds of bouncy fat. 

That 411 pound, dangerously obese frame somehow looked skinny when sitting across a table from Lana. Lana was big, Lana was fat, Lana was huge. None of the adjectives Karen could muster seemed adequate. She was at a stage of obesity Karen had never seen on anyone else. Lana was… Lana.

Lana breathed loudly through her nose as she stuffed most of a sub into her mouth. Were she to choke, it was unlikely anyone could reach around her to perform the heimlich. Thankfully, that scenario wasn’t likely - Lana wasn’t about to make a rookie mistake like choking. One look at her body proved that Lana was a very experienced eater. 

As experienced as she could be at only 22, anyway. Despite her youth, she was over 500 pounds. She was clearly the fattest Delta, especially considering she barely cleared five feet tall. Other than the fact that she was ridiculously overweight, Karen didn’t know too much about Lana: her accent placed her home somewhere in the deep south, and she was majoring in communication or marketing - something vaguely business-y. 

Lana’s hair was copper red, and brushed to the side, just barely covering her ear. In the front, she had bangs, slick with sweat. It was a hot day, and while she wasn’t exactly exercising, she was existing. At her size, that probably qualified as cardio. And her overheating was made worse by the heat of the barbeques. In spite of that heat, she had shown no signs of moving. Karen assumed that was because she wasn’t willing to abandon her foodsource. 

“Toss me a PBR, would you?” Lana said, pointing to a cooler just out of her reach. 

Karen did, and the overheated blob drained half the can before pausing to breathe and say thanks. Being that big must be thirsty work. 

In Delta Nu, skinnier girls (a relative term, since the skinniest girl in Delta Nu was over 200 pounds) always helped bigger girls when needed. It wasn’t written into the sorority’s bylaws or anything - it wasn’t the sort of thing you put to paper - but it was understood by everyone. 

The logic went like this: generally, new pledges were the slimmest. Four years of living in the Delta Nu house, eating with other food-addicted ultra-fatties meant that nearly everyone got bigger as they went through their four years. Helping a fatter girl reach something today meant that there would be someone there to help you tomorrow, when you were almost too fat to stand. Fatness worked as an indicator of seniority. As Karen had proudly observed while studying for a political science class, Delta Nu was a fat-triarchy.

Girls like Lana beat the fatness-equals-seniority system by being massive from the day they were inducted. Karen doubted Lana had ever been in a situation where she had to help out a larger sister, since there weren’t any. And since never moving to get anything meant she hardly ever burned calories, she wasn’t likely to let anyone surpass her. 

 Karen sighed and bit into a burger, still sizzling from the grill. Must be nice to never have to move. 

#####

Aimi licked the cherry pie filling off a serving spoon. Satisfied that she’d gotten all the sweetness of it, she banged the spoon on an empty pie tin to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright, Deltas,” she shouted over the noise of laughing, splashing, and eating, “time for a picture of all of us together. Let’s gather up over here.”

 Officially, Aimi was Delta Nu’s social director. Unofficially, at least according to Aimi, she was Delta Nu’s everything director. She liked to be in charge, and didn’t have a problem ordering her sisters around. That was good, because disrupting the recreation of 50 half-drunk, fully-stuffed party girls was a big project. Gathering the Deltas was hard enough when they were sober - adding a day of food and beer in didn’t exactly speed their jiggly movements. 

Several of the girls weren’t moving, pretending not to have heard. Aimi wasn’t surprised. Without her, the fat loads would probably just lounge around stuffing their faces 24/7. “Come on, bitches. Move those fat asses.” The irony of calling them ‘fat asses’ when she had one of the largest butts in the sorority was something she studiously ignored. 

Reluctantly, the lardy girls shifted, grunted, and waddled themselves into position. Plates were abandoned, though not without regret. Beers were drained, many of them with a belch. Makeup was checked and sweaty faces were dabbed at.

With the help of two smaller girls, Lana hoisted herself up from the bench. She bid a sad adieu to the small mountain of pasta salad she had stacked on her styrofoam plate, and started walking towards Aimi. The redhead moved with the grace of a sleepy bus. Everything wobbled. Her breasts bounced,seemingly ignorant of the fact that her emerald bikini promised “maximum bust support.” Down below, her belly had totally conquered the bikini bottom, burying it under an avalanche of sun-kissed fat. In the back, her bulging ass cheeks pressed together, swallowing up the stretchy fabric. The only sign she was wearing a bottom at all was a pair of green strings peeking out from the love handles on her sides. 

Fitness among the Deltas wasn’t uniform. Some were so out of shape that just getting to the photo location was a challenge. Lana was wheezing and red-faced after just a few steps. A blonde in a shiny blue one-piece was doubled over, her fat hands on her fat knees, struggling to catch her breath after the lengthy journey from the opposite side of the pool. One of the fatter girls, who had been lucky enough to already be sitting where Aimi was gathering everyone, was sucking air in deep gulps. She hadn’t had to walk anywhere, but she had needed to lift her 450 pounds to her feet. It took her three tries, and as far as she was concerned, that was a workout. 

On the other end of the obesity continuum, several of the girls were actually in some semblance of shape. A brunette with hoop earrings might have charitably been called chubby; she hardly jiggled at all when she moved. Behind her, a butch girl with a lip ring bore telltale signs of muscle under her fat. She walked over to the group with a stride that said “Walking? Not only can I do it - I don’t hate it!” A relatively slim girl - no more than 220 pounds - stood next to her. She munched on a fruit tart and nervously shifted from foot to foot, as if she actually had surplus energy. 

Aimi watched the gathering closely, ensuring that everyone ended up in an appropriate spot for the picture. Delta took the same picture every year, near the end of their pool day. Spotting Lana lumbering toward the crowd, Aimi spoke up. “Lana, you get in the middle.” Like the solar system, the largest body belonged in the centre. 

While the girls around the pool were unhappy at having to move to Aimi’s spot, those in the pool were distraught. Their time weighing nothing in the water was ending;  they were being dragged back to land, where they weighed far more than nothing.

“Why do we have to get out? I’m having fun,” Karen said, pouting. Karen’s fun in the pool had consisted of floating, nearly motionless, and occasionally paddling to the edge to take a pull of beer and a handful of chips. 

“Yeah, but you know how Aimi is. Better to get out than try to fight with her.” Sandra was already making her way towards the stairs at the other end of the pool. 

“But it’s so farrrrrrrr.” Karen was whining now, as she considered the trip before her. The stairs were all the way in the shallow end. That was a long way from where she was now, and an even longer way from the area where everyone was getting ready for the picture. If she could just get out directly from the deep end, it would be so much shorter. 

There was a ladder in the deep end, right near where the girls were awaiting the photo. Nobody had used it all day. It had been quite a while since Karen had climbed anything, but it was either that or take a long walk.

“You coming, Karen?” Sandra was shouting from near the stairs.

“Yeah, just a minute.” Karen swam over and pulled hard on the ladder, testing it. It was a trick well-known among the larger Deltas. Each of them had their own story of an embarrassing chair, bed, or stair collapse. The world wasn’t built with such obesity in mind. The ladder felt sturdy, so she grabbed tight and started up. 

The first few rungs were just fine. 

“Karen, are you seriously going to do that? There’s no way you’re going to make it.”

Halfway up the ladder, Karen chuckled at the warning. Sandra was welcome to take the long way - she was happy with her shortcut. 

Her attitude changed two steps later, when Karen admitted to herself that this definitely was not easier than over to the stairs. The first part had been easy, since her body was mostly underwater and buoyant. Then her breasts cleared the surface, and then her double belly, and everything got difficult. One step more, and her belly flopped onto her thighs with a wet slap. She was nearly out of the water - only her legs remained under. But she was stuck. The gentle undulations of underwater fat became the heavy, unbalancing jiggles of fat on land. 

No longer supported by the water, she found herself holding nearly her entire weight. She couldn’t go up any further at this point - her arms were shaking, face reddening, and teeth clenching just from the effort of hanging on.  

“Ohmygod, Karen, why are you so stubborn? Just use the stairs.”

“I’m not stubborn, but… I just… if I could.. to… I’m almost there,” she said. No longer in a position to string together a sentence, Karen focused instead on trying to raise her right leg. Draped in fat and bereft of muscle, lifting that leg was hard enough, but it was made even tougher because she also had to boost up the large slab of belly fat that rested on it.

Several of the more mobile girls walked over to the pool ladder to watch the show. It was unclear whether they were there to cheer Karen on or to giggle at the lard-stranded girl’s predicament. 

The lifeguard eyed the developing situation with alarm. He was used to pulling sobbing kids from the water and occasionally drunken adults. This was something else entirely. The woman on the ladder had to be nearly three times his weight. If she was stuck, he was sure he wouldn’t be able to help pull her up. As he watched her struggle, his eyes again drifted to the emergency defibrillator by the concession stand. He wondered if he would remember how to use it. 

Karen, meanwhile, was unaware of the attention she was receiving. She grunted a high-pitched sound of effort. Every muscle in her arms, long used to nothing more strenuous than lifting a fork to her mouth, was now working flat out, trying to raise her massiveness further. “Stupid… fat… belly,” she muttered. Her heart hammered in her chest and she gasped for air. She pulled. She strained. She swore under her breath.

She gave up.

The splash was tremendous. She didn’t lower herself daintily back into the pool. Every part of her was exhausted. There was no semblance of control. She just let go, all at once, falling backward. Her back rolls smacked the water, sending out an echoing crack, followed by mini-tsunamis to all corners of the pool. Anything within ten feet of the pool - deck chairs, towels, plates of barbeque, and the audience that had gathered to watch her - was soaked. 

Kelly, a blonde freshman in that audience, screeched. “Ughh,” she said, disgusted by this turn of events. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Her 350 pound body, clad in a white bikini with red polka dots, was dripping. She ran her hands through her sopping hair, as if struggling to believe that she could get wet near a pool. Convinced that this nightmare scenario had, against all odds, come to pass, she waddled off to the stack of towels outside the change rooms, jiggling and dripping as she went. Little rivulets of water weaved their way into and out of her many rolls and crevices.The towels were completely inadequate for a body like hers, so she took three. 

Meanwhile, Karen bobbed on the surface, face red from exertion and humiliation. Little waves, the result of her fall, splashed against her wobbling chest as she tried to catch her breath. Even though the majority of the other girls around the pool couldn’t hope to do better, and most politely looked away or nodded at her sympathetically, Karen was embarrassed. She chastised herself for attempting that - a huge fatty like her wasn’t meant to do anything so athletic. 

Stress did what it always did: it made her hungry. She swam slowly to the shallow end. With a hand still shaking from her ordeal, she gripped the railing and mounted the stairs. Instead of heading for the photo spot, she waddled shakily to the buffet table.

Other girls looked away. They could feel the embarrassment radiating from her. Nobody yelled at her to hurry up - even Aimi waited patiently. Everyone gave her a minute to get something to eat. Deltas knew the value of comfort food. 

Finally, after Karen had stuffed a consolation burger down her throat and Kelly had finished drying off and snorting indignantly, they were all set for the photo. 

The lifeguard, against his better judgement, was taking the picture. When Aimi had jiggled up to his chair and asked him to come down and take it, she hadn’t actually been asking. She’d been telling. 

“Okay, girls,” Aimi said, “Everybody looking so hot?”

The girls nodded. Some made a few final adjustments to accentuate their best features, but these were not bodies that adjusted easily. Faces reddened with the effort of standing. Sweat, wiped away moments ago, reappeared in glittering beads. Double and triple chins reasserted themselves, regardless of how far out the girls stuck their necks. Fat guts rolled over bikinis, sarongs, and tummy-control bottoms alike. Boobs strained against tops, acres of cleavage on display. Everything spilled and rolled and spread far beyond its proper location. In the very centre of the crowd, Lana sat on a pair of chairs and held up large plastic Greek letters, Delta and Nu. 

The lifeguard mentally made a joke about a wide angle lens, then took the picture. 

#####


Several hours after their photo, the sun was setting. The girls escaped the gravitational pull of their poolside chairs and recliners, gathered their belongings, and waddled off to change. They left behind a mess of empty food and drink containers. It looked like a swarm of locusts had swept through, though locusts would probably have balanced the junk food with some healthy whole grains. 

Inside the changeroom, it was chaos. Girls who struggled to maneuver their overloaded frames at the best of times were now various degrees of full and various degrees of drunk. All of them were tired and many of them sunburnt. 

The shower room had not been built with women this large in mind. The nozzles were too close together; as they showered off chlorine and tanning oil, naked asses, hips, and even bellies bumped against one another. Steam wafted through the room, muffling the hiss of the showers and the sound of laughing conversation. None of these women were shocked by the size of the nude bodies around them. If there was one thing a Delta Nu girl was used to, it was the fatness of her sisters. 

One girl, whose skin was a shade of red usually seen on fire trucks, walked gingerly through the slippery room, groaning with every step. Her left hand held a bag, her right supported her belly. Stuffing herself all day while laying in the sun had not agreed with her. 

“Uhoh, somebody’s going to have tiger stripes.”

“You try getting an even tan with this many rolls.”

“I’m saying this honestly, and not to be a bitch: your burned sides seriously make you look like an accordion.”

“I feel more like a tuba. Or whatever those huge drums are called. Fuck, if I burst, don’t tell my parents. Tell them I died, I dunno, running at the gym or something.” 

“As long as you do the same for me.” 

Outside the showers, a very drunk Kelly had completely forgotten her earlier huff over the soaking. Now, she was holding an impromptu dance competition against the force of gravity. She was winning, but just barely. Damp from sweat and the humidity of the change room, her side folds and butt clapped loudly as she bounced to music that only she was hearing. There were no clothes hanging near her, and her polka dot bikini was nowhere to be seen. Naked and drunk, her plan for the rest of the evening seemed underthought. 

“Good lord, Kelly, where are your clothes?”

“Don’t need clothes. I’m a hot bitch.”

Kelly’s matter-of-fact tone drew laughter from the Deltas nearby. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, I’m the hottest bitch here. Y’all are a bunch of porkballs, and I’m sexy. Wanna know a secret?” She curled her finger, palm up, and gestured for the women to come closer. None did. 

Aimi, struggling to free herself from a too-small bikini bottom, rolled her eyes. “How much did you have to drink, Kell?”

“Enough to FUCK YOUR BOYFRIEND.” Kelly laughed, then spun on her heel in an awkward celebration of her excellent zinger. This spin, combined with the slippery tile, proved too much for her impaired balance. She collapsed in a heap, her naked belly and butt wobbling chaotically.

The changeroom was mostly concrete, but the other girls could have sworn that the building shook when Kelly fell. She lay on her butt for a moment, then belched, shouted, “wooOOooOo,” at nobody in particular, and set her head down on the floor. 

One of Kelly’s friends, a Chinese student who had clearly taken to American portions, leaned over the lardy heap. Concern in her voice mixed with amusement as she asked, “How you doing, Kell?”

“Smells like bleach.”

“That’s good. It means they cleaned the floor today. You’re not going to die of ringworm.”

“Yeah, boooooooy,” Kelly laughed, then closed her eyes. 

“Ready to get up?”

Kelly shook her head no. 

“Jesus,” her friend muttered, rubbing her temples. “Who wants to help me get this drunky up from the floor?”

#####

As they finished their showers and squeezed into their street clothes, made slightly tighter by full bellies, the girls left through the double doors. Built to allow two people to pass through at a time, they were barely wide enough for a single Delta. Even then, some had to turn to the side, moving in an awkward sideways shuffle, to avoid wedging their hips in the doors. The most bottom-heavy among them did so without even thinking about it; past door-cloggings had drilled the lesson into them. 

But the changeroom doors weren’t the biggest challenge waiting for the sorority fatties as they left. Pool management tried to keep a count of those who entered and those who left the facility. And to accomplish that, they used the fatgirl’s worst enemy: turnstiles. 

Thankfully, there was a handicapped exit, which had a wide gate instead of a turnstile. Most of the girls took that. 

A few didn’t.

“I bet you can’t fit through that,” Karen said, pointing at the narrow turnstile. She had forgotten her earlier ladder humiliation and was back to her playful self. Dressed in tight jean shorts and a pink tank top, she shivered slightly in the cool evening air.

“I bet YOU can’t.” Sandra was drunk, but not drunk enough to fall for Karen’s obvious dare. 

“Big talk from a big girl. Too big to get through the little gate.”

“I can totally fit, Kar. It’s you I’m worried about. Your hips are, like, wider than Lana’s.”

Karen laughed. “Bitch. I think you’re just projecting.”

“Oh, ‘projecting.’ You get that in psychology class? The same class where they had to call the facilities guy to pry you out of the desk? “

“I told you not to bring that up again. It was, like, a traumatic experience.”

“You seem to be have a lot of those. Pysch desks, dining hall washrooms, pool ladders.” Sandra punctuated the list with a small burp.

“I guess it’s easy for you not to get stuck, since you can’t even fit anywhere in the first place.” To someone who hadn’t seen their friendship in action, it might seem like a fight was about to break out. But Sandra and Karen were always teasing each other. They both faced embarrassments and inconveniences because of their profound obesity, and this was how they dealt with it. 

“Think of this as a chance for redemption. Slip through the turnstile and I won’t ever bring up any of those three ‘traumatic experiences’ again.”

“Sandra, you are such a liar. There’s no way you’re going to stick to that promise. Besides, this turnstile is tiny. It’s designed for, like, the anorexic girls. If I’m going to try to squash my ass through it, I want to win something real.”

“Hm,” Sandra hummed, trying to think of a prize that would appeal to her friend. “If you fit through, I won’t mention those embarrassing incidents again, AND I’ll buy your fat ass dinner at your choice of fast food place. As much as you can eat.”

“Now you’re talking. What if I can’t fit?”

“You buy me dinner. Same thing - all I can eat.”

“That’s a serious bet. Dunno if I have $500 dollars laying around to spend on feeding you. I’ve seen you eat, remember.” Karen stood, arms akimbo, fat hips cocked slightly to the right, as she considered the offer. “Alright,” she said, “you’re on.”

She stood directly in front of the turnstile and frowned. It was going to be really tight. Karen breathed in and turned sideways. Her hips had no chance, but maybe her belly? She sucked in her gut as far as she could, hoping that would encourage her ass to shrink somehow. Gingerly, she stepped into the turnstile. Her belly spilled over the gate on one side, and her ass on the other Her thigh jammed against the bar. It looked like the turnstile had an enormous muffintop.

“Ooooof.” She gave a girlish grunt, and pawed at her belly. Lifting it off the gate, she took a step. The turnstyle clicked partway… she pushed harder… and it clicked again. She popped out the other side and rubbed her soon-to-be-bruised ass. “Made it. Easy.”

Sandra was smiling. After the ladder incident earlier, Karen needed the win more than her. “Damn. That was way too easy. I thought we would have to get out the butter and lube you up before you’d even have a chance to make it through.”

“Oo, butter. Nice of you to remind me of food, since you’re about to pay for it. Where should we stop first?”

“First?”

“First. All I can eat, that was the deal. And not all the things I can eat are sold at a single restaurant. Besides, after all that sun today, I’m feeling hungry.”

 

 

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