Big Bayou WaterPark
Driving in her car towards Big Bayou Waterpark, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other clutching a half-eaten jelly donut, Jasmine felt conflicted. She gulped down the last bite, feeling the calorie-filled wad of fried dough slide down her throat to join the seven that had preceded it, adding it's weight to the heavy ball of grease and calories in her stomach. She shivered a little, reaching to turn down the air conditioning a bit before grabbing, no longer hungry, but greedy, for the last donut in the box, shoving it into her mouth, wondering whether she should have brought a sundress for the day, maybe done a bit more to cover up.
Nah, she decided as the last morsel made it's place in her overfull stomach, that would defeat the purpose of this trip. Brushing a few stray crumbs from her breasts, she reflected on why she was doing this.
She didn't like water parks; this was about something else. This was about protecting her self-image. She began thinking through her reasoning.
Big Bayou was in the sweet spot, the cross-section between the obesity epidemic and sheer, redneck apathy, a park populated by women without shame, obese to the extreme, wearing outgrown swimsuits, giving no thought to the intensity of their weight problems as they plowed through their fifteenth churro.
This was an annual trip for Jasmine since she'd moved to the area, driving out a few hours to the water park. It was a new tradition, only five years old, but then, she'd never needed the self-esteem boosts back before she got so...
She didn't like the word using the word 'fat' to describe herself, she preferred to say just that she 'wasn't really ready for bikini season.' That was her usual line, anyway. The fact she hadn't been bikini-ready for years was irrelevant.
It was all her fault, she knew that. Five years of giving in to her baser, more primal desires, overindulging beyond the limits of comfort and safety through the holidays, making a right pig out of herself, and reaping the roundness of her binges, followed by an annual diet and exercise routine of laying around the house, eating whatever she felt like eating whenever it was available, and putting no effort into losing weight. That was bound to end up like this. Every year, a good ten, fifteen pounds were added to her bodacious, bottom-heavy body, enhancing her plump, pear shape more and more.
She wasn't ready for bikini season, but that didn't matter. It was bikini season, whether or not she was ready for it, and she loved the season. She was fatter than ever now, this past winter had been rougher than usual on her poor, plumpening body, but that didn't matter either. She'd searched, and she'd found, coming up with a bikini big enough to cover her, sturdy enough to stand against the swelling softness that was her body.
It was hardly an ideal suit, she'd always loved her swimwear more revealing. Her history was one of always wearing the minimum acceptable, a long line of skimpy, strappy little numbers, just enough to cover her naughty bits, not enough to disguise the rest of her.
Last year was the end of that, though. That bikini, rest in peace, had been a teeny little thing, a thong bottom, the cups of the top barely enough to cover her areolas, with red straps, thin as wires cutting deep into her many plush layers of back fat. It had worked, she'd been covered, but just barely, until...
Well, that was the past, she thought, no reason to dwell on it, she'd learned her lesson, and maybe she didn't like the cut of her current suit, but it wasn't in danger of snapping any time soon. It wasn't awful though. It was still skimpy, enough to get the boys' attention, which was always her goal in going to Big Bayou. She may not be thin by society's standards, or anyone's standards really, but against the women she knew went to this park, she was fit, she was healthy, she was hot.
She was fat, even she couldn't deny that the number on the scale, and the distance around her hips was going up, but she liked to tell herself that she wasn't that bad, that even as the pounds continued piling on without slowing down, that she still looked like what would happen to Kim Kardashian if she went on a diet of cheesecake and chocolate bars for a year or so
The women who went to Big Bayou on the other hand, they were a bunch of trailer trash, a bunch of fat bitches who'd been closing in on 200 pounds even before they popped out a baby at 17 and had an excuse to 'let themselves go.' Those women had no shame about their bodies, and as far as Jasmine could see, they really should. If she was Kim K on a cheesecake and chocolate diet, these women were Rosie O'Donnell on a cheeseburger and churro diet. She'd seen girls turned away from water slides on the fear they'd get stuck in them, and then again, five minutes after, at the food court.
Jasmine though, she was something else. She wasn't even from this state, she was a classier woman, sexy, under control. She was sexual, but on her own terms.
She liked attention, she liked the feeling of power. She liked her clothes close-cut and revealing, and the way she walked, strutting her stuff with a sexy wiggle, using every extra ounce to her advantage.
As she pulled her plump body out of her car, fighting against the ever-growing force of gravity to straighten up, she felt her self-confidence grow. There weren't many men around, four or five maybe, but she saw from the corner of her eye, they were staring at her. She paused for a second to pull out a wedgie for what she knew wasn't going to be the last time today. These bottoms, they weren't intended to be a thong, but on an ass as fat as hers, they couldn't be much else, with the way her rounded rump kept gobbling them up every few steps.
She didn't pick them out every time, that would break the immutable rhythm of her sexy stride, her patented porker's parade. It was a practiced motion, this walk, each step showing clearly how beautifully juicy her bottom was, the jiggling flesh of her round, meaty buns distracting from her less than slight cellulite problem. She dealt with the discomfort of her bottoms the way she always did, by shifting her focus from her wardrobe problems to the way that one blond guy by the light post was staring, open-mouthed at her, in what she could only assume was pure, unashamed lust. That's a good start to a day, she thought, smiling as she walked through the gates into the park.
It was surprising, even to her, the attention she got. For the most part, the lustful stares of unhappy men married to women with waistlines wider than the front of a bus, had made a slow but steady decline since her second trip. There were always a lot looking, but this time was like the first time, every other guy was watching her. She was center-stage, but it wasn't quite the same.
She got the sense that a lot of these men, they weren't imagining what a night with Jasmine would be like.
Some still were, more than half, she estimated. Those ones had that familiar, glazed look of sheer, sensual desire on their faces, but there were some, too many, who looked at her the same way that she looked at most of the women there, lips curling with disgust and contempt for such wanton piggishness. She wandered to a lawn chair, feeling a little tired from the prolonged presentation of sexiness.
She pulled a bottle of sunscreen from her bag and began massaging the cream into her pores, her hands sliding along the soft surface of her butterscotch colored skin, sinking into the softness of her stomach, using her fingers to spread sunblock into the fat rolls that her luxurious lifestyle had produced, working it deep into the flesh. She made a spectacle of the whole thing, exaggerating every action, flinching at the cool touch of the sunblock, groaning sensuously as she struggled against the bloated swell of her well-tended tummy to bend far enough to reach her legs, sharing shy smiles, subtle winks, and quiet giggles with the men she kept 'accidentally' making eye contact with.
Finally, confidently, she walked over to a particularly cute guy she'd caught staring more than once, less a walk than a bounce, the entire motion intended to show off her round, full, DD-cup chest. In a sexy, helpless voice, she asked him, "Mister, I'm sorry to interrupt you, sitting here, enjoying your day, but could you get my back for me?" She ended her question with a wink, leaning in towards him, her cleavage in his face.
"Yeah, uh, no thank you." He answered.
"Uh, what now?" Jasmine responded, dropping the sexy pretense. She was just surprised. She'd done this five years now, this was her first rejection. She didn't really want an answer to her question.
"Uh, I said no." The man responded, a rude, judgmental look on his face, "I'm also not looking to smear sunscreen on every other fatass whale who comes in here, either. Why is this such a surprise?"
Jasmine was crushed.
She turned around, not answering, and headed straight for comfort, straight for the food court. She was aware of how stupid that was, she'd started her day off with a dozen donuts, and now it was official, she was too fat for the cute boy to deign to spread sunscreen on her back. The next level of fatness, she was there, and she was reacting to the news by eating more. This was her problem, that was why she was so fat. She knew it, but just that second, she didn't give a shit.
As she got to the food court, she was reminded once again why she came here.
Women were all around, resting in the shade while their husbands/boyfriends watched their children, a collection of the women she'd come to this park to see, lardasses with butts like buses, bellies like great, gelatinous globes, these women were the obesity epidemic personified, great globs of gluttony, feasting on Taco Bell and Dairy Queen, or rather, the off-brand Big Bayou equivalents. Any one of them outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds, easily, and their overblown bodies were on display for her to compare herself to, but somehow, just that second, that wasn't enough for Jasmine. She was thin in this company, but that wasn't enough. A hippopotamus would look slim beside these women. She needed some serious comfort food, some serious sugar, saturated fats, carbohydrates.
She didn't let herself go overboard, at least, not as far as she wanted to. A couple of churros, a hamburger, a lot of food by the standards of a thinner woman, but nothing to one of her. Just a large snack, and a little too much, she thought after she'd finished, considering she wasn't done digesting the donuts. Compared to the size of her normal, day-to-day meals, this was pretty reasonable. That was the problem, she decided as she leaned back to digest her excesses, her 'normal meals' weren't healthy either, or small.
To say she overate at every meal would be to damn her appetite with faint praise. Ordinary meals were excessive, and her moments of indulgence, those were in another class beyond 'healthy' and 'unhealthy.' Her holiday meals were more in line with 'ungodly,' or 'unbelievable.'
She was a hedonist, she lived her life having fun, lazing around being hot, and attracting attention to herself. Add to that eating as much as she wanted of everything she wanted, overeating every meal, clearing her plate even after eating became painful, and this is what happens. Dieting never entered her mind when there was food in front of her. Delicious food on her table meant she'd be eating delicious food, even after her oh-so-mistreated stomach began begging her, please stop.
She began remembering just the way she'd been eating these past months. Not for long, though, just a second before she caught herself and sighed, the past was the past; she couldn't make herself thinner by reliving her long list of dietary sins. Her stomach had shrunk by now, digested. Not entirely, but it was small enough now that she couldn't see it past her breasts. That was how it should be, she thought, she was an hourglass, not a standard grade fatty, even if she was on that path. She stood up and started walking out, pausing by the door, thinking it might be best if she just left now.
Then something happened.
