I first started swimming because I needed to get in shape. I was sick of being stuck in a lifestyle of yoyo dieting. Sometimes I'd be able to stick to a diet for a few months; cut out the crap in my eating habits, do a little light exercise, shed a few pounds and feel a little better about myself. It felt great being that little bit lighter, having a few less bumps sticking out from everywhere. Other times I'd lose my motivation; my will power would be washed away with wine and crisps, any junk food I could get my hands out. I was a mess.
I finally decided that enough was enough when I realised that I was reaching the heaviest weight I'd been in my entire life. I guess it'd be fair to say that things weren't really going well in my life. It was the usual story, I was in a dead end, mundane job, single with a bunch of friends who were all attached to significant others, many seemingly having wild, exciting sex, the rest just thrilled to be in love with their special someone. It gets pretty depressing after a while being the only person you know who isn't particularly happy. Even my parents were having more sex than I was, it was ridiculous. Don't get me wrong, I was happy for them but it gets a little much when you have to hear their bed-springs creaking every second night -- it was crazy, like they were trying to remake a naughty version of 'Cocoon'.
You might wonder why a twenty three year old woman was living at home with her sex-addicted parents. Well, like I said before, the job I was in was pretty dead-end, I wasn't earning nearly enough to justify the debt I would get myself into if I decided to fly the nest, besides after a few weeks of the rents' noisy nocturnal activities, I bought myself some heavy duty earphones as I realised this was no longer just a phase. It was one night when I was listening to my tunes, trying to drown out the intermittent "Oohs, Ahhs" and ""Oh baby, harder, harder" -- no jokes, folks, that's the kind of stuff my father cries out when my mother's balling him... I had my music turned up full blast and I was trying to get an outfit to wear to this party a friend was throwing the following night. Well, it was the same old story, a wardrobe full of clothes but sweet FA to wear. I pulled out sparkly tops, funky tops, skirts and even a dress and everything that I managed to fit into either revealed a whole assortment of unflattering lumps and bumps or simply made me look fat and frumpy. I felt so disgusted with myself. I couldn't help but cry a little as I looked in the mirror at what I had become.
I made a decision there and then: I'd get fit, for once and for all. I sat up for hours that night looking at pictures of people on the internet that I wanted to be like. I didn't kid myself and look at those skinny women, I honestly don't get Size 0 -- I don't think it's sexy, plus I may be fat but I am a realist: no amount of dieting and starving myself is ever going to make me look like that. A, I love my food too much and B, I just don't think I'm destined to be that way. So I ignored the pics of super models and looked at more everyday celebs: Sarah Rue -- at least back in the day, even she's falling into the stick-figure trap. I wanted to be like her, her gorgeous long red locks, her beautiful pale skin and her curves that used to be in all the right places. Lisa Kudrow was another woman that I found attractive, admirable even, with her fantastic smile, her slender yet realistic figure and that amazing humour and confidence. I wanted to be like my friends who were just normal. As I looked at myself in the mirror I decided I had a pretty decent face, I didn't think I was ugly, but I wasn't happy with who I was. My hair was long and untamed; chestnut brown locks that flowed way down my back. I always got compliments on my hair and, to be fair, my eyes which are an unusual shade of green. But the rest of me was just so not what I wanted to be. I was fat and unfit and something needed to change.
I knew what I had to do. I had to change my lifestyle. I hated how that sounded in my head. It was like my mother constantly telling me that I had to go on a diet as I was getting so huge. It was like being told how I'd never get a man or I'd never get the job I always wanted 'cos people would think I was too much of a slob. I ignored those thoughts for once and opened up a new search engine and I typed in "Sports and activities for unfit people". After just one click of the mouse, pages and pages of, results filtered before my very eyes. Yoga, pilates, running, power walking. Wow, the list was extensive but I looked at it doubtfully as I contemplated my best efforts at attempting to touch my toes which would, more than likely, see me only make it half way before I would get stuck and need a crane to pull me back up -- don't even get me started on pilates! As for running, I can't imagine there being a sports bra made big enough to strap up my Double G boobs -- that would be a massive workout in itself!
Finally, I came across something that I hadn't considered: swimming. I had forgotten that there was a pool nearby. The next problem that arose was self-doubt. Now that I had a good idea, I began to look for reasons why it wouldn't be a feasible option for me. Number one, my swim suit was really old and unfashionable (what do you expect of a size 18/20?). Number two, swimming requires you to be at least half naked. Number three - there are lots of people around to see you being at least half naked! The outlook wasn't good. I decided to step away from the computer and listen to some more tunes for a while before I made any rash decisions. I thought long and hard about things and decided that I shouldn't care about these stupid reasons that were holding me back. After some reflection, I headed back and looked at the swimming pool's webpage and felt relieved to see that the pool opened at 6.45am. Perfect -- the only people around would be diehard fitness fanatics who would probably be too self-obsessed to worry about me. Before I could convince myself otherwise, I looked out a rucksack, managed to fish my old and incredibly ugly stripy (and very unflattering) bathing suit and shoved it in the bag with a towel and some shampoo. Then, I headed to bed as I'd have an early start the next day.
* * * * *
Bright and early the next morning, I found myself walking out to the drive way, half asleep, hair wild and already tangling in the breeze. I threw my rucksack in the back seat of my battered, old car and sat down with a giant sigh. I didn't really want to do this anymore but I figured that I'd made a huge effort getting up at 6.30am and so, I should just go through with it. To my amazement, disgust and utter fear, the car park was already half full when I arrived. I felt a giant wave of nausea wash over me as I contemplated the prospect of parading about in a worn old swimsuit in front of other, conscious and critical human beings! Still, I gritted my teeth, and somehow managed to force myself out of the car and into the gym. The assistant, Sylvie looked way too cheerful for this ungodly hour and so I made a quick exit after listening to her instructions. I was relieved to walk past the gym suite and see row upon row of people pounding away on treadmills and rowing machines -- maybe there wouldn't be too many people in the pool after all?
I spent twelve and half minutes in the cramped cubicle, desperately trying to squeeze myself into the striped nightmare of a costume I'd brought along with me. I almost pulled a muscle trying to squeeze my boobs and bum into it. It was amazing that I made it out of the cubicle at all. The hardest part wasn't walking into the shower area (originally it was going to be, but I'd taken so long getting changed that the changing area was totally deserted) and so, after taking the statutory shower, I had to walk out into the pool area in full view of anyone and everyone. It was hellish. I could feel the nerves overcoming me, I felt sick and shaky -- how could I possibly expose myself like this. Surely people would laugh at this fat mess that was about to waddle her way into the pool and probably half empty it? God, what if someone said something... I knew that was silly though. Realistically, the worst that these adults would do would be stare. God...
Eventually, I forced myself out of the safety of the shower room and out into the bustle of the pool area. It was worse than I imagined. There were three lifeguards strolling round different sections of the pool and another one watching from the high chair. They were pacing, their lithe, muscular bodies in smart skinny t-shirts and short shorts, the quintessential Venus and Adonis figures. It was enough to make me want to run straight back into the cubicle and lock myself away in there for good! Amazingly though, they didn't seem particularly interested on me. They were more intent on their pacing, the occasional glance towards the swimmers helped to break their monotony. So I turned my attention to the people in the pool. At 7am the main clientele were the more mature members of the community. There were about twenty five of them in the pool. Some were doing breadths, a few women were doing leisurely lengths, catching up on the gossip in their retro frilly swim-caps. One gentleman was even doing a handstand in the shallow end of the pool. But most of the people were clustered in little groups talking away to one another. I felt relieved when a few people called "Good morning" to me, politely before turning their attention to what they were doing. It was bizarre. It seemed as though my self-consciousness had been totally unnecessary.
I walked towards the pool tentatively with the shower water dripping off my wet skin and making me feel chilly. Rather than jump straight in and make a giant splash, I decided to use the stairs. First foot in felt fine but the further in that I went the colder the water seemed to be. Dam that hot shower, I thought. Still it was better to be submerged in the water than have people seeing this big fat lump hanging over the pool edge. The water was fine once I was plucked up the courage to fully submerge myself. All in all, the first swimming session wasn't as horrific as I had imagined it would be. Apart from the fact that I was horribly unfit and I exhausted myself incredibly easily, no-one was staring at me, scrutinising my grotesque body or looking at me in scorn. People were just going about their own business. I managed ten lengths that morning, with many breaks in between. I knew that it wasn't much of an achievement for the average person but it was a major breakthrough for me so I dragged my tired but proud ass back out the pool and rewarded myself with a nice hot shower.
I felt good about myself -- totally shattered, yes and I also looked an absolute state -- beet red and drained but I also felt good. It was a good tired -- a tiredness that I felt I'd earned. And by God, I slept well that night! You know what else? I'd had fun. It was a good time of day to go as well -- it wasn't too busy and I could just get on with it. And that became my routine, four mornings a week I would go swimming. I didn't tell anyone else what I was doing but people caught on to the fact that I was doing something different because I was a totally different person. I'd go to work with a spring in my step and a smile on my face and that was something that was totally new to me. I'd still go and hang out with my friends but I began to feel less awkward and self conscious because I felt good about the positive changes I was making in my life. It began like a drug to me. I began to love going for, what soon became, my daily swim. I was so comfortable in the water and I was getting to be a much better swimmer. What's more, my body was starting to change as well. Gradually I noticed that my flabby arms were starting to gain more definition, my legs were becoming toned and after a few weeks I was definitely in need of a new costume. And not because it was totally knachered -- it had gone from squeezing me in from all angles -- at a hell of a stretch -- to baggy and practically falling off me in places!
I decided to go swim suit shopping. Well, not in the normal sense -- although I was shedding the pounds, I still didn't fancy the idea of going into an actual shop where I might need to try one on or even bare my naked flesh in, god forbid, a communal changing room! So I went online. I still wasn't quite light enough to get a proper sporty costume but I was able to drop a swimsuit size in most "fatty" shops. I spent time looking through the pictures -- it made a nice change to see curvaceous women who were very sexy in their own right, modelling these swimsuits. Don't get me wrong, a lot of them were wearing sarongs and wraps in order to hide any unflattering bits that they didn't want to show off. But still, these women looked gorgeous -- they were full figured but so confident, buxom and beautiful and I wished I could be more like them.
There were so many different types of swim suits -- tankinis and bikinis (perish the thought) as well as bog standard one piece suits, although some of them actually had underwires to provide support for the fuller busted women. I didn't quite feel ready for that so I selected a pretty boring but practical and hopefully flattering black costume. Maybe it wasn't the most daring costume but it was surely a huge improvement on the last one! I was surprised at just how excited I was when my new suit arrived one afternoon. I felt like a child on her birthday, rushing to the doorstep to see if the postman had been already. When I saw the package I took it and ran (can you imagine that -- a few weeks earlier there's no way I could have managed to run even a few steps and here I was bounding up the stair case, barely breaking a sweat) to my room. I ripped open the paper and pulled out the polythene bag containing my prize for all my hard work. I was desperate to try it on so I stripped my clothes off straight away -- not bothering to close my bedroom curtains even though the house faced the main road. I didn't care, I couldn't wait to slip into the black lycra and see if I was making progress. I changed into quicker than Bruce Almighty and stood in front of the full length mirror to have a closer look. It wasn't half bad. Alright, I was by no means skinny but I looked a hell of a lot better than I had a few weeks back in that old stripy number. I did a twirl in slow motion, trying to watch my figure the whole time, with little success I may add.
I had made the right decision with the colour -- black is always flattering and the style was a good choice too. It had been recommended for the "fuller figured lady" and it seemed to accentuate all the things that you'd like to be accentuated -- mainly the cleavage which it pushed up a little rather than squishing down. And it played down all of the unsightly areas, tummy and bum. I was pleased though, my hard work was starting to pay off. This was just the encouragement that I needed. I took a little longer leaving the house that day. I was liking the new me and I decided that I'd take advantage of having an empty house and now I could substitute my former self with a new skinnier one in all my saucy fantasies.
From then on, I started going to the baths every weekday. No longer was I swimming just ten lengths -- through time I managed to build up my routine and my ability until I was swimming fifty and sometimes even sixty lengths in a session, almost effortlessly. I was feeling more confident and having conversations with some of the regulars as well. I felt good about myself. I liked to play at the end of my session, sounds silly I know. I liked to swim down to the deep end of the pool and swim about underwater like a mermaid. I would do backflips and somersaults, just floating about. There was nothing I liked better than to chill out like that at the end of my workout. I was never aware of anyone else. Most of the swimmers would be hanging out, chatting up at the shallow end.
One morning, after I had been having my "play time", I was relaxing in the deep end, kicking my legs to cool down. I was lost in my own little world when I heard a voice beside me say "You could be a mermaid, you know that?"
"Huh?" I said, with a puzzled look on my face.
"You're very graceful in the water." He said, with an honest smile on his face.
"Oh, em... thanks." I said, feeling the colour rise in my face. I hadn't been aware of him in the pool, nor had I realised that he had been watching me.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out. I've been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to you for weeks." He continued, a hint of bashfulness entering his voice now. "My name's Josh, by the way."
It was a moment before I could answer, I was too busy concentrating on staying afloat after he'd told me he'd been trying to talk to me. I felt freaked out but when I looked over at him again, he flashed that gorgeous smile and I felt certain that he wasn't some weird pervert.
"Emily. That's my name."
"Nice name, pleased to meet you." He reached over to shake my hand, I'd never done that in the water. It was kind of weird holding someone else's hands, their fingers all wrinkled and prune-like too. We spoke for a while longer, until eventually he made a move to go. Well, I wasn't planning on leaving first, was I? Not in my current state of undress. Yeah, I was gaining self-confidence about the new way I looked but I still had a lot of my Fat-girl negative imagery to overcome. So I continued to paddle away, telling him that it was important for me to do that to finish up my swimming session. He said his goodbyes quite regretfully and told me hoped he'd see me again. I kind of hoped I'd see him too. When I got home that night, after work, I thought about what had happened at the pool. It made me feel slightly ashamed to think that someone had been watching me. Then I thought about the way he had smiled at me and the way he had complimented me. My body started to tingle and I that night I masturbated with a new fantasy.
And that was the start of it. I'd go for my daily swim and, more often than not, Josh would be there. Sometimes he was doing lengths, focusing on his goal, never giving me a second glance until he had completed his work out. Other times he would be sitting at the poolside, on a sun lounger or a deckchair. It was those times that I was most aware of him looking at me. Checking me out. At first I felt a little self-conscious. I couldn't decide if he was some weird guy that I should never have spoken to. Then I remembered his gorgeous, friendly, safe smile. Sometimes he'd come into the water and we'd chat, just random but pretty run of the mill stuff, nothing weird. Other times we wouldn't talk at all, but he'd wave. He'd always make some sort of contact with me. I liked him. It was pretty obvious that he fancied me as well, not that I'm being pigheaded or anything. I would be kidding myself if I said he didn't though. It was obvious. The way he looked at me conveyed that he was into me.
If I'm being honest, I was pretty attracted to him too. He was gorgeous. At least I thought he was. He was pretty tall, about 5' 10" -- that's pretty tall for me, I'm only about 5' 6". He had nice stubble lining a pretty well defined, but not too sharp, jaw, shaggy brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes. And the smile was gorgeous. He was pretty ripped as well, had a nice six pack going on. That was one of the reasons why I was surprised that he seemed to like me. He was in too good shape and he was good looking. I've got to admit that he kept my mind racing all day long and I enjoyed some pretty extensive fantasies during what became my nightly masturbation ritual. I've always enjoyed masturbation but I was having more fun than I'd had in months and more often than not I found myself pleasuring myself to Josh. They were mainly swimming pool fantasies. I imagined the two of us becoming more acquainted in the shower areas, then there was one where he fucked me in the changing cubicle and even one in the swimming pool itself. It was great. I found myself exploring new territory and I was totally turned on by it.