My heels have come off the ground, and if I shift my weight a smidge to the left I think I’m going to fucking fall. It was cute the first time. Fall over again, and I’ll be pushing my luck.
Before I even lift the bar, I can see myself getting crushed by it, like I almost did the night I met Chase and Eric.
They were there to catch you then, I remind myself. They’ll be here to catch you again.
Valuable seconds tick by. There’s no fucking way I can do this.
I’m not a weight lifter. I’m not gorgeous. I’m not any of the things the other competitors are.
But just as I’m ready to give up, deep within me, something stirs.
An image. It’s faint at first, but when I focus, I can imagine it clearly.
It’s Chase, helping me through my squats—just like the old times.
He’s standing behind me, hands on my hips, guiding me through the movement.
I force myself to relive the many times I’ve done this move with Chase.
I can do this. I can actually fucking do this!
The fantasy shifts. Instead of Chase positioning my hips, his massive fucking cock is under me. I picture myself squatting onto his fucking dick.
I concentrate on the way my muscles contract as I slowly go down. Only to ninety degrees, which is just enough to have him push all the way into my fucking tight pussy.
Gently, using all of my muscles in my quads, I push upward. I ignore Fantasy Chase’s protests—because like, obviously he would be left begging for more—and keep going until I’m upright again.
When I hear applause, I snap out of my imagination and am transported back to the contest.
I’ve done it. I’ve really fucking done it.
When I find Eric and Chase in the crowd, I catch their eye. They both give me the thumbs up sign, and I feel like running over and throwing myself at them.
I don’t, of course, because that would be like, super unprofessional of me and stuff.
But I think about it.
Oh, I think about it hard.
Fuck Evian. Fuck all the people who thought I couldn’t do this.
Getting fat might have been a curve ball for my career…but it also got me here, didn’t it?
Without those years of dieting and starving, Atkins, keto, fasting and worse, I wouldn’t have met Chase and Eric. I wouldn’t be competing in an international nude beauty pageant. And I sure as hell wouldn’t be the woman that I am today.
Whatever this pageant throws at me next, I’m fucking ready.
Bring it.
Kara
Two sheets of long white silk hang from the ceiling. Nothing else. No harness, no other safety precaution—only fabric.
I must be fucking insane.
The fabric looks so flimsy with the stage lights shining through it, and the photos from Evian are still fresh in my mind.
Will these sheets even hold me? They have before…but will they now?