PART 1 - BEACHED WHALES
Link back to earlier “Frying Dutchman” story
“SSBW Uniformed Combat Corps” versus
the secret police “Balloon Squad”
the secret police “Balloon Squad”
Link back to earlier “Frying Dutchman” story
Our uniformed Security Corps had grown too big for his little ship.
Koenraad ‘The Frying Dutchman’ announced this in his direct Dutch way at his mid day fry-up session today. We had to go - it was time we found a new home!
Our life had suddenly been up ended.
“Too BIG !” we all exclaimed. “Why? We all thought you liked us this way!”
I recalled how, since I’ve made myself up to Captain, Captain Grieta has joked about “her” little ship being way too small for two SSBW captains.
“None of you lovely soft Sweeties could ever be too big for The Frying Dutchman” Koenraad guffawed – “its just that your Security/Combat show has gotten much too successful.”
“You need to have your own identity, a separate business – your stuff is ideal for digital TV”
So that’s how we were hived off as a separate business with Vilhelmina as CEO.
There was absolutely no disagreement about where we should be based – “Pannecotterra!” we’d all declared.
Four of the team were from there anyway, while Vilhelmina and I regarded it as 'The Fatties’ Paradise on Earth'.
And just as Bliss had earlier sourced us our splashy new uniforms, so she’s proved the link to locating a shore station.
Next time we passed through Pannecotterra, another of her uncles into Real Estate showed Bliss and Vilhelmina around an old Palazzo that had recently failed as a 4 star hotel due to being on the wrong side of town down by the dockyard.
Vilhelmina came bouncing back along the quayside to the ship full of ideas: it had a swimming pool in the back courtyard with an excellent kitchen opening off.
And for all of us who find even shallow grandiose staircases tiring, there’s a big glass lift tacked onto the back of the palazzo accessing the 3 floors of majestic old rooms overlooking the harbour plus all the luxury en suite bedrooms opening onto the courtyard.
Vilhelmina stayed behind through a couple of hot summer months to oversee readying our new home while we went off, lazing around the tiny islands of the Eastern Med.
By mid-September Vilhelmina was ready to welcome us ‘combat’ fatties back to our very own place. The ship tied up opposite our palazzo’s impressively elaborate pillared entrance and the larger souls such as Tina the pianist, Corporeal Simone, and Corrie were trollied across the quay into their new home.
As he took in all the details Vilhelmina created in converting the former hotel, Koenraad put his arm as far around Vilhelmina’s rotund German torso as he could stretch. Hugging and kissing her, he declared:
“Now I can see how you’ve interpreted every last need of your hungry “prize fighters” so imaginatively, we shall all stay and party with you while we overhaul the “Roosje Jelle” in the Dockyard along the harbour.
So that was that. While Captain Grieta bustled off to direct her ship’s re-fit and get her bottom scoured and cleaned in the nearby dockyard, everyone else enjoyed an interlude of feasting and festivities while we christened our new home.
The palm tree shaded old courtyard proved our favourite place to laze about, a magnificent contrast to our little ship’s space restrictions. The pool had a sort of island bar/servery with full dining facilities which links directly to the kitchen.
Vilhelmina said all this had mostly been there already but she’s made quite a few fat friendly changes for her lovely ‘growing babes’.
For example she altered one side of the pool to a very gentle slope so those like Tina, who need to be wheeled about (because they no longer can be bothered to waddle), might glide down into weightlessness and float contentedly around in the pool.
Once in the pool none of us are never very far away from getting topped up from the poolside servery.
One corner of the courtyard is a kind of dance cum-exercise floor with a soft smooth plastic finish where the team can train and workout as well as mount ‘in house demonstrations’ of our combat skills.
And there are big developments about this too: Vilhelmina has brought in a retired Russian ballerina to choreograph us.
Olga Kokakolava is an outrageously bulbous blonde. Her publicity pictures all show off her svelte figure, tutu-clad and delicately piro-etting.
Huh….She can scarcely waddle!
Because nowadays she’s a fat blubber bag just like the rest of us.
This ballerina has difficulty swinging her fat legs past one other each morning along the few metres from the giant yacht moored along the quayside from us.
Vilhelmina reckons that yacht belongs to the Russian billionaire oligarch Vladimir Gorgov, owner of all Kamchatka’s oil and of a French football team that were last year’s Champions.
And, she says, the locals all gossip about how Madame Olga has stacked it all on while the yacht has been based in Panneccotta during the last couple of years. She’s in her early forties at the most; a former Russian celebrity super model!
Madame simply shrugs and smiles whenever we attempt to delve.
Madame Kokakolava is devising a kind of aerial fat ballet that for us to rehearse, like a very slow motion Kung Fu film.
Delia, Aprile and Bliss are still the stars and she’s got them prancing about and even to leap!
Madame is keen to put Aprile into some sort of skin tight blue costume as the ‘baddy’.
She has also found a strong aerial flight harnesses so my big “officers” can swing out from the higher balconies down onto us.
As ever, me and my expanding grossly fat assistante Corporeal Simone are expected to do little more to do than strike static poses. Our role is to act as soft landing cushions for the agile ones to drop down into.
Simone always laughs at how Madame Olga always urges the two of us to “emphasize the dynamics of your figures girls”.
Madame loves to join in demonstrating how to do it - which appears to mean ‘just remember to keep all your fat wobbling.’
So a typical routine goes:
I help Simone to haul her monstrous bum onto centre stage,
Aprile as the fat baddie arrives and picks an argument with us,
in the scuffle Simone’s purple uniform trousers burst off her bum.
Aprile laughs nastily
I get the worst of it trying to fight her
Delia runs in simultaneously as Bliss jumps off the balcony. Both land on us.
We all wallow around wrestling.
Us two SSBWs are saved.
Madame Olga says admiringly that because we are concentrating all our weight so low in our physique, Simone and me ought to do sumo wrestling; we are the ideal size and shape.
Madame has shown us videos of sumo but we’ve been unsuccessful so far in finding any lady sumos to demonstrate the moves for us.
I’d like to invite a 468 lb English lady who looks like me - and Vilhelmina says there’s also a blonde sumo. I point out that, at only 200 lb, her German’s actually lighter than our “aerial ballet” threesome.
Madame has particularly taken a shine to Tina who accompanies our rehearsals on the piano.
She flatters Tina about projecting a physically “dominating presence” - using as proof the success of recent short video clips of our “fat ballet” routines on the web.
We’ve all been noticing how Madame is very happy to appear herself in these videos flaunting her assets.
Even worse: she’s trying to wheedle Tina into more of a performing role on stage in future projects. Tina counters demonstrating that she’s almost immobile these days. She tries to clutch at all the billows of fat drooping off her haunches in a futile attempt to drag it all back on top of her piano bench to either side of her.
Of course we all snigger watching this.
Madame snorts disapprovingly and, hugging into Tina’s collar fat, she crows:
“Ha! You are just proving my point moya malen'kaya dorogaya (my little darling)”.
Privately I’m livid that bloody Olga is cosying up far too close to my very own wonderful Tina.
Tina is Mine! I found her.
Nevertheless Vilhelmina is all in favour of having more variety in future. She says we must diversify to survive now on line.
But she still rates our earlier Fat Women in Uniform ‘Combat Corps’ releases - comparing them to the old Keystone Cops.
To be continued