Double Take :

A married couple discusses not-so-teenie-weenie yellow polka dot bikinis

Two Piece or Not Two Piece?

-Mindy Sommers

When I was four years old, my mother put me in a cute little turquoise bikini. I hated it. I refused to come out of the house.

I guess I haven’t changed much since then.

I cannot emphasize how much admiration and respect I have for fat women who feel confident enough to wear bikinis on the beach. I am just not one of them.

I’m still working on it.

I would be a big liar if I told you that I wouldn’t wear one if even if I was thin. Your 120-pound wife would be cavorting in the most expensive, gorgeous number you’ve ever seen....in white, of course. (That’s been the taboo color for fat women ever since I can remember.)

But with my hundred-plus pounds of extra weight, I have no desire to inflict my body on others. I wish I could be impervious to the looks of disapproval, contempt and amusement my bikini-clad body would inevitably evoke. I wish I wasn’t ashamed of the angry stretch marks, a roadmap of pain, on my belly. I wish I didn’t feel compelled to hide the twin folds of fat on my upper arms (I heard they even have a name for these---"batwings") with long or half-sleeves, even in the summer. I wish I didn’t let strangers’ reactions cut me so deeply. I want to be proud of the quivering thighs and big butt you so adore.

I’m not. I’m still working on it.

I also have to admit this---now don’t get mad---I think it’s lewd. Fat bodies shake, quiver, jiggle. The largesse that lends itself to sensuality can become, when uncovered, blatantly sexual and gaudy. Devoid of subtlety. I would no sooner sport an oversized piece of jewelry around my neck for people to gawk at. In real life as in art, exaggeration is sometimes tantamount to caricature.

(I just reread that last statement. Am I dissembling? Probably.)

I try to wear things that are flattering to my figure. Alas, to me, "flattering" is still a euphemism for "slenderizing". But it’s more. "Flattering" can also simply mean showing your body off to its best advantage. For me, a pear shape, this means form-fitting on top, and flared-out at the bottom---mimicking the form of my body. I’ve long known that peblum blouses and empire waist dresses look the best on me. A bikini? Uh-uh. No way. The only thing a bikini would conform to is your idea of sexy.

Maybe if more women did it, society would become desensitized to it, and, like the wimp I am in this arena, I might sneak in with my modestly cut two-piece.

My sweet, dear husband, I love you. I love that you refuse to allow society to dictate to your standards of beauty. I wish I could see things your way.

But I don’t.

I’m still working on it.

A final note: to you beautiful and brave big women, keep wearing those bikinis. I will watch enviously, and quietly salute you.

*****

Shake, Rattle and Roll

-Glen Sommers

Honey: thank goodness I didn’t tell you about the offer you got from BUF. I didn’t want to aggravate those mysterious headaches you get, my love. You know, the ones you get right after we go to bed. We men are sensitive that way. But as I was contemplating the possible layout (and hoping you don’t find out about the pictures I sent in) I was thinking about what a shame it is that you don’t share the vision of your beauty, one that I hold dear to my heart.

Being of the male persuasion, I’m not ever going to apologize for viewing the female form as a statement of art, as a focus for my affections and as a symbolic remembrance of a love that binds. While not a fan of gynecology shots (some things are better left to the imagination), the bikini allows the full beauty of the female form to flow and excite the male senses. As a happily married man, I am nonetheless not ashamed, neither apologetic nor too possessive about letting the world see the beauty of my BBW wife. I would be delighted if Dimensions called and wanted to feature her. The only part I would struggle with would be the inevitable video offer that always follows. I’m trying to visualize how a scene of Mindy, clad in her oversized tee-shirt with the bleach stains, eating her dinner salad, reading the new Pottery Barn catalogue, and humming an old Sinatra tune would sell in the FA community.

In all seriousness, I would never want to put her in a situation in which she feels uncomfortable---but when a man loves his woman, he at the very least wants her to feel beautiful in a beautiful world.

I wouldn’t be disappointed if Mindy turned down an offer from Larry Flynt or kicked the sand at Jones Beach in an oversized Aerosmith tee-shirt with a matching tutu. The point is, it should be because she doesn't choose to, and not because she can’t.

My wife is not alone in this dilemma; this angst is widely shared by big beautiful women all over the globe. They were not born with these accursed limitations. Well-meaning authority figures foisted upon these women their own concepts of beauty. Through every stage of mental development, the world conspired to show these ladies what was expected of them when it came to their bodies. Mindy my dear, your contention that a 300lb women in a bikini is a visual assault is one that was given to you. You were not born with it, you only accepted it. The ladies who do it are the ones who ignore society’s narrow conventions; when they wear their bikinis they’re saying: "I am free and I love myself, damn it!" This is what I wish for you.

In the meantime, I will be content to relish your beauty in our own domain. You know how I cherish those evenings together when you slip on that negligee from Frederick’s, and me in my Speedo’s from Wal-Mart. We toast to our love with glasses of pineapple-flavored seltzer. We set the CD with Bad Company’s Greatest Hits and we dance. Not a waltz, but a passion-filled rendition of the Macarena.

Life is good. Life is sweet. I love you.