I understand that it isn’t quite a nude beach. Not exactly. It’s just topless. I get it.
Look, I cover my butt—at work and elsewhere. I’m careful, not stupid.
But I forgot my swimsuit so I tied a towel around. Looked pretty stylish I thought. Flowing with flowers. I felt like the girl from Ipanema. “Selma,” I said to myself, “you look gorgeous.”
Yeah, I felt the eyes on me but I didn’t care. The water was so clear, the sky was so blue, the sun so warm. I went into the ocean. I swam peacefully for I don’t know how long. Then I came out, dripping. Like Ursula Andress.
I left something in the water. I didn’t notice. It was so wispy and light that it felt no different in it’s absence than when I was wearing it. Maybe I didn’t notice, but they sure did.
Including the cops. Who would’ve thought that people at the topless beach would be such prudes?
I wasn’t embarrassed. Hey, I was born in the nude. But I’m not one to flout the rules. So, I said I’m sorry. But they took me in anyway. Did you know that the police patrol the beach on this island? Me neither.
I guess I’ll be behind bars for the night. Speaking of behind, this jumpsuit is loose and comfortable except in the derrière. I think the guard is ogling me.
Asshole.