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I left behind all the new swimsuits I bought for my honeymoon, instead taking my oldest red bikini. Though I weighed ten pounds less when I bought it, it still fits fine. If anything, my boobs look even better in it now. And my stomach…well, it doesn’t look better, but who cares? This trip is about me and no one else.
Leaning back, I close my eyes and soak in the warmth of the sun on my face. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to recover from my disastrous almost-wedding. Kauai is paradise. The warm breezes and gentle waves remind me that somehow, eventually, this too shall pass.
After swimming out further into the water, I’m feeling very zen when suddenly, something slimy brushes across my thigh. Instinct takes over as I start to scream and flail, kicking my legs and flapping my arms in an effort to get whatever it is away from me.
“Fuck off,” I cry, yelping as I feel another slimy slither against my leg.
I swim like hell. Not only do I not want to get eaten by a shark or whatever that thing is, I refuse to die on this trip. What a story that would make.
As soon as I feel sand beneath my feet again, I dig my toes into the ground, trying to gain traction. I’m breathing hard, panic still racing through me. But the water is clear here, and when I look around me, I don’t see anything but my two feet and the sand they’re in.
Slowing, I try to catch my breath as I make my way out of the water, my zen swimming moment gone now. As the water gets shallower, I feel warm air against over my bare shoulders and chest.
My chest? I look down and give a strangled yelp. My bikini top is gone. Gone. My breasts are on full display, and even though there’s no one close by, there are a few people down the stretch of beach.
I fold my arms across my chest and bend my knees, sinking back down far enough in the ocean so that the water covers my shoulders. Realizing I must’ve lost my top when I was making a mad dash for the shore, I look around, hoping to find it floating close by.
No such luck, though. Closing my eyes to keep myself calm, I weigh my options.
Option one—rush out of the water and grab my shirt, then put it on as quickly as possible and hightail it back to my room. Pray no one sees me before I get my shirt on.
Option two—hope some nice soul comes along and agrees to bring me my shirt so I can put it on in the water. A wet T-shirt is better than no T-shirt.
When I see a couple walking down the beach toward me, I decide on option two. I also decide I’m never, ever going to a topless beach. Clearly I’m too modest for that, since the thought of even these two strangers seeing my breasts makes me burn with embarrassment.
As they get closer, I see that they’re a middle-aged Asian couple. And they’re both smiling, which I hope means they’re nice.
“Hey!” I call out to them, waving. “Hey, hi!”
They stop walking and turn to look at me, both shielding their eyes from the sun with a hand.
“Hi, can you please help me?” I ask. “I lost my swimsuit top in the water and my shirt is lying there in the sand. Could you bring it to me?”
“Hi!” the man calls out to me, waving.
“Hello!” the woman says, grinning. “Hi, hello!”
I smile back. “Hi, can you just grab that shirt right there?”
“Yes, hi. Hello,” the woman says again.
I sigh softly as I realize they don’t speak much English. They won’t be getting my shirt.
After a few more rounds of “hi” and “hello,” they start walking again. The beach is clear of people, and I consider going for my shirt, but I just can’t do it. I can’t have my boobs bouncing all over the place on a public beach in broad daylight.
“Hey! No! Get away from that shirt!” I cry out as I notice three large, white birds walking over to where my shirt is laying.
One of them starts pecking its beak close to my shirt, and I moan helplessly. If they take my top, I’ll be stuck here in nothing but my bikini bottoms.
Splashing and yelling in their direction, I try to distract them.
“Go away! Get out of here! No!”
I see movement in my peripheral vision, and when I turn to see what it is, my hopes soar back to life. It’s a runner, and he’s alone. Maybe he’ll help me. I was hoping for a woman, but with the birds so close to my shirt, I’ll take help from anyone.
As he stops and looks out at me, I see that the runner is buff. More than buff, actually. He’s even got defined abs. Wearing nothing but black shorts, with a gray T-shirt half-hanging from his back pocket, he’s sweaty and…well, hot. He’s tall, with broad shoulders, black hair and a short black beard.
