The Bikini Diaries (2 page)

room in one of three tall, lavish pink buildings situated along the ocean and called the Shellside Towers. It was her first day at Emerald Shores after arriving late last night, and though the beach was a large part of the place's appeal, she couldn't squander all her time there—she had to start checking out other aspects of the resort.

So she'd decided she would do a little shopping this afternoon, and tonight she'd shuttle over to the Bayside Village—the area of the resort where most of the eateries and

nightlife were located.

Thus her mind was back on work—kind of.

Since as she prepared to step into the shower, she found her mind also back on... her

body. Which was odd. She'd taken countless showers in her life without necessarily being turned on by the mere fact that she was naked. But today, she found her glance flitting to the large mirror stretched across the bathroom vanity.

She supposed she still had sex on the brain. She supposed she was still wondering if she could ever pull off the sexy-and-ready look, if she could wear a skimpy bikini without

feeling ridiculous.

God
had
given her good boobs. They weren't perky, but they were large and round, D

cups, and just now, her nipples were hard and she couldn't help thinking they were fairly gorgeous. Not
Playboy
gorgeous, and not boob job gorgeous, but gorgeous
in a real
woman
sort of way. And the tan lines she'd picked up today seemed to emphasize them, outline them.

Additionally, her hips seemed thinner than the last time she'd really looked at them. Was that even possible—for hips to shrink? But maybe the elliptical machine at the gym was

paying off.

That thought urged her to turn her butt toward the mirror and view it over her shoulder.

Biting her lip, she stood up straight and stuck her ass out a little—and liked what she saw.

The elliptical
was
working. Of course, her particular posture at the moment was helping, too—but her bottom looked rounder than she ever remembered.

Although... maybe she'd never actually taken the time to study her own ass before. Boobs were easier—they were in front and ended up in the mirror all the time; the ass it took a concerted effort to see.

She surprised herself when she bent over then, arching higher, still peering over her

shoulder, until she could see her pussy from behind. The view looked like porn. Of

course, most porn chicks shaved. But still, she found herself titillated by the very idea that she could look even
remotely
pornlike.

"Stop this," she scolded herself then, glad no one could see her. Then she finally stepped into the cool shower, letting the water sluice over her and begin to wash away the shine and scent of sunscreen and sweat.

Reaching for a bar of the aromatic soap the resort provided, she ran it over her skin,

making suds—and realized she was concentrating on her chest, stomach, and breasts

more than usual. She glanced down to see... more porn. Soapy, sudsy tits. She bit her lip, unable to deny liking the way they looked—and wondering if those cute guys on the

beach would like them, too. The very thought made her surge with moisture below.

Wendy stayed in the shower for a long while, leisurely gliding the soap over her curves

again and again before finally washing her hair and letting the water sweep away the

sparkling white bubbles to leave her soft and clean. Upon getting out, she let her gaze

drift back to the mirror, watching herself reach for a towel and dry off, then watching

herself comb out her long hair and blow it dry without even putting on underwear first.

She supposed it had just been a long time since she'd really studied her body, and she was surprised at how attractive she found it.

The real question, though? Was she deluding herself? Did she just look... "pretty good"

for her age? Was she
too
curvy? Were her breasts too heavy, her butt too round? And how noticeable
was
that cellulite anyway?

Exiting the bathroom, she donned a white bra and white cotton panties. Ugh—they

suddenly seemed boring, making her wish she had something sexier. "Not that it actually matters," she mumbled. It wasn't like anyone was going to be seeing them, seeing
her.

She might think she looked good—but sanity had just kicked back in to remind her who

she was. She was sane, hardworking, middle-of-the-road Wendy Carnes—not White

Bikini Babe. You couldn't just decide you wanted to be someone else and magically have

it happen.

It was with that sobering thought that she donned a casual summer skirt and tank, slipped on sandals, and set out to explore more of Emerald Shores. Getting away from the beach

had probably been a good idea—shopping and dinner, around people who were fully

clothed, would get her back in her right mind.

Wendy couldn't help being impressed with the shopping options, even before entering

any of the stores. A grand boulevard divided by a parklike strip of land complete with a fountain was lined on both sides by everything from Banana Republic to Victoria's

Secret, with nonchain specialty shops tucked in between.

She knew, of course, what the brand name stores offered, so when she reached a boutique

called the Beach Bazaar, she stepped in, wind chimes on the door announcing her arrival

And coming inside had nothing to do with the sexy bikinis in the window, either. Or at

least not much, she insisted to herself.

"Hi," said a beautiful Asian girl standing behind a circular counter.

"Hello."

The dark-haired girl smiled, the gesture making her even prettier. "We've got a lot of great sales going on. Fashion watches are twenty-five percent off, and clearance dresses,"

she said, pointing to a round rack, "are half price. That table of cute panties is reduced, too."

Wendy's gaze dropped to the table next to her, spread with lacy thongs and sexy boy-

short panties. "I'll check it all out," she assured the girl.

And silly as it was, she found herself wishing she'd worn something trendier than her

simple skirt. The salesgirl was hip and stylish and confident without trying in low-rider jeans and a lace cami of baby blue that accentuated her generous cleavage. Wendy knew

it was insane to compare herself to the girl—who couldn't have been a day over twenty-

five—yet apparently White Bikini Babe had her feeling sexually inferior to every

attractive woman she encountered now. Great.

Perusing the panties closer, Wendy picked up a few pairs.

She'd never worn the boy-short kind before and wondered how she'd look in them. A

couple of thongs couldn't hurt, either. Not that she ever wore thongs. But hadn't she just lamented her boring undies? Maybe it was time for a change.

Heading to the dress rack, she found a sexy tangerine-colored halter dress with a built-in bra for only thirty bucks. The question of the day flitted through her mind:
Could I pull
this off? Or would I be one of those women who looks tacky because she dresses too

young?

"That dress is fabulous," the salesgirl said, coming up from behind.

Without planning it, Wendy was completely honest. "Do you think it's too... young for me?'

The Asian girl's gaze widened in surprise. "Not at all! It's sexy, sure, but classy, too.

Which fits you to a tee."

Wendy's eyebrows shot up. The salesgirl thought she was sexy? And classy. Hmm.

Then again, maybe the girl just needed to move these dresses.

"I'll try it on," Wendy said, still unsure.

"Great—I'll start a dressing room for you." With that, the pretty girl extracted the hanger from Wendy's hand and took the panties from her, as well, a sweep of her long, straight

hair brushing over Wendy's bent arm and making her shiver a little for reasons unknown.

"Where can I find bikinis?" Wendy heard herself inquire as the girl walked away. Her eyes automatically dropped to the salesgirl's swaying ass as she departed.

"Up front on the left," the girl answered over her shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, Wendy headed that way. Odd, perhaps, that looking through

bathing suits should make her nervous—but she knew she wasn't seeking just
any
bathing suit, and she knew why. Having the salesgirl refer to her as sexy had just imbued her with a strange new sort of confidence.

Of course, the problem with bikinis was—it was hard to know what you were getting

until you tried them on. So Wendy ended up pulling a lot off the rack, trying to make

bolder choices than usual.

Twenty minutes later, she'd tried them all, finding fault with most of them... until finally, upon slipping into the last, she discovered herself standing before the long mirror, gazing at her body in pure awe.

The suit wasn't as skimpy as White Bikini Babe's, but it was more revealing than any

she'd ever worn before. She'd never even attempted a triangle top given the size of her

boobs, but this one possessed subtle foam half moon shaping under the breasts, giving

them a little lift and support while leaving an ample amount of both inner and outer

curves on display. The simple black bottoms were also more sparse than any she'd

sported, featuring small gold buckle-like rectangles at either hip to connect the fabric.

She studied herself for a long time, noting the outline of her hardened nipples through the thin black top and realizing this suit would give her an entirely new set of tan lines. If she bought it. And
if
she wore it. Because
she
thought it looked good—almost
scary
good—

but what if she was delusional?

So, swallowing back her pride, she finally did what she felt she had to—sought a second

opinion. Opening the dressing room door just a crack to find the boutique still blessedly empty but for the pretty salesclerk, she called lightly, "Um, excuse me."

The girl appeared cheerfully before her a few seconds later. "Need another size?"

Wendy couldn't help being a little embarrassed, but... 'Actually, I was wondering if I

could ask your opinion on a bikini. Your
honest
opinion. Because it won't hurt my feelings to find out it doesn't look good, and I'd rather know the truth than risk it."

Casting an empathetic expression, the girl used her index finger to draw an invisible X

across her ample chest. "Cross my heart. I'll be completely honest."

"You won't let me buy something that's too skimpy for my shape?" she asked, just to clarify.

"Promise," the pretty girl said, sounding sincere.

And then it hit Wendy that if she really looked awful in this, she didn't even want the

attractive salesgirl to see her in it. But better one person than a whole beach full.

So she bit her lip, hesitating, but finally said, 'All right then. Can I pull this off?" She opened the door—and even struck a bit of a pose, because she felt she had to do

something
rather than just stand there looking afraid of herself.

She watched as the Asian girl's jaw dropped, her eyes going wide. "Oh my
God."
Her gaze swept over Wendy's body from head to toe. "Hell
yes,
you can pull it off."

Wendy hadn't even
imagined
such an enthusiastic reaction. "Really?"

The girl's eyes perused her shape again, before rising back to her face. "Of course, really.

With those curves, I can't even believe you have to ask!"

"Well, I..."
I guess I keep them fairly covered a lot. I guess haven't actually let enough
people see me to even
know
if my bod-gorgeous—except for all the Mr. Averages in my
life. "I
wasn't I... just don't want to look silly or tacky or like I'm trying to compete with college girls, you know?"

Her new friend was nodding as if she understood completely. "Look, you don't have to be twenty-one to be hot. I can't imagine
anyone
seeing you in that and not thinking you're
totally
hot, babe. Trust me." Her gaze still drank in Wendy's body, seeming to focus on her breasts now, and just like in the shower, Wendy's pussy went warm and moist.

She decided to take the dress, too, and all the panties.

"I bet you look amazing in all this stuff," the salesgirl said as she rung up the purchase a few minutes later, and Wendy, oddly, found she liked watching the girl's slender,

manicured hands run over the lace and other fabric as she handled it.

"I hope so," she replied quietly as she passed her credit card across the counter.

"Getting it to wear for a special guy? Your husband?" The girl completed the transaction, passing a slip for Wendy to sign as she packed her new items in a peach-colored

shopping bag with the store's logo on the side.

"No," Wendy replied, and still feeling unduly honest, added, "Just the opposite, actually."

The salesclerk looked up with a conspiratorial smile, clearly understanding what Wendy

meant. "Happy hunting," she said. And Wendy returned the smile and picked up her bag to go, the girl stopped her with a "Hey."

Wendy looked back from the door.

"If by some miracle you don't find anyone who appreciates your charms, come back and see me."

Wendy blinked, forced a last smile and hoped it looked natural, then walked out into the bright, hot sunlight.

Whoa.
Was her pretty salesgirl coming on to her? Or had she meant something else entirely—like she knew some guy she could fix Wendy up with? Wendy didn't know, but

she felt flushed, nervous—and surprisingly aroused.

She'd never even
thought about
liking girls that way before, but she knew in some circles it was definitely chic to explore the same gender thing these days. And as she strolled up the street, she couldn't stop wondering if the girl had truly been attracted to her—and