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This is my entry for the 2024 Summer Lovin’ contest.
For those who haven’t been there, yes, Wasaga Beach is real and,
yes, things do get a little crazy at times – enchantingly so.
Please enjoy.
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“Stencils? You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I saw them on Facebook. Somebody in Holland sells them.”
“And they come with the paint or whatever?”
“I had to order that separately, but in our case, it’s just two colours, right?”
“Just so I understand this, Brittany Treeman, you’re seriously proposing that we go to the beach wearing nothing but paint?”
Even after knowing her for years, the woman could still manage to surprise me.
It’s not like I was a total prude or blushing Victorian virgin. I loved skinny-dipping and I’d gone topless in France one vacation, no problem. But this wasn’t the same. This wasn’t one of ‘those’ beaches and I wasn’t on the far side of the ocean.
“Yes. I mean No! Not just paint. I found matching bottoms.”
“Stencilled bottoms?” I was having trouble even picturing those.
“No, silly! Normal bikini bottoms, but like the flag.”
“Oh. Maybe, but I don’t know about paint on my skin, Brit. Even too much makeup…”
“The paint is supposed to breath and to be skin-sensitive. And it comes off with baby oil.”
“Tan lines?”
She shrugged – you can’t have everything! – then held up the first stencil, essentially a triangle not much bigger than my hand, like one half of a teeny-tiny bikini top.
“No way!”
“Hey, try it at least? You can always take them off.”
I looked at the thing she was holding, thought a moment, shrugged. Brit was good at pushing my boundaries, but she’d never pushed too far, never got us into serious trouble. I generally had to work at being less shy, more daring and Brit’s schemes had paid off more than once.
Go with it, Alexa!
“OK, but no promises.”
She dug out two thongs, not much more than G-strings really, but meeting (barely) the local standards. The front part consisted essentially a red-and-white maple leaf flag. She handed one to me before starting to pull off her clothes. The girl was shameless; I at least turned my back to change. Topless was one thing…
When I turned around, tugging the ties into place, Brit was already in front of the mirror on the wall, turning this way and that, holding her boobs up as if for inspection. She looked pretty hot, I’ll give her that; she definitely had the bum to make it work.
She grinned, stepped aside. “Looking good, Alex!”
Looking at the mirror, I found myself agreeing. The front was just a little bit too small; I could see I’d need to do some minimal trimming, but otherwise it — I — looked very, very good. I doubted I’d do much swimming in it; the water would be too likely to drag it off, but it was cute enough that I wished there was a real bra to go with it.
But the sun was high and Brit was clearly keen to see the whole thing come together. Her enthusiasm as she passed me the stencil was obvious.
“Here, help me hold it in place.” She adjusted the triangle over my right breast, shifting it to center over my nipple and orient it in the right direction before holding up a small spray can.
“Ready? It’s supposed to feel a bit weird, so try not to flinch.”
I nodded, then giggled as the mist hit my breast. It was cold and it tickled a little, like a soft feather being dragged over my skin. I blushed as both my nipples began to swell. I was relieved when Brit either didn’t notice or was too polite to comment.
“There. They say to be careful pulling the stencil away or you’ll smear the paint, so straight out, okay? In three, in two…”
I looked at myself in the mirror. It looked really weird, obviously just a painted-on shape. The drying paint tingled still more. Brit now giggled as my nips grew to full attention.
“Other tit,” she pronounced. “Then it’s my turn.”
It didn’t take all that long and at least our images in the mirror looked symmetrical.
“We have to wait 15 minutes, then check to see if we need touch-up or a second coat.”
As it happened, we didn’t. She pulled out a second stencil, a smaller triangle to fit in the bottom side corners of the white triangular ‘bra’.
A few minutes with the can of red spray paint and it was obvious what was happening.
“This is cool,” I admitted. “I’m not saying that I’m going out like this, but it’s cute.”
“Give it a few more minutes, Alex. Let’s see what they look like when they’re finished.”
I looked at the last stencil in her hand, a stylized maple leaf.
“It’s a good thing these are so simple,” I said, running my finger over it. “How do they do something really complicated, like a flag with lots of colours and small shapes?”
“The website does sell them, but warns that you have to be really patient and super careful. But yeah, I can see Mexico being tricky. And more expensive, ’cause you need elazığ escort more colours and stencils.
“Here,” she said, handing me the leaf cut-out. “You hold it in place.”
Again came the feathery sensation. This time I felt my tummy tighten just a little. The mere thought of being in public like this was scary-exciting, but I was surprised at how much just the application process had got me going.
“There! Take a look.”
I turned back and forth in the mirror, smiled slightly. They didn’t look too bad, now that I thought about it. It was hardly a bikini, though, just two obviously-painted Canadian ‘flags’, much too conspicuous for the beach. Well, I hadn’t made any commitment to go out in public like this, had I?
But now it was Brit’s turn. I reached out, took the spray can. Five minutes later, we matched.
“Now what?”
“You get your ties.” Setting aside the stencils and spray cans, she pulled out two small jars, a piece of string and a brush. She handed me the string.
“You should be dry by now. Put this behind your neck and let the ends hang down.”
She adjusted the string a bit, making its ends meet the tops of the two ‘flags’.
“There. That’s where the ties would go on a real bikini. Here, you hold this end.”
Opening the bottle of white paint, she shifted the strings a little to one side. The bristles of the brush felt odd as she painted a line half the width of my little fingernail.
“Now the other side,” she said. I giggled inwardly at the expression of concentration on her face. She actually had her tongue between her teeth…
“OK. Now take your hair and bend forward so I can get behind your neck.”
In short order, I had ‘ties’ running around my neck and another between the inner corners of the two flags.
Brit took the string and wrapped it around me. I held the ends in place. Using it as a guide, she had soon painted the final tie around my back.
“Keep your arms up,” she advised. “Don’t smudge the paint.”
Finally, she produced a small bottle of slightly-darker paint.
“The fabric of real bikini tops stretches a little at the corners. So, we’re supposed to paint in some stretch lines.”
“Really?”
“Just hold still.”
Using a fine brush, she added two or three small, quite unobtrusive lines radiating out an inch or so from the corners of the ‘bra’. I stood back, looked in the mirror. Yeah; it did make a difference. Something that small…
“They also suggest not to try faking a bow or anything,” Brit smiled, “so I think you’re done. What do you think?”
I looked at myself in the mirror. Up close, I could tell. At a distance? Well, maybe.
She put the lid back on the white paint, rinsed out the brushes in the sink and handed me the bottle with red paint.
“My turn,” she smiled wickedly. “Different coloured ties so they can tell us apart.”
Snickering, I opened the jar. The string draped over her neck and shoulders made it easy to figure out a natural path for the paint and I think I did a neat enough job. The other bits followed.
We stood next to each other in the mirror. Definitely sexy, definitely superhot, but I still wondered if I could carry it off. I was nervous of some small-minded Nosy – or worse, a cop – making a fuss. And, even more, I really didn’t want my topless image floating around on the Net until Forever.
“They’re nice, Brit, but I dunno…”
Brittany and I had been best friends since forever. She knew – and I knew she knew – that too much pressure right now would make me refuse, that the best course for her was to let me talk myself into it.
“Tell you what,” she said, poking me gently in one rib. “I’m going for a quick walk. You stay here and watch. See what you think.”
With that, she slipped into her sandals, opened the door and, wearing only paint and a shot glass worth of G-string, was gone.
Making sure I left the door propped open behind me (bad time to forget the key!) I stepped out onto the balcony in time to see her strutting – and ‘strutting’ is exactly the right word, let me tell you – across the motel parking lot. She stopped, turned and looked up to find me. From a distance, it looked like a normal bikini. Skimpy, hot as heck, but still ‘normal’.
Brit waved, turned and walked down the sidewalk along River.
Along the way, she passed an old man walking a basset hound. Bikini-clad young women are common enough in Wasaga Beach at that time of the year, but still, when the dog began a forensic examination of a fire hydrant, he took the opportunity to follow her with his eyes until she’d turned back into the parking lot and had re-entered the motel door. There was a wistful look on his face, but hardly shock.
Brit re-emerged from the stairway door and walked down the length of the balcony. She was within a few steps before it became obvious that it wasn’t real – and that maybe because I knew and was looking erzincan escort for it.
The girl was grinning like a madwoman. I noticed that, while my own nips had settled down, hers were now as prominent as they could be.
“So?” Her face was flushed and it was clear that she was very aware of her arousal.
“Erm, yeah. From up here, it was hard to tell, Brit. But close in, yes, I could tell.”
“But you knew, Alexa! Nobody else will know. At most, they’ll wonder.”
“That old man sure did.”
She looked down at him, still ambling along River, and began to laugh so hard she almost collapsed.
“I told you!” she finally gasped.
“I dunno, Brit. The whole beach – the whole town – is just jammed with people.”
“So?” she grinned mischievously, “There’ll be lots of other women in swimsuits to blend in with, right? And why do girls have boobs in the first place if not to catch boys’ attention?”
I had to admit she had a point. Both of us had the looks to carry it off. Brit could’ve been a supermodel if she’d been a bit taller, with the high cheekbones, coppery skin, black hair and sparkling dark eyes suggesting some indigenous blood in her ancestry. She was my best friend, but I was super jealous of her looks. And she wasn’t just pretty. Smart, vivacious and audacious, boys were drawn to her like cops to doughnut shops. I was jealous of that, too.
I was taller, with paler skin and brown hair and eyes. I knew my figure was pretty good, even if the first one men noticed was her.
I decided she was probably right. There’d be hundreds of other skimpy suits out there.
“You could always bring a wrap, Alex.” She raised her eyes. “Just in case.”
“Will you?” I asked, turning back and forth in the mirror. Thinking about it now, just the way I had phrased that indicated I was seriously thinking about going along.
“Nope.” She thought for a moment. “I don’t think I’ll need it.
Her grin was contagious.
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How best to describe Wasaga Beach?
There are a lot of towns with beaches, but Wasaga is a beach with a town. A very normal two-lane road is all that separates it from the sand and the warm(ish) water of Georgian Bay. The fine, bright-white sand goes on forever in each direction; some say it’s the longest fresh-water beach in the world. The town has like a mile of bars, stores and restaurants catering to the beach crowd.
There are certainly ‘family’ areas, but right opposite the town is the busiest part, ‘Party Central’. Picture a much smaller version of Daytona Beach during Spring Break and you won’t be far off.
Brit and I had been wandering along the beach, looking for a place to set out our towels. I was getting used to the eyes on us. There were a lot of them, a lot of men – and some women – eying us as we passed, generally with some admiration. To my relief, nobody laughed or pointed or challenged us. It was working out, just as Brit had predicted.
To my surprise, I found I was enjoying myself more and more as my confidence grew. It was almost a feeling of power. I mean, every girl wants to be the centre of the universe, right? Well, in my own little way, I was. I was feeling bolder – and a little bit more wanton – with every step.
I’ll admit that I jumped a little as a Frisbee sailed past me, a foot from my nose. Brit had seen it coming and snagged it neatly in mid-air.
They were Nate and Mike, they were geology students at the University, they loved Wasaga Beach, they were staying in a tent in the park and our ‘kinis were just awesome. And would we like to play?
Who doesn’t like Frisbee with a couple of cute boys? The two of them were not only good at the game, but also really easy on the eyes. They were spending the summer working for a roofing contractor in town, which explained the Olympic-level tans and some serious muscles.
And they certainly liked boobs. You can’t help but get a certain wobble when you’re playing Frisbee, right? After a while, I got the feeling the two of them were sometimes deliberately tossing the thing high enough to make us jump for it, just to watch. Brit was of course in seventh heaven; this was what she had hoped for. For myself, I could feel any residual timidity fall away with the clear approval in their eyes at every lunge and jump I made.
Okay, full transparency. I was a bit disappointed that men can get away with knee-length swimsuits. I found myself reflecting that other things can bounce, too, and I wouldn’t have minded watching.
Was that bad?
It certainly would make playing Frisbee even more interesting, right? No reason for just one side to be distracted.
Some day, when I own a beach…
Whatever – I noticed both of them were spending more time examining our bikinis than they would have if we’d been wearing, okay, even bikinis. Brit caught my eye and I knew she’d seen it, too. I could see that she was counting that as ‘success’.
“This erzurum escort has been fun, but I’m hot,” she announced. She looked towards the blue waters of the Bay as if thinking of going in. She shrugged. and pointed to a bar on the other side of the road. “I also need to visit the little girls’ room.”
“Watch my stuff?” she asked me.
I knew what she was thinking. “No, I’ll come with you.”
We turned and looked at the boys. Hook, line and sinker…
“This has been fun,” I smiled, “but you two look warm, too. Maybe it’s time for something cold?”
They had such nice smiles…
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Surprisingly, given the crowd, the boys had found a table by the time we returned. The server had already left, but Mike caught her attention.
“We’ve ordered a beer,” he said to us. “Can we get you something?”
The bikini credit card – accepted in bars and clubs almost everywhere.
They were as nice inside as they had been on the beach. Both had a solid sense of humour and kept Brit and I laughing almost nonstop. It felt good, relaxing. The two also managed to keep their eyes above our shoulders – most of the time. That got a lot of points, too.
They were camping nearby, not in the big park as I’d originally thought, but in one of the more informal spots common enough in the area, where a local had decided to help pay his taxes by putting in a couple of porta-potties and installing a water tap and a basic shower.
“It’s a bit quiet,” Nate said, “but we have to be at work really early anyway, so sleep is good.”
“We can come to the beach for fun,” Mike responded. “I just wish the campground had hot water.”
“No hot water?” Brit asked, astonished. “What about the shower?”
“That’s factored into the low price,” Nate said wryly. “But, I’ll admit, a cold-water shower is pretty… um, stimulating after a long, hot day on a roof.”
Mike nodded ruefully at that.
I looked at Brit, back to Nate’s bronzed pecs. Like his dark hair and beard, even the hair on his chest had been sun-bleached. He was drop-dead gorgeous and I found my carnifem instincts awakening.
It’d been a long time, truth be told.
A quick side-look at Brit brought me a very brief nod.
“Maybe we can make a deal here,” I smiled. “Our motel has lots of hot water. How about a hot shower in return for dinner afterwards?”
Brit’s grin grew as the two men looked at each other.
“Um, sure!” said Mike.
“Thank you,” Nate added.
Bill paid, we began to stroll back to the motel. I was reaching to take Nate’s hand when it moved up and settled around my waist. I was a bit startled, but it felt good enough that I leaned in towards him, just enough for some decent hip-bounce.
Brit opened the door to the room and waved them in. It was nothing special, just a normal motel room, TV and two queen beds, but the a/c was an instant hit.
“Who’s first?” Brit asked as she knelt by the small refrigerator. “And, let’s see, we’ve got beer, coolers, water and, um, mango-pineapple juice.”
The two looked at each other.
“Beer for me, please” Nate said, then looked at Mike to settle shower rights.
The blond man held up a fist with two fingers extended, like scissors. Nate nodded, smiling, and in short order rock-paper-scissors had tipped the first shower his way.
I took a quick look into the small bathroom. Yup, not too messy, even for guests, but I noted we were a little low in the clean towel department.
“Here you go,” I said, standing in the door, “but I’ll have to get some more towels. There’s a closet by the stairs.”
He stepped past me in the doorway. It was a close fit, but that too was kind of happy-exciting-promising.
He let his fingers trail lightly over my hip as he squeezed past – and I found I was okay with that, too. His fingertips left what felt like tingling lines on my skin.
“Just going to get some more towels, kids,” I told Brit and Mike. Back in a minute.”
Making sure I had my key card, I stepped outside.
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Let’s be clear. I wasn’t gone long. It was only a minute’s walk to the stairs and then down one flight to the towel closet.
I didn’t bother knocking when I returned, just tapped the key card, stepped inside and…
Froze.
I stood there, almost stunned, not by what they were doing, but by how little time it had taken them and, even more, by how unconcerned they seemed about me being there. The two of them were definitely… um, busy. Her hands were roaming all over his back and chest. His hands seemed to be seeking absolute confirmation that her bikini top wasn’t really cloth.
I’ve nothing against erotica. Between parties and late-night sleeplessness, it can help pass the time. But I’d never really watched other people, not like this.
I was surprised at how different it was from watching a smut video on a screen. The sound wasn’t faked and I could even smell their arousal.
Mike’s eyes suddenly turned to find me standing there, my jaw open and a stack of towels in my hands. Startled, he started to pull away from Brit. Her eyes opened, stared at me briefly, then her hands had found his head and was pulling his lips back to hers. He didn’t seem to resist very much.