The Swimsuit Test

"I suffered two romantic traumas in college," Francesca explained to Tim, "And Jesse was the first, but he helped me through the second. In the long run, they both proved to be a blessing in disguise."

"You're one trusting lady to keep this hunk around after a start like that!" gushed Tim with a saucy look at Jesse and a squeeze of his hand.

Tim was Jesse's type all right. From her vantage point across the table from them at Jesse's favorite cafe, Francesca was impressed long before the food arrived. Now that the meal was done with, she could hardly wait to give Jesse her seal of approval.

"So, BFF's for how long, now?" Tim asked, looking back and forth between them.

"We lived on the same floor freshman year," Francesca explained. Poor Tim didn't yet know his future with Jesse was in her hands, but so far he was passing the test with flying colors.

"Did he have the beard even then?" asked Tim, who was clean shaven. "You shameless bear!"

Jesse and Francesca exchanged bemused looks, and both resisted the temptation to say she had in fact

been

his beard. She never had, since Jesse had been out from day one on campus. But given how close they'd been then and now, the joke was almost irresistible.

Almost.

"Grew it out all that summer," confirmed Jesse, twirling a few strands of it playfully around one finger. "But it was a lot shorter and neater then."

"More like a goatee," Francesca concurred. "And yes, that was the first thing I noticed. The second was how easy he was to talk to, the way he can make you feel like the only person in the room."

"I've noticed that too!" Tim gushed. "Oh my god, the party we met at, we must've talked for half an hour and it felt like the blink of an eye."

"Speaking of eyes, yours were beautiful," Jesse said, patting Tim's shoulder affectionately.

"Oh, thank you, my dear!" Then Tim turned back to Francesca. "I take it you didn't know he was gay?"

"Hard to believe there was a time I had no gaydar whatsoever," Francesca said. "It's almost embarrassing, really."

"Hey, I get it, especially if you were a computer geek even then," Tim said.

"I wasn't, not yet. I thought I'd be an English or French major. I just took intro to computer science on a lark and it surprised me." Francesca was now a software engineer.

"So they didn't call you World Wide Web yet?" Tim batted his eyes, and if Francesca didn't know better, she'd have thought he was flirting with her.

"They never called me World Wide Web!" She gave Jesse a furtive look, and his response confirmed he had not told Tim the whole story. "No, they called me WWW all right, but it wasn't short for World Wide Web. That was the second romantic trauma, the one he helped me through."

"Straight boys talk too much," Jesse said, shaking his head at the bad memory.

"Oh, tell me about it!" Tim said. "I guess you're not going to let me in on the secret of what it did stand for?"

"Not yet," Jesse said. "But it's only fair to warn you, Francesca and I share everything."

"Yes, and it just might be too much information for you," Francesca concurred. "But we'll know soon enough if you're up to hearing that secret."

"Then I'd better be a good boy," Tim said. "Or maybe a bad one?"

"Bad is better," Jesse and Francesca said in unison, and then they burst into laughter.

"As you wish, my dears!" Tim said. "So, Francesca, how about you? Valentine's Day's right around the corner, isn't it? You got a fella to buy you overpriced chocolates for the big day?"

Francesca sighed. "I actually meant to talk to Jesse about this," she said. "I have a crush on a friend of my brother's. He lives in the city now too, also safely away from our parents."

"Not that Patrick creep!" said Jesse.

"Oh, hell, no!" Francesca shivered at the very thought of her brother's creepy, chauvinistic high school friend, whom she suspected of trying to sneak a peek at her in the shower back in the day. "No, I don't even like him as a friend, never have and never will."

"I had the honor of meeting him at Thanksgiving our sophomore year," Jesse explained to Tim. "Francesca hadn't told her family I was gay and...you could tell."

"My family aren't homophobic," Francesca was quick to add. "But Patrick was. Don't worry, I think he's moved to Texas or something. No, this guy's name is Matthew. He's a web designer at Andy's company. Andy had a cocktail party a couple of weeks ago, and Matthew and I..."

"Had the long talk?" Tim offered. "Where you're strangers at first and best friends by the time you part ways?"

"Like we had at that party!" Jesse added.

"Exactly," Francesca said. "We started on web design and ended up comparing our favorite music back during our teenage angst years. I was so wrapped up in the whole thing I didn't think to ask for his number, and he didn't ask for mine either."

"Probably assumed his friend wouldn't want him dating his sister," Jesse said. "Even if you two are professionally compatible."

"I think so," Francesca replied with a nod. "But then last week, Andy invited me to an after-work thing because his date canceled on him, and Matthew and I hit it off again. This time we did exchange numbers."

"Great!" said Tim. "So what are you waiting for?"

"Well..." Francesca smiled but said nothing more, and nodded at Jesse.

"That's another of our secrets," Jesse said. "A little something called the swimsuit test."

"I suppose you're not about to share that one with me either, are you, dear?" Tim mock-whined.

"Not just yet," Francesca said.

"But if you and I take off, you'll learn the answer to that soon enough, okay?" Jesse said. "Maybe sooner than you really want to."

"No offense, Tim, you're a wonderful guy," Francesca added, "But trust me, if you knew the answer to your question, you'd see why I'm not sharing it with someone I just met."

"Understood and acknowledged," Tim said.

"Thank you," Francesca replied. "And Jesse's right, Matthew's got to pass the swimsuit test before I'll go out with him."

"You two are killing me," Tim confessed. "And I love it!"

If Francesca hadn't already been sold on Tim, his gracious and agreeable reaction to that comment sealed the deal. As they parted company after lunch, she was bursting with pleasure at finally being able to give her approval. Halfway through college, she and Jesse had figured out they were both remarkably good judges of one another's compatibility with men. Ever since then, they'd always sought out each other's approval of a new guy. While their verdicts weren't binding, they'd both been proven right enough times to usually respect the decision.

Jesse hadn't had a steady boyfriend in quite some time, and recently there'd been two guys she'd had to give the thumbs down to. But TIm was adorable and a lot of fun, and Francesca was beyond delighted for her old friend. But that would have to wait, for they were off to spend the afternoon together. All through the frigid walk back to her walk-up, Francesca welcomed the Valentine's Day decorations. Now neither she nor Jesse would be alone for the big day. After all, she was certain Jesse would adore Matthew!

And she was already quite sure he adored her, too. She'd seen that same thrilled look on his face that she knew was on hers when their eyes met at the cocktail party. All through their conversation, she'd been all too aware that he was struggling to look her only in the eye rather than admiring her tight black dress, and she'd almost been tempted to tell him it was all right, she was just as pleased at the sight of him in his sportcoat and turtleneck. How she'd have welcomed the opportunity to help him out of them!

Of course, she had no way of knowing if he'd pass the swimsuit test, which unlike Jesse's approval, was binding. But after the connection they'd made at that party, she couldn't imagine he'd be the kind of immature jerk who wouldn't pass it.

Far in the back of her mind, Francesca couldn't help but remember she always felt that way about every man she developed feelings for, and not all of them had in fact passed the swimsuit test. But that small but real danger only further fed her growing desire for Matthew. Wouldn't that make it all the more delightful when he did pass! It always did.

If only Matthew would make his move already. Nearly a week gone by and there'd been a few flirty text messages, but that was it. Perhaps it was just as well, with Jesse so wrapped up in Tim. But that would have made it the perfect time for a first date, and that hadn't happened.

Andy, her brother, had taken notice that night at the party, and of course he hadn't approved. "No offense, Fran, but I don't think you two'd fly."

"What do you know about who is and isn't my type?" she'd demanded.

"Not much, but I know something about Andy's type. Look, I could ask him if you want..."

"Don't you dare! I'll take care of this myself!"

But now, Francesca was starting to wish she had taken his offer. But then again, what had she just told Tim about at lunch? She'd been awfully shy back in high school, hadn't even been asked to the prom, and the summer before college she'd made up her mind to turn over a new leaf. That had culminated with asking Jesse out, only to learn he was gay - her first romantic trauma - but that was no reason to go back to always waiting for the guy to make the first move, was it?

By the time Francesca arrived home and turned the heat on, the mix of anticipation and frustration that had been her constant companion since the cocktail party was once again overwhelming her. But she kept the resolve she'd found on the walk home, and she decided it was time to ask Matthew out. Then it was just a matter of finding an excuse for him to see her in a swimsuit.

The thoughts of Matthew and the slightly risqué turn the conversation had lit an irresistible fire in Francesca's insides, and as soon as Francesca had taken her boots and coat off, it was straight to the linen closet to retrieve a towel. She spread it out on the couch and, retreating to the kitchen table, she took her jeans and panties off and slung them over a chair.

She bore Jesse no resentment at all for telling Tim about WWW, for she had long ago made up her mind to embrace her idiosyncrasies. That meant also embracing the derogatory name her accursed ex, Greg, had saddled her with. Humiliating at the time, now it provided a spark of naughty pride and more than a little bit of arousal. All the past barbs she'd suffered, first from the popular girls in high school who'd seen her in the locker room, then from Greg and his buddies on the baseball team, were now only a source of defiant arousal, a reminder that they hadn't destroyed her love of her body and its unique adornment.

Francesca didn't remember the first time she'd heard the snickers and whispers from the popular girls. "Francie doesn't have a bush, she's got a

forest

!" That and worse, and they didn't even seem to care if she overheard them. It was Jenny, the homecoming queen, who'd been the first to tease her directly about it. "Fran, you should take up ballet, you know that? If you wear a black top and no bottoms, it looks like you're wearing a leotard!" Francesca had kept the tears at bay as the other girls had burst into peals of laughter, and of course when she'd gotten home that afternoon, she'd put on her tightest black top and nothing else and examined herself in the mirror.

She'd had to admit, Jen wasn't exactly wrong. Francesca's pubic hair triangle was wide and thick, stretching hip to hip and most of the way up to her bellybutton. She had known for some time that she was unusual in that regard, but that had never bothered her before. She'd always seen it as a lovely little cloak to wear under her clothes, a badge of dignity and adulthood that she thought she wore quite well, thank you.

From that day to this, she had never let anyone let her feel any differently. Not even Greg, when he'd asked repeatedly if she'd consider shaving, never taking no for an answer. Not when she'd finally told him he'd best stop asking because the answer would never change, and he'd responded by marking their three-month anniversary as a couple with a card that enclosed a gift certificate from a bikini waxing clinic. Not even when, after she'd responded to the card by dumping him, she'd noticed guys on the baseball team whom she didn't even know calling her WWW.

Like Tim, she had thought at first it was short for World Wide Web. "Is it really such a novelty for a girl to be a CS major?" she'd asked her study partner, Linda, one afternoon, after a guy she didn't even know had called out, "Heyyyy, DubyaDubyaDubya!" from the hallway.

"Oh my god, Francesca." Linda had looked horribly serious. "You don't know."

"Don't know what? That some guys are kind of immature about a woman in tech? That's no surprise!"

"No, you don't know why they call you WWW," Linda had said.

"Everyone knows what that stands for." But Francesca had felt a rock in the pit of her stomach as Linda shook her head.

"My roommate's boyfriend's on the baseball team, and he was drunk the other night and told us all about it," Linda had explained, as quietly as she could. "Guys talk, you know. After you broke up, he told them why you ditched him, and he called you..." Her voice had dropped to a whisper. "Weed Whacker Woman."

That night was the first time Francesca had cried in Jesse's arms. "How could he be that cruel?" she'd sobbed.

"Francesca, I don't get straight guys at all," Jesse had said, rubbing her back gently. "What I do know is, some of them never learn to respect women. Way too many of them, in fact. You wouldn't give him what he wanted even though it's your body, and he just can't take that."

"So humiliating, though!"

"Don't you think all the girls who hear that name - and the decent guys - are gonna be on your side, though? They know it's nobody's business but yours what your pussy looks like. They know Greg and his buddies are the jerks for spreading that stuff around. And haven't we all got insecurities about our bodies?"

"That's just it, I wasn't insecure about...at least not about that. I've always loved the way it looked and felt."

"Well, there's no need for that to change just because some jocks talk too much." Jesse had pulled back and kissed her cheek in a deliciously chaste way. "And I'm sure you look beautiful naked, too."

Sure enough, the name calling had gone away in a week or two. That had been followed by not one but two guys Francesca didn't know at all asking her out, and it hadn't taken her long at all to figure out why. She'd said no to both, and after the end of freshman year the issue had been blessedly forgotten.

But there was one thing Francesca had never forgotten since Greg had slaughtered her heart: most men either hated women like her or adored them. "I just wish there were some way to tell which is which before I go out with him, you know?" she'd vented to Jesse sophomore year.

"There is," Jesse had said.

"How, exactly?"

"Well, I don't know for certain because I've never seen you in a swimsuit, but I'll bet your bush shows around the edges."

And so was born the swimsuit test. Every time a new man tickled her fancy, Francesca would invite him to a day at the beach in the summer, or indoor water aerobics at the gym in the winter. Not a word about her appearance in her favorite blue one-piece swimsuit; she always just smiled through her mild embarrassment and welcomed his (and usually several other people's) eyes on her. If he never called her again after they got their clothes back on, good riddance. If he did, Francesca knew she had a keeper.

Now, safe in her small, crowded but neat living room, Francesca paused in front of the mirror on the closed door and admired the thick, dark triangle that had brought such joy and heartbreak before. She ran her fingers through it and promised herself, Weed Whacker Woman will knock Matthew's socks off. And everything else.

Though she knew, between the radiator and her planned activity, that her sweater would be uncomfortably hot shortly, she kept it on. Ever since Jen's long ago attack, being clothed up top and nude down below felt even more erotic than being totally nude. It also tickled her to think of how she must look to anyone who happened to look up from the street, as if she were just relaxing and watching television or something. As Francesca settled herself on the couch - careful to position herself on the towel - and spread her legs wide and ran her fingers through her abundant hair, she chanced a look out the window. The sidewalk was fairly crowded, but as usual, no one looked up at her third storey window.

As usual, she half wished someone would. But her mind was very much elsewhere. It was on Matthew.

Matthew had looked ever so gorgeous in that turtleneck. But she had no doubt he would look even better out of it, and as she closed her eyes and imagined herself peeling it off him in a candlelit room, her fingers were drawn as if by magnetism to her clit. Wanting to focus a while longer on unwrapping her present, she gave it but one light stroke and then took to rubbing her finger in circles around it.

Francesca closed her eyes and saw Matthew's broad chest come into view, and her hands rubbing his firm, toned skin. She rubbed harder and slipped one finger on her left hand inside herself, and envisioned herself unbuttoning his pants. Somehow she was nude by then, and as she pushed his pants down and set his rock-hard penis free, she welcomed his mesmerized gaze at her body. As she saw him reaching out to stroke her bush, she tightened the circles around her clit and flicked her finger harder and faster inside.

"Oh, Francesca, so beautiful!" And his fingers felt twice as good frolicking in her bush than her own did for real, and she rubbed slower, now directly on her clit, and made herself gasp loud enough to wish she'd turned the radio on.

"That feels beautiful, too!" she imagined herself saying, and it did. With both thumbs she flicked playfully at the hair, just as she'd loved to do for as long as she'd had it. She had no doubt, in that wonderful moment, that Matthew would in fact be a genius with his fingers.

Now she felt him caressing her breasts, and the frustration of their still being locked in her bra in real life only made the imagined sensation all the sweeter. Francesca squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed harder with both hands, and imagined herself cradling Matthew in her arms and in her pussy.

She came with a joyful grunt, and the image of herself and Matthew burst into the most beautiful kaleidoscopic vision she'd ever seen. Once the orgasm had passed, Francesca kept her eyes shut and her finger in her vagina and did her best not to let the inevitable doubts creep into her thoughts.

But it was no use. No matter how well she and Matthew had hit it off, there was no guarantee he would pass the swimsuit test. As her hormone-driven optimism wore off as she had known it would, Francesca made up her mind: the sooner she asked, the sooner she'd know if he passed the swimsuit test. After washing her hands and putting her pants back on, she got her phone out and scrolled to Matthew's number.

Even before it started ringing, she could feel her heart in her throat and her fingers tingling, just like she remembered from high school in the moments when it looked like a cute guy might ask her to dance. Francesca had never done the asking back then, but her nervousness now only made her all the prouder to be doing it this time.

"Hello?"

"Matthew!" Francesca's smile was wide just from hearing his voice, and for a brief moment she even forgot he couldn't see it. "Hi, how are you?"

"Who is it? Oh, Francesca? Hi!"

"Yes, it's Francesca. Listen, I just wanted to say again, I had a lovely time at that party."