Eighteenth Birthday Suits

I'm not going to tell you anything before our 18th birthdays, except that Karen and I each had our favorite boy-blouses by then. They had button fronts with strategically placed buttons and not too many of them. Fabric was not too clingy and thin enough that, without a bra underneath, nipples could make their point. We'd learned that if you bend your back a little so that the cloth puckers in opposite directions at the buttons, it opens a little viewport under your breast, and if you get the lighting and positioning right and maybe a little shrug for some bounce, you can stop a guy in his tracks. You can make sure things open out correctly by inconspicuously setting the layers in opposite directions so they pucker out, not together. Karen excelled at that maneuver and had breasts to maximize the effect.

Our birthdays were only a week apart, and we were good friends long before then on the high school swim team. Even a 1-piece suit, designed for speed, shows how a girl is put together and I'm sure we helped with male attendance at meets. We used to argue whether breasts made you faster or slower. I don't know about that, but we beat plenty of flat-chested narrow-hipped girls in races. We celebrated reaching 18 with our first bikinis, not telling our parents who would not have approved, but keeping them hidden for our private beach excursions.

There were plenty of beaches nearby, and beaches are where girl watchers congregate. We loved to head out in the surf for a long swim, coming ashore strategically to stand in the shallows in front of a cute guy to wring out our hair, then walk up past him with a smile. We thought about losing bikini tops to a wave, but that would have been awkward, not to either look completely intentional or to lose the top entirely. Letting one breast slip out of a skimpy top was easy and fun, but only effective if there happened to be a guy close by.

We were both virgins and naive, barely past the point of thinking babies might be caused by kissing. We weren't ready for babies. and had all kinds of tactics for getting a guy's hopes up but avoiding consequences. Privately, we giggled to each other about the bulging trunks and the awkward behavior we could trigger in boys with our little "accidents."

We were walking past a beach-side girly bar one day when Karen said, "Let's see if they'll hire us." There was no chance our parents would ever let us work there, but would we dare to apply? Sure, we would.

The first thing the manager did was check our IDs carefully for our ages. Then he took us into a little room, put on some music, and asked us to dance. There was a tall metal pole, but neither of us had the slightest idea how to use it. We faked as well as we could but couldn't fool him. He did like our bodies, though. "You will need some lessons from the other girls, but you look good," he said. "Would you take your suits off, please?" We didn't quite expect that--or maybe we did. There was no real need, except maybe to test our limits. He could see enough with bikinis on to know we passed the body test. I think he just wanted to enjoy one of the extras that came with his job.

I pulled my top off and let him inspect my breasts. He didn't touch, no doubt fearing he would drive us away. I shook them for him, just to be pleasant. About the only detail he couldn't check with the bikinis on was whether we still had our pubic hair. I pulled my bottom down to let him see that I did, then off. He did not recommend any changes. I turned around for him. He didn't ask me to bend over, but I did that too. Then turned back to face him.

By then Karen was naked too--we were always a bit competitive that way, not wanting the other to get more attention. He gave her the same treatment. It was pretty thrilling, actually, the first time either of us had our fully nude body inspected like that. He asked us if we could come for a training session that evening and gave us each $50 "for our time." We said we would come, with no intention of doing it. Another success.

With the two of us side by side, clothes on or off, you could get a feel for male preferences. Most guys preferred Karen's more ample breasts. Not clumsy-big, but they were showstoppers for perky vitality. Mine were big enough to bounce nicely but didn't hang down unless I bent way over. When I was in a good mood, the nipples showed through anything but the nastiest bra. My lower half was better than Karen's, I thought. Some liked it from the front, some the back. From any angle, though, most men preferred either of us to other chicks that might be nearby.

There was a clothing-optional beach a little farther away than we usually traveled. A few days after our visit to the strip joint, we got up our nerve to check it out. We left our tops in the car but kept the bottoms on, not quite sure how things would be when we got over the dunes to the beach.

It was a bust. Mostly men--that part was OK--but beer bellies and flab predominated. Some of the few women there were nude but were attracting curiosity, not admiration. We walked the beach, and there were some younger guys worth noticing, and showing parts we didn't usually get to see, but it was the first time I felt dirty being watched. We had all the attention we expected, but no thrill.

We lay on display for a while, surrounded by dozens of male eyes, and I got a nice back rub out of it. I lay down on my belly with my butt in the air, and Karen oiled my back. Her breasts gave them plenty to watch at first, but then as she got towards my ass, their expectations arose. I couldn't see, but she told me a couple of guys got up and moved to a position that was both closer and at the best angle should Karen get to pulling my bottom off and oiling my naked butt. She said it was sort of cute the way they pretended watching us had nothing to do with the move. That got old, so we decided to leave.

When we were almost back to the dunes, Karen relented. She said, "Wait a minute," and trotted back to the water line at center stage. She stood facing her audience, her back to the ocean, and made a deep bow. Then, putting her thumbs in the sides of her bikini bottom, she slid it down to her knees and straightened up, turning a little to the left and right for imaginary applause. She brought both hands up to her head, gathering the mass of her long brown hair between them, and raised her arms and her hair, and most importantly, her breasts, as she stretched upward. Then she let them all fall. With her bikini bottom still around her knees, she turned to face the ocean and made another deep bow, not at all rushed. Then she pulled up her bottom and skipped back with bouncing breasts. We walked back to the car, waggling our asses as we left.

Karen's uncle had a boat, a little cabin cruiser, nothing too fancy, and he sometimes let Karen borrow it if we paid for the gas. Gas wasn't much if we just took it to a secluded spot for sunbathing. Of course our tops came off. Usually the bottoms too. Being on the boat gave us the security of having an escape route, so we got bolder. When you flash a guy a nice dark triangle between your legs, even from quite a way off, he knows that he has been flashed and may come at you. We did know about condoms, but also that they can break or be removed and we didn't trust boys to play fair any more than they could trust us. Our boat must have become known, and that if you cruised by sort of slow, there were likely to be a pair of nude chicks on board.

There was a little game:

"Hey girls, where's your suits?

We might jump up and fumble for towels, letting them see more than if we had stayed put. I'd wrap the undersized towel around me, leaving plenty of cleavage showing, stand up pretending to be outraged, and then sometimes the towel would accidentally slip off. Sometimes we answered by just posing provocatively and waving the bits of cloth at them. They also learned that if they got too close, the show ended, or we motored away if it came to that. They got more by not pressing too hard. There was a boy in a kayak who was a regular. We knew he couldn't chase us in the kayak, so we let him get closer and tried to give him a nice show.

We did a lot of skinny dipping too, but that was mostly when there was no one else around. A bikini is not made for swimming. It adds a lot of drag, feels restrictive, and is always threatening to fall off. The one-piece suits we used for competition were better, but for swimming, nothing beats naked.

One day Karen brought some electrifying news. There was a free clinic where we could be equipped for safety. She had appointments for both of us. We went and learned what was needed to prevent pregnancies and were fitted with the necessary protection. A whole new world of irresponsible possibilities opened before us.

I told you we were competitive, so it surprised me a little as we were walking away from the clinic together when Karen said, glancing out of the corner of her eyes, "You go first."

"Hmm, I responded" and thought about it. "The handsome boy in the kayak?"

"OK," she said. "You get him the first time."

Karen did the invitation. We went out in the boat to our usual spot, changed into topless mode, and lay down to sun ourselves and wait. It didn't take long before the familiar kayak paddled into view. Karen went over to a side rail and beckoned.