"No!"
Linda shook her dark tresses to make sure Ann got the point, but Ann was not looking at her.
"A promise is a promise," said Ann, distracted. She lounged on the condo's secluded balcony, soaking up the sun, topless."I've been counting on you for tomorrow. Sort of."
"I said I would go to the beach with you, sure, but that was before I realized it was National Nude Day. I know you, Ann. You're going to be on display for everyone to see."
"You've got a wonderful body, Linda. You're a swimmer. You should be showcased for the world."
"Forget it, Ann. Certainly not at Snugglers' Strand. Half the beach is cameras and perverts."
"Yes, but only half. And it's Smugglers' Strand. We'll be among friends, those who enjoy nudity."
"Your friends, you mean. Come on, Ann. I don't appreciate being ogled."
Ann sighed, left the balcony to talk face-to-face with Linda. As usual, her breasts rode high despite their robust fullness. Ann was also completely nude. Her blond hair was piled loosely on top.
"Couldn't wait for tomorrow to work on your all-over tan?" Linda said.
Ann smiled and grabbed a bath towel. "Let's compromise. You'll come with me tomorrow, but you can bring a friend. I don't care if he wants to be naked or not, but I want compliant company at the beach."
Linda considered, tapping her finger on her chin. "If I'm bringing someone, then I want you to bring someone, too." Linda reasoned that Ann would have trouble getting a companion to join her. She cycled through men rather quickly and few lasted an entire month. She held a year-long torch for a drug dealer now in jail and an elderly monsignor, her confessor, who had been shipped to remote parish.
Ann thought about the challenge of finding someone. She finally shrugged her shoulders, making the bath towel slide to the floor. Her ass wiggled on long tan legs as she sashayed into the bath to shower.
Before she closed the door, Ann said, "Okay. You bring someone, I'll bring someone. They can both meet us here tomorrow morning—early."
The next morning dawned with clear skies and little breeze. It would be a hot one. Linda checked her watch when neither her nor Ann's guests had arrived yet.
Ann, in her calm, deliberate way, prepared a basket with wine, cheese, crackers, grapes, some ham, apples, and condiments. A day's worth of lite Mexican beer chilled and clinked in a cooler. Ann wore her plum and gray transparent wrap over her yellow bikini. The bikini was surprisingly conservative, with high waisted bottoms and a top that hugged her breasts completely. Linda's bikini was more daring, with high cuts at the hips and a revealing view of her cleavage. Linda folded blankets and towels as they waited.
The doorbell rang. Ann kept packing, so Linda answered. A tall, model-gaunt woman, weari ng a loose white blouse and too-big denim shorts with frayed bottoms stood alone at the door. Her long, gamine legs crooked together at her knobby knees. On her left thigh, a few faint bruise marks showed. Her caramel blond hair was parted evenly along the top and fell in waves across her narrow face. A quick spark beneath her cascading hair hinted at the presence of sunglasses protecting her eyes, which were trained at her sandaled feet. Her violet toenail polish was chipped.
"Can I help you?" Linda asked.
"Is Ann here," a meek voice answered.
"Hello, Grace," Ann called from the kitchen area. "So glad you could make it. She's Linda. She'll be joining us today."
Grace bowed her head toward Linda and slinked into the condo.
"Welcome, Grace," said Linda. "May I bring you a Bloody Mary, a screwdriver, a mimosa?"
"No, no, no, thank you. Can I help at all?"
"No," said Ann. "Make yourself comfortable. We're waiting for Linda's friend to arrive."
Grace tapped a long, thin cigarette out of her new pack. Before she lit it, Ann told her, "Not in the condo, please. Use the balcony."
Grace gravitated to the secluded balcony and stretched out onto the chaise lounge. She kicked off her sandals and wiggled her toes. A narrow stream of smoke left her thin lips, She put the cigarette to her lips again.
"Where did you find her?" Linda whispered to Ann.
"The Battered Women's Forum at our Church. I thought she might use a self-esteem boost."
"Do you think it's such a good idea today? You're likely to smother her self-worth if you make her strip on a party beach."
"Based upon what she's told the group, it's a chance I'm willing to take. I've kept up my end of our bargain. Whether your friend comes or not, you still have to come to the beach. Perhaps I'll strip you on the party beach."
Linda laughed nervously and grabbed her white coverup. Ann finished packing with a smug smile on her face.
The doorbell rang. Linda ran to the door and swung it open.
"Hello-o-o-o, Linda! How do I look?"
A fiery red-head posed with one arm high overhead and her wide hips cocked to one side. She wore a metallic green bikini that caught the early sun and flashed sunlight into the condo. The bikini clung like it had been molded to the red-head's ample curves. Her smile was just as bright, outlined by a bright orange lip gloss. She carried a large striped towel and walked barefoot.
"You look wonderful. I'm so glad you could make it. The bank was able to spare you for the day?"
The red-head threw her head back and laughed a trilling call. "What's the fun of being a vice-president if I can't take a day off now and then? Right?"
She danced in and held out her hand to Linda. Freckles sprinkled along her outstretched hand, her arm, her shoulders, and spilled over her back and between her bulging cleavage. There were even freckles on her thighs. She bounced over to Ann in the kitchen, her spotted hand outstretched.
"Hi. You can call me Red." She ruffled her copper hair. "My name's spelled B-i-n-g-e. It's German. You can pronounce it 'Binga,' like 'ringa-dinga-ding.' I've also heard it pronounced to rhyme with 'Pinch.' What's your name?"
Ann looked down her nose at the bundle of curves and freckles bubbling like a small volcano in front of her. Ann held out her elongated hand, shot a quick, disappointed look at Linda, and then smiled warmly at Red. "Welcome. My name is Ann. I like the audacity of your bikini. It's sure to draw a crowd."
"You think so? It's new, and not like I the ones I usually buy. But I thought, 'What the hell?' You only live once, right? I just hope I don't meet any of my banking clients." She waggled her russet eyebrows and winked. "We're going to Smugglers' Strand, right? That's the clothing optional beach, right?" Her brown eyes sparkled with mischief.
Ann smirked. "I think you're hoping we might see some of your banking clients. And that they will see you."
Binge giggled and covered her face with her hand.
"Let's go," said Ann. Grace flicked her cigarette butt off the balcony. An arc of orange sparks tracked its trajectory. Then, she shuffled toward the door.
"Sorry," Grace said, to no one in particular.
Smugglers' Cove was located at the foot of a steep cliff, and often submerged in water. When it was not waterlogged, the sand was soft and white and inviting. Today was a dry day. The waves broke far out to the horizon. The beach was desperate, windblown, and lonely much of the year, but not during the summer months. Only the most agile, young, and athletic sunbathers could make the treacherous descent to the soft sand. They attracted each other.
Ann selected a spot where the beach changed from soft sand to rocky outcrops. To their left as they faced the water, the sand formed a smooth, warm, golden mantle. Towels and blankets formed a patchwork quilt as far as the eye could see, punctuated by an occasional beach umbrella or low cloth fences to give the illusion of privacy. A few volleyball nets stretched across the beach, complete with naked and nearly-naked competitors of both sexes. Cornhole boxes were strewn about the strand, close enough that the plop and slap of bags thrown by the players could be heard above the grumble of the breaking waves on the beach.
Grills and beach fires flared. The aroma of charred meat, vegetables, and bread competed with the salty tang of the ocean breeze. Guitar players strummed while their listeners swayed shoulder to shoulder. Red cylindrical boom boxes blasted ruder, insistent music, whose audience twerked and popped, kicking up sprays of sand in time with the beats.
To Ann's right, the beach was strewn with rocks and boulders, some shoulder high. That was both the problem and the opportunity. Freaks with cameras lurked among those rocks, as well as more dangerous perverts. On the right, there was more privacy, but also more danger.
Ann had picked a veritable oasis that straddled the soft beach and the rocky beach. She enjoyed playing dangerously while being able to retreat to safety.
The four friends lay on four towels, sipping bottles of Mexican beer, still wearing their suits. An oversized red-and-white umbrella fluttered to the rear. The music they listed to was dramatically classical. The sun blazed brightly, bouncing rays off the cliff face and the undulating sea.
Ann stretched out on her back, her swimmer's legs muscled and taut as she pointed her toes. Linda lay on her side, reading a book about women's rights. Grace was facedown on her front. She wore a white suit that technically was a bikini, but could not be considered sexy. Her bottoms came to her belly button and fully covered her rear. There were small, white ruffles all over the suit. Her top held her closely, but unnecessarily. She had small breasts, which matched her gaunt legs. Another bruise showed on her left ribs, clearly visible. Her head rested on her arms, her face in the towel, her caramel blond hair spilling to each side.
Occasionally, sunbathers and swimmers would pass by their oasis, saying very little to any to them. Some of the paraders were naked, some wore suits or parts of suits, all checking out the scene. Nothing attracted them to Ann's group.
Binge sat up. She crossed her ample legs and her padded arms. Her metallic green bikini gleamed under the bright sun.
"Well? When does the fun start?" she demanded.
Linda lifted her head, raised her sunglasses, and said, "I'm having fun. This is so relaxing."
Grace didn't move.
Ann closed her book, sat up.
"Binge's right. It's time to start enjoying National Nude Day." Ann proudly pulled off her top. Her perfect breasts wobbled but sat high on her chest. The pink nipples pointed slightly skyward, the tips tight and wrinkly.
Binge looked as though she wanted to taste those pink tips. Neither Linda nor Grace moved.
