Melanie decided to take her new, daring bikini out for a spin around the pool. When she had brought it home and modeled it for Malcolm, he had gazed upon her nearly naked body with wide, lascivious eyes. She examined herself in the mirror now. The top featured fabric barely large enough to cover the nipples of her small, round breasts. The bottom had forced her to shave her pubic bush into a narrow strip so that she displayed only hairless skin around her crotch. The thong definitely showed off her firm hips.
She thought of the old, strangely popular song that her father used to sing when her mother donned a two-piece swimsuit. But, she thought with a smile, her latest version had no room for polka dots of any color.
She was a small woman, barely 5 feet, 2 inches tall and tipping the scales at just over 100 pounds. She had a round face framed by blonde curls, deep blue eyes, a tiny, upturned nose and a mouth she sometimes thought just a bit too wide. Though her boobs were small, they stood out smartly on her diminutive frame. "Perfect handfuls," her husband said. Malcolm could wrap his hands around her waist and have his fingers almost touch. She wished she had longer, sexier legs, but he insisted they were perfect as they were. "Especially when you wrap them around me," he said.
She slipped on a light, nearly transparent robe that fell to just below her hips, slid her tiny feet into a pair of sandals, picked up the paperback she had started reading on the trip the day before -- the latest Tana French novel, "The Secret Place" -- and left the hotel suite.
Malcolm was at a meeting and then a warm-up session for the tennis tournament he'd compete in beginning the following day. He was one of 32 qualifiers for the regional, amateur event, the first time he'd advanced that far in five years of trying. He had played on his college team, a Division III school, but was the number one member his senior year.
As a competitor, he'd scored a luxurious, complementary room for them at the golf and tennis resort, where they couldn't have afforded to pay for even one night otherwise. Melanie had splurged on the skimpy swim attire in response to his athletic success.
She took the stairs rather than the elevator to the main floor, not wanting to be in a confined space with strangers while wearing such revealing clothing. It was just mid-morning, but the lobby, veranda and pool area were already abuzz with activity. She tried not to attract any more attention than necessary, but met many smiles with a wide grin of her own.
Melanie felt good. She felt free. She felt sexy.
She commandeered a chaise longue on the shaded side of the pool -- no sense burning her light, delicate skin on the first day -- slowly removed the robe and settled down with her book. A waiter came by and, to her secret delight, asked her boobs if she would like anything to drink. She ordered a glass of lemonade.
Melanie was half a page into Chapter 5 when she heard a voice from above: "Are you saving this?"
She looked up and saw a woman hovering at the foot of her chaise, smiling down at her and pointing to the vacant seat next to her.
"Oh, no. I'm not."
"Excellent," the woman said, stepping over to settle down on the chair. "I hope you don't mind. I, too, prefer the shade."
"Not at all. Glad to have the company," Melanie said, fibbing just a bit because, after all, she was invested in the book. She was pleased, though, to see that her new neighbor had brought along a copy of The Atlantic.
"You're not here alone, are you? Pretty girl like you."
"No, I'm not," Melanie turned to take a closer look at her interlocutor. She was a good eight inches taller than Melanie and decidedly curvier. She had long, black hair. When she took off her sunglasses, she revealed large, dark eyes that actually seemed to sparkle when she smiled. "My husband is playing in the tennis tournament this week. He's at a meeting for participants now."
"Ah, yes," the woman said. "We saw that posted on the board when we arrived. Maybe we'll sit in on a few matches. My husband's playing golf now. I don't understand golf. I agree with what Mark Twain never really said -- 'a good walk spoiled.' But Tim loves it, so I abide."
"I'm not much into sports myself," Melanie said. "Except running. I love to run. I was neither fast enough nor had the stamina for track or cross country, but that never stopped me from taking off at a nice trot when the opportunity arose."
The woman eyed Melanie closely. "I'll bet you can swim, too. With that slim body, you'd just glide through the water. And not much suit there to drag you down."
Melanie giggled. 'It is kind of on the small side, huh?"
"I'm not criticizing. I like it. Makes me kind of jealous, though."
Melanie shook her head. The woman was wearing a more modest, though still revealing, bikini. She looked to be a decade or so older than Melanie but carried those years well. Her breasts were full, her hips wide and round, her waist probably an inch or two bigger around than in her school days. Her legs were long and slender, the gams Melanie wished she had.
"I'm the one who should be envious," Melanie said. "I look like a freakin' two-by-four compared to you."
"Sexiest damn two-by-four I've ever seen," the woman said, laughing. She turned onto an elbow to face Melanie directly. "My name's Dori, short for Dorothy. I'm pleased to meet you."
"And I you. I'm Melanie. Mel, if you like."
Dorothy lay back on the chaise. "So, does your husband the tennis star know you're sauntering around this playground wearing practically nothing?"
"Well, I'm not sauntering," Melanie said, chuckling at the thought. Maybe I should do a little sauntering, possibly some sashaying, later, she thought. "And, yes, he's seen the bikini."
"Hmm. Did he throw you down and fuck you when you showed it to him?"
"Uh, well, he did express his admiration."
"By fucking you? If he didn't, he should have. You're quite the doll."
Melanie felt herself blush. Malcolm hadn't exactly thrown her down. It was more like he'd swept her off her feet and carried her lovingly to their bed. "Well, yeah, we did sort of make love."
"My Tim would have fucked me into next week," Dorothy said. "So, tell me, Mel, where'd you find that? I need to get one for me."
Melanie shared the name of the store and its location. She described the stock. Giggled at the outrageous price she paid for it. Malcolm had said, "That's about a million smackers per square inch of fabric." Then added, as they lay in bed after making love, "And worth every penny."
Melanie ventured, "Your husband surely must find you quite alluring in anything you wear, especially something like the bikini you have on. You're remarkably attractive. Sexy."
