This story, and maybe can be deemed an adventure, is about a trip I recently took to South Beach with my 18 year old daughter Crystal, and her best friend Joannie.
This is something she wanted to do. A little too much TV, if you ask me. Between the coverage on fashion week in New York, and the E channel specials, Crys had to be there. Modeling was her ambition, one gently cooled by me as a profession that would wind a nice girl like that as a waitress. In my hearts of hearts, I knew I was just being protective, as Crys would have a good chance at success if she went. She has a face like a younger Monica Belluci, but certainly not as voluptuous. Her 5â8â body wonât get her to the runways, but she knew that she could do print work in a snap. Sheâs neither skinny nor robustâŠa figure like Claudia, all natural.
Crys knew all too well she could make a splash in Miami. I preferred she go to college. Her friend Joannie was equally as beautifulâŠthese girls congregate with each other in high school and all wind up dating the same wrong guys. But, with Joannieâs parents kicking in the airfare, making me a babysitter for these two, we were on our way to Miami. It would be tough enough to keep these girls out of the clubs, away from the lure of liquor and drugs. Weâre heading to the beach, to explore, look around. Nothing more. They shook their heads vigorously in the living room when I gave the speech. Then they squealed in delight and ran upstairs to tear through Crysâs closet for clothes. I knew I was doomed.
We arrived in our Ocean Blvd hotel around 1pm Saturday. Finances dictated that we get one room and slum it. Iâd have a cot, no problem, while the girls had two doubles. I figured they were mature enough to deal with this. Before heading in to the lobby, the sun blazed down as they peered eastward. The beach beckonedâŠ.there would be no stopping them. With their adrenaline reaching fever pitch, we got into the room where the hastily opened their suitcases, jammed in to the bathroom, and slammed the door behind them to get on their suits. I yelled at them through the door about sunblock, and not ending this vacation before it started with sun poisoning. They laughed at the 40 year old fart outside the bathroom door, and said to chillâŠthey remembered. I hate that expression.
I took advantage of the privacy, knowing full well a woman no matter what age, will stay in the bathroom for at least 10 minutes under any circumstance. I slipped on my bathing suitâŠdefinitely the boxer type and not those idiotic marble holders like those old men wear. I wish I could say the same for my daughter and Joannie. Soon, the door opened and they spilled out laughingâŠboth in matching red bikinis. Small bikinis. I couldnât lookâŠ.their bodies, somewhat tan already, were basically being kept in by not very much material. I noticed immediately my daughter had wonderful firm breasts, bigger than Joannieâs and with a few freckles on her chest. Joannieâs strength was more in her legs and butt, as it seemed she worked out more than Crys. Still, while they pulled their gear together to head out, I couldnât look but it was simply impossible not to. Thank the heavens they werenât wearing thongs, I thought. At least they had some modesty. I was determined to keep my mouth shut and not spoil their fun, to a point anyway. The last thing I needed to be on a much need vacation was the over-bearing father.
With sarongs about them, we walked across the street to the beach. They were in awe the colors of the buildings, and the laissez-faire attitude wrapped up in a gold rich lining. There was beautiful men and women everywhere, and most notably on the beach where people work next to nothing, and it seemed that my daughter and her friend fit right in even more so. We got settled on towels, the two girls on their own towels with Crys in the middle, and me on the right, and Joannie on her left. Almost immediately, we leaned back on our elbows to watch the scene unfold. The gorgeous people, the women in thongs, the men with the ripped 6 pack, the snow birds who were people watching just like us , and the young families who frolicked in the lush Atlantic ocean.
Then they saw it, and it didnât occur to me until they mentioned it. Topless women. They were amazed. Isnât that illegal? No, I heard the European women do that hereâŠ.itâs no big deal. We all got âem, right? Look at her, wow, sheâs beautifulâŠand she doesnât care. I admire her. GeezâŠI wonder if we shouldâŠ..
Then, Crys and Joannie looked at me. They could see I was looking at the probable-model sunbathing yards to our left. She was thin, and lying back in her chair with her eyes closed, sunning topless. Her skin was an oily brown hue as the sun fed her tan; her breasts were perfect, and her nipples not too big or too small. Her stomach, flat of course, and her legs went on for miles. The wisp of black bottoms she was wearing was obviously a formality at this point. The girls looked at me, and could see it in my eyes â donât even think it. Without a word, the put their sunglasses on and laid back on their towels in silence, and began their tanning ritual. I won that battle without saying anythingâŠand was quite proud of myself. At least we know whoâs setting the rules on this trip, I thought smugly. With that piece of full confidence in my mind, I wandered out into the ocean and settled into the waves.
* * *
I drifted around in the blue water ocean for about 20 minutes, watching the people walk by on the more crowded beach. Plenty of beautiful people to look at, all looking at each other. I reminded myself to get back, so the girls wouldnât be worried, as the current had pulled me along its course somewhat further down the beach. I walked ashore, dripping wet, and looked due north to find the girls and our blanket. This became a more difficult task that I had surmised it to be; the beach was crowded with numerous oily bodies everywhere. I looked for the girlsâ suits as I remembered they were matching. Plenty of black bikinis, some with tops some without. The ones without tops gave me pause, as it did anyone who walked by. Some of those topless bodies looked perfect, some not. Then, I walked by two topless women, with their perfect breastsâŠand in shock, I realized, it was Crystal and Joannie. I just about fell over.
With a somewhat longer gaze than intended, I impulsively eyed the girls up and down as they laid there with their eyes closed. My daughterâs breasts were bigger with some freckles, but held their own as perfect. Joannie had a smaller bust line, but her nipples stood out about Crysâs, showing their mettle. Seems I hadnât won that battle after all, but I immediately decided I would say nothing. It was their vacation too, away from it all. If this was their way of feeling decadent, so be it. I laid down my towel and before I closed my eyes, I could see them glance at each other, waiting for the inevitable cry of protest that never came. They smiled as if victorious and giggled, thinking I couldnât hear. Then, they closed their eyes to continue working on their now almost-all-over tans. Somewhat later, they both got up and headed to the ocean, topless and all. I put myself up on my elbows to watch them swim in the surf. They could see me watching and shortly both walked out, the water dripping down their half naked bodies, over their shapely breasts, and down their thighs and legs. I realized I was becoming aroused, shook it off and laid back with my eyes closed where I wandered off into a disturbed sleep.
* * *
âDadâŠ.time to goâ, is what woke me up. My eyes fluttered open to find the Crysâs angelic face over mine with a smile. âYouâre all yucky and sweaty, and youâre gonna burn if you stay out here.â I looked over; they had their tops on and packing up to go. They were right; fun is fun, but skin cancer is out.
