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From: "Bradley Stoke" <bradley_stoke@hushmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} New Summer Outfit (Bradley Stoke) (FF)
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Date: Tue, 23 May 2006 18:10:03 -0400
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{ASSM} New Summer Outfit (Bradley Stoke) (FF)

Title: New Summer Outfit
Author: Bradley Stoke
Keywords: FF
Short Summary: Ginny is nervous about her New Summer Outfit.


[This story has been previously published on Ruthie's Club
(www.ruthiesclub.com) where it was edited by the much
missed Ruthie and illustrated by Tzratzk.]

For More : /~Bradley_Stoke



Story: New Summer Outfit (1,502 words)

Ginny is on holiday in North Africa, nervous about her new
summer outfit. Was it a wise choice? After all she isn't a
young woman anymore. If only she'd kept her looks as well
as that other single woman she sees so often reading her
novel by the hotel pool.



New Summer Outfit
=================


Ginny knew that buying her new summer outfit had been a
mistake. It seemed fine when she tried it out in the shop,
hidden by the heavy brown curtain. Perhaps a little skimpy
for a woman in her early forties, but didn't she have a new
spurt of youth since her separation? In fact, in the shop,
twirling around, patting her bum, pushing up the heave of
her bosom, pulling in her stomach, she reflected that she
really didn't look bad at all. Many younger women looked
much worse than her.

But other women who were the same age as her looked much
better, Ginny reflected, regarding the woman beside her.
They were both taking refuge from the unexpected Tunisian
downpour beneath a low timber roof designed to shelter
deck chairs: not two women shivering in their swimsuits.

When the rain had started, Ginny made no attempt to run
for the shelter of the hotel. Too much was happening in her
Anne Tyler novel at that moment to justify that. And,
anyway, the rain would soon stop.

But it didn't. It got heavier and heavier, graduating from
tiny dimples in the sand to an overall marshy greyness.
Finally, there was no choice and Ginny was the very last
person on the beach to collect her towel and wicker bag,
her novel shoved hastily to the bottom, and run towards the
nearest approximation to shelter.

Only, she wasn't the last one after all.

Just when she'd ducked under the low-roofed shelter,
pulled her knees up to her chin, bag to one side, another
pair of bare feet splattered through the damp sand and she
was joined by not just anyone but, of all the people it could
be, by her, in her elegant one-piece swimsuit and huge
green towel.

"You don't mind if I join you, do you?" she asked.

Ginny shook her head, but inwardly fumed. Why did it have
to be this woman? Why anyone at all?

When Ginny arrived at the resort, she had none of the
energy to socialise she thought she might have. Nor was
she engulfed by the eligible bachelors who populated her
fantasies. She had no enthusiasm at all for the sixties or
seventies discos. Nor was she inclined to go on excursions
to ancient Roman temples. She would rather stretch out on
a towel on the beach, novel in hand, and dressed only in
Factor 15 and her new summer outfit.

Perhaps her unsociability was a delayed shock after Brian
had left her, although it had been a fairly amicable
separation really. Things had sort of petered out over the
years, and when Brian confessed that he had fallen in love
with Melissa, well, it was almost a relief. Ginny had
sometimes wondered what would bring their marriage to its
final demise. And, anyway, in different circumstances Ginny
might even have quite liked Melissa. She was a cheerful
woman only slightly younger than Ginny and one, judging
by her daughter, who might bring to Brian's life that bundle
of joy that Ginny had failed to do.

However, wherever Ginny went to read her novel, on the
beach, by the hotel swimming pool, even on the hotel
balcony, there was always this other woman: the one now
sitting next to her under the shelter. A woman who fit her
swimsuit so much better than Ginny. How could it be that
some women aged in such a more dignified fashion?

Perhaps it was because she had smaller breasts than Ginny.
Although no expert on lingerie, Ginny was sure this woman
was a B cup. Something, anyhow, much less pendulous
than Ginny's own D cup. Her bosom had once been a
source of teenage pride, but as it lost its natural lift it was
becoming more of a burden than a boon. Of course, the
swimsuit provided flattering support, but as soon as Ginny
removed that top, her breasts just drooped like old grocery
sacks.

She should have chosen a one-piece!

And her companion didn't just have the better preserved
bosom. Her face had none of the wrinkles and creases that
even Oil of Olay hadn't cleared from Ginny's own. And her
waist! Not as taut and slender as a teenager's waist (of
which there were plenty on the beach to compare), but still
no sign of the bulge that Ginny sported above her bikini
bottom and whose contrast made her regret even more her
ill-advised purchase of a two-piece.

Of course, now that she was up close to this other woman,
a Sarah Waters novel gripped in one hand, Ginny could
identify creases and lines on her face, but on such a round
face with such a broad smile they somehow enhanced rather
than detracted from her beauty.

And beauty it was, Ginny had to admit. At first, Ginny was
frightened of expressing such an opinion. It wasn't right to
admit that another woman was 'beautiful'. What she wanted
was another man like Brian, if she could ever be bothered
with a relationship ever again (and sometimes she was not
sure that she did).

As the Tunisian days passed by and she saw more of this
woman, with her neatly square-cut bob, her elegant small-
rimmed spectacles and her sparkling, toothy smile, Ginny's
judgment of this woman changed. In fact, she had almost
sought her out, just to catch a glimpse of her. Or maybe
rather more as she hid her gaze behind the shield of dark
sunglasses, her novel balanced on her knees and a huge
floppy sun-hat over her floppy bush of hair.

"Will the rain never stop!" her companion wondered.

She turned her head and smiled again at Ginny, who
swallowed to keep some part of herself from rising to the
back of her mouth. Ginny averted her eyes from those
warm green eyes, the tinted glasses now removed, but she
didn't know where else to look.

"I didn't think it rained like this in Africa," Ginny at last
remarked.

"It quite obviously does!" her companion exclaimed.
"Actually, my name's Sally. And you're...?"

"Ginny!"

"I've seen you around. You're on holiday by yourself? Like
me."

Ginny nodded.

And then they started talking, Ginny and Sally, and it was
almost as if they'd always known each other. And, outside,
the rain continued to fall onto the freshly raked sand.

It was strange. All that Ginny knew about Sally before were
her long legs, her slim waist, her tasteful choice of clothes,
her beautiful smile, and now those piercing green eyes. But
Ginny felt a stronger bond towards Sally than she'd ever felt
towards anyone.

Anyone, that is, since her husband Brian.

As they spoke, and Ginny perhaps more so than Sally,
Ginny divulged more about her feelings towards Brian and
Melissa than she'd ever done to anyone except her older
sister. So intent was she in her discussion that she didn't really
notice the slow descent of the strap of her new summer outfit
that supported her left breast gradually sliding, millimetre
by millimetre, down her upper arm, but so intent was she in
her discussion that she'd not really noticed its slow descent.

And then she noticed a look in Sally's eyes directed not
towards her face but towards her bosom. And she detected
also a peculiar gleam in those eyes and a corresponding
brightening of her face. Ginny glanced down and was
alarmed to see that the cup of her bikini top had somehow
fallen loose and almost all her breast, including the nipple,
was on display.

"Goodness! My new swimsuit!" exclaimed Ginny, about to
adjust herself.

"Leave it like that," Sally said softly.

Ginny looked at Sally with alarm, one hand hooked on her
strap and the other still grasping her beach bag.

"What did you say?"

"Leave it like that."

"But my new summer outfit... It's not right..."

"That's all right, Ginny. Your swimsuit is fine. It's perhaps a
little young for you, but it fits you well. I've noticed you,
Ginny, you know... Looking at me. From beneath your
shades..."

Ginny blushed.

"You have a much better swimsuit than me," was all she
could think to say.

"Nonsense!" said Sally.

And at that moment, with the rain still beating on the
shelter above, Sally leaned forward and placed her lips
tenderly on Ginny's breast, just above the areola.

Ginny gasped.

"You have beautiful breasts, you know," said Sally,
kneeling in front of Ginny, her arms around Ginny's
shoulders, her bag tipped to one side and her towel half
outside the shelter where it was soaking up the rainwater
that continued to fall.

Ginny wanted to reciprocate, to reply in the same fashion,
to say that Sally was the most beautiful woman she'd ever
known, that age had matured rather than diminished her
beauty, that her own bosom was just perfect.

The words didn't come. Instead, Ginny's mouth and Sally's
met in a slobbery, animal urgency and from thence on
conversation with Sally would never again be the same.




For More : /~Bradley_Stoke

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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