From the archives….
I’d like to include short pieces of “literature” that I have penned, and decided to start with a short simple one. The setting is Bondi Beach, an incredibly dynamic (and often crowded) patch of sand, just on the outskirts of Sydney, Australia. Being the closest beach to the downtown area, it attracts businessmen on lunch breaks, avid surfers, and interested travelers alike. Being a bit more liberal than the United States, Bondi is a prime example of…
The Topless Beach
The topless beach is an enigmatic playground. It is here, this bittersweet venue, that the breast betrays its true identity. No longer supported, or imprisoned by the confines of a bra, we have the opportunity to laud or disdain mother nature (as well as dietary habits, surgeons, and genetics) for their collective handiwork. Some women revel in the opportunity to display their gifts. Others could care less, and proudly show off two sacs, the consistency of rotten porridge, to the world. Some less-endowed women are mistaken for longhaired men. Some men are mistaken for hideous women.
And while biology drives us to stare, society often gets the better of us, and we divert our eyes in the opposite direction of the stimulus. Scientists would be baffled by our behavior: bio-social norms exhibiting a strength greater than our millions of years of ingrained evolution!
Once in a while, we are blessed with an oasis, a Venusian figure in a sea of mediocrity. Nature takes hold, our jaws drop, necks twist, and eyes fixate. She’s perfect…and she knows it. She engages in conversation with her pruder, covered-up friend. All the while, she’s either feigning or genuinely exuding (it’s often hard to tell) that utter nonchalance. The Queen of Summer knows her place, and proudly plays the part, devoid of both tan lines and inhibition. She is a goddess among broads.
