My roommate and I wandered down to our apartment complex pool this weekend. I never do this as often as I think I will, and maybe its because I have dreams of swimming laps in the sun, but that can sometimes be hard to do since the pool is really there to be the backdrop for lots of variations on dating rituals. It’s like a sociologists dream come true, but as a casual swimmer, it’s a little off putting. Especially the time that I kept trying to figure out why one father and daughter pair so touchy-feely only to realize later that they were a couple.
While Brittany sipped a Michelob Ultra and got chatted up by a guy who made fun of our home state and bragged about the charms of Midland, Texas (making his chance of winning her over exactly zero, no matter how cute his dog was), I enjoyed a mostly empty pool. It’s so much nicer swimming laps when you aren’t dodging little kids jumping and being flung into the water. Besides me, there was a group of two girls and three guys having the exact same flirty faux-deep gender differences conversation you’ve no doubt heard and probably participated in when you were in your early twenties. Who has it easier men or women? Are boobs a blessing or a curse? If one of the guys missed the opportunity to say that if he had boobs he’d never leave the house, assume that he was thinking it because it was THAT conversation.
Then, the cute brunette busted out a surprising variation: “I just can’t act like a whore! No matter how hard I try, I just can’t act that way.”
I regret that I missed the larger context of that comment, but it definitely caught my attention as I was hanging on the wall practicing my flutter kick. I dropped my legs deeper into the water and continued to listen. Was she a waitress complaining about a particularly flirty coworker? No, she worked at T-Mobile. She started talking about etiquette for men buying her drinks at bars (if they’re already paid for, she’ll drink them–no reason to waste free booze–but if the men ask first, she’ll turn down offers to buy her something). I swam another lap, and when I raised my head again, she was expressing disgust that a girl she worked with who had very thick legs insisted on wearing skirts. Apparently, the girl was really pretty as long as she wore pants. Yes, she actually said that.
Normally, this would just be another inane conversation that happens when people drink beer and feel each other out poolside. But, when this same brunette got up to get another beer, I could not help but notice–from across the pool–that her swimsuit was see through! The seat was riding and bunching up like wet tissue paper, exposing quite a bit of side butt cheek, but it was also sagging, so that the top of her ass crack was CLEARLY visible. I could also easily make out said crack through the thin, un-freakin’-lined material.
My first thought was that she must be wearing underwear as a bathing suit substitute. But the cut of the whole thing seemed very swimsuit like. Something about the thick halter cut of the top seemed to suggest it’s pool appropriate, but when she came back a few minutes later, I could definitely make out nipples. Again, I am across the pool from this girl. What I’m picking up is hardly subtle. And while it isn’t entirely transparent, I’m not just picking up the outline of a nipple. I’m seeing areola!
Can’t act like a whore, you say? I bet you could if you really tried.