My publisher nabbed me an invitation to a party full of celebrities. Before I went, I was excited about it. After it was over, I thought it was a big yawn. What a bunch of self-involved and shallow people.
There was one woman, however, who made a good impression on me. An Olympic swimmer. I won’t drop her name, but she’s famous. You know why she impressed me? She did nothing to hide the tan lines on her shoulders left by her swim suit, even though she was dressed in a gorgeous strapless gown. It seemed brave and real.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “tan lines.”
I still remember, with deep embarrassment, the last time I fell deeply, madly in love; deer-in-the-headlights, ridiculously, in love. For one thing, I had never before encountered skin quite like that on any mortal, and the simplest things- like observing bodily tan lines made my insides quiver somehow. It was hard to distinguish whether from lust or acute envy.
Growing up I spent hours at the river. When my Italian aunts saw my tan lines they’d chastise me not to get too brown. They worked in strawberry fields in long sleeves, hats and pants when it was scandalous to be a “proper” skirt. Now, with wrinkles and spots, I wish I’d listened.
When its right
If he woke up at dawn, he loved to just watch her and pull aside the sheets, not for sex that would come when it came, but to trace his fingers over her tan-lines and feel even in old age the wonder that she of all women could love him.