The Beach (Fashion Only Forum 1/2/01)

She came by the office and said, "Let's go."

"Where?" I said, already reaching for the trenchcoat and the old black Pentax.

"The beach," replied The Blonde, smiling at my incomprehension.

"I don't have trunks."

"You don't need any."

"But..."

"Come on!"

So she drove up past UCSD to the glider port, parked the car, and we set off down the Goat Trail, so named, she said, because it took a goat to climb back up.

The first thing I noticed was that no one had trunks. The second thing was that it was almost all men. The Blonde took off her clothes. She took off her clothes! I took off my trenchcoat. And the wingtips. OK...and the rest, looking I suppose like a beached giant squid.

She read a book. I watched her read a book.

The Blonde said, "Let's go in." Now this necessitates me taking off my glasses, something I'm averse to when The Blonde is around. But off she scampered (and off I sauntered with as much dignity as a slightly pink-assed middle-aged guy can muster in those circumstances).

Back out of the water, she asked me to put stuff on her back. "Anywhere you want," I agreed with more enthusiasm, now that the obligatory going-in-the-water thing was done.

Sun was now beginning to affect other parts of my person that hadn't been outside in a long time. I was willing to put up with the pain, but she'd had enough, so I quickly put the Dick Tracy boxers back on, then the trench coat, then the rest, while she did a reverse strip every bit as provocative as the conventionally directioned one had been.

And we packed up the towel, and the chair and puffing the whole way... I followed her up the Goat Trail.

Fran Bilder

Private Photographer