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A few weeks ago, I was driving home after work on a hot, sunny Friday when I felt my cell phone vibrate in its SMS alert pattern. Normally, I would have left it alone until I got home. But because of some personal things I had going on at the time, I thought I should check the message promptly.
I was a few miles shy of a lakeside park where I used to take my lunch occasionally, when I worked in the vicinity, so it came to mind as a good place to pull off and read the message. One of the reasons that I favored the spot, back when it was handy, is that the lake has a nice little beach, and the beach and the lawn above it are a favorite place for the local teens to sunbathe. Nothing goes better with a bag lunch than a little bit of eye-candy.
I pulled into the parking lot facing the beach, secured the car, and took out my phone. I read the message: nothing that needed urgent attention. I tapped out a reply.
When I looked up, I saw a just-arrived group of four high-school girls, sixteen or seventeen years old. All of them were wearing pretty sundresses — you know how girls arrange such things in advance, so that nobody is dressed in the “wrong” thing — all of them quite pleasingly short and revealing. Four well-shaped lasses, with sexy legs and pretty faces. I decided I would sit and enjoy the scenery for a few minutes.
They scouted for the right location. All four of the girls were attractive, but soon I was looking at only one. She didn’t stand out so much for how she looked, but for how she acted. She had an aura of excitement and enthusiasm — as if this outing at the lake was the best thing she could imagine, like she was certain she would have fun with her friends. She had a thousand things to say to them, it appeared, and they were all happy to listen to her, engaged and amused.
I’d guess her height at 5′3″ or 5′4″. Wavy dark blond hair, shy of shoulder length. Barely-B-cup breasts. Girl-next-door face. Dark eyes. Slim figure — if you’ve looked at some of my pin-ups you’ll have a good idea. Bright, easy smile.
I was so taken by her animation, her vivacity, her live-in-the-moment excitement, that she really eclipsed her girlfriends. I watched as they spread out their blanket and arranged their possessions on it. They stood and looked out toward the lake, facing away from me.
And then the wind picked up. Sundresses began to swirl around four pairs of shapely legs. The wind caught and played with the roomy, light-weight skirts, making them lift and twist and billow. I looked at my favorite and beamed my usual thoughts her way: “Don’t interfere. The odds of exposure are tiny… but it’s up to nature to decide. Don’t touch your dress. Leave it alone. Let what happens happen. Don’t clutch at the hem…”
She reached down to her swirling dress. Took hold of the hem. Before I could even form the “Oh, too bad” thought in my mind, she pulled it up, up, up. Showing tiny blue-green panties, only half concealing her delightful little teenage-taut bottom. Up, up, past her matching bra, and off over her head.
It took a few seconds for me to translate “panties” and “bra” into “bikini.” Those seconds were delicious — and truly, I didn’t have much of a letdown when I understood that I was looking at a gorgeous girl in her itty-bitty bathing suit instead of a gorgeous girl in her barely-there underthings. The other three girls promptly stripped their dresses off as well, but my eyes stayed on the blonde, who bent over at the waist to tuck her dress into her bag. Happily, it took her quite a while to get things arranged to her liking. Her panties — excuse me for continuing to think in those terms — rode up over her right bun, exposing that firm sexy mound fully.
Later on, I resumed breathing.
Sometimes the randomness in the universe is a frustration, a source of impatience or even anger. But sometimes, coincidence is sweet perfection. I’m still remembering and enjoying that serendipitous moment at the lake.
Author’s notes on Beauty at the Lake
She was such a doll. I wish her a wonderful life.
Ladies, there really is only a tiny chance that a wind will take your skirt just right and expose you. I have only seen it happen six times in a long life of watching carefully for such events (panties 5, bare 1). In the mean time, every time you clutch at your skirt, you look silly and self-conscious. Let the beautiful complexities of fabrics and air currents decide for you — and if you do get caught, smile as if all around you were applauding. In our hearts we are.
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