Beach Bum

I had a mental image of this place before coming here.  Quite a clear mental image actually.  Perhaps a little too clear, too formed, if I’m honest.  A little too wistful even; much too desirous for one who’s genuinely satisfied: one who might look but isn’t looking.

Because this place has a reputation.  In fact it has a number of reputations but this particular reputation is built around an industry so vast it is almost the lifestyle. It manifests itself in an eponymous style of pubic topiary.  And provides as many buttock implants as boob jobs.  Some of this is obvious.  Some of it isn’t.  Thankfully. 

And here we are on one of the most famous beaches on the planet, populated by some of the most consciously stuffed swimwear in the world.  It is the catwalk of ostentatiously flamboyant and brazen beauties.  In short, it is a compulsive ogler’s worse nightmare.

It is true: I’ve never seen quite so many spankable bottoms in one place before.  You could almost see cheeky hand marks on some of them and, I can’t be sure but, I thought my own palm tingled expectantly few times.  And let’s face it, there wasn’t much to hide this taut flesh.  Surely it’s an exaggeration to describe some of these garments as clothing.  Isn’t there  a trade-description act that covers this sort of thing?  I’ve seen dental floss that’s more robust some of these briefs. 

You have to admire their determination though.  I mean, this is costly showing-off.  If there’s one thing my short-lived tightrope walking career taught me, it’s that sitting on stretched string isn’t much fun.   And while I appreciate that this sort of thing is a real stimulant for some, I’m much too attached to my sensibilities to risk having them garrotted.  Especially with this sunburn.

But some people take it just too far:  just as some false boobies can prove ridiculous, so fake arses be overly pert and plump.  Really, some of these girls (and a surprising number of men) aren’t fooling anyone.

And yet for all the effort of the expensively statuesque figures, no one really paid them any attention (pathetic visitors like me aside).  On the contrary, this was a place, unique in a country of obscene economic discrepancies, where everyone was equal.  The obviously wealthy, the clearly poor, the polished and the rough - this beach had no barriers.  In fact, most people here were reassuringly normal.  Lumpy, bumpy, saggy or flat just like you and me.  Well, me anyway.  All united in a slightly unnerving attachment to teeny-weeny swimsuits.  It felt strangely heartening.   

For a moment, I longed for my old Speedos.  As a sign of solidarity.  Mercifully the moment passed quite quickly, although I did roll up my trouser legs one more turn.

Comments

[Mrs RW]

For this reason alone I will NEVER go to Brazil!

[Carlton]

I wouldn't let it put you off, Mrs RW. It was refreshingly unassuming. And really, no-one cares! I'm fussy about exposing my flesh afterall. Actually, I'm not that fussy...

c.