	New Summer Outfit
        =================


Ginny knew that buying her new summer outfit had been a 
mistake. It seemed fine when she tried it out in the shop, 
hidden by the heavy brown curtain. Perhaps a little skimpy 
for a woman in her early forties, but didn't she have a new 
spurt of youth since her separation? In fact, in the shop, 
twirling around, patting her bum, pushing up the heave of 
her bosom, pulling in her stomach, she reflected that she 
really didn't look bad at all. Many younger women looked 
much worse than her.

But other women who were the same age as her looked much 
better, Ginny reflected, regarding the woman beside her. 
They were both taking refuge from the unexpected Tunisian 
downpour beneath a low timber roof designed to shelter 
deck chairs: not two women shivering in their swimsuits. 

When the rain had started, Ginny made no attempt to run 
for the shelter of the hotel. Too much was happening in her 
Anne Tyler novel at that moment to justify that. And, 
anyway, the rain would soon stop. 

But it didn't. It got heavier and heavier, graduating from 
tiny dimples in the sand to an overall marshy greyness. 
Finally, there was no choice and Ginny was the very last 
person on the beach to collect her towel and wicker bag, 
her novel shoved hastily to the bottom, and run towards the 
nearest approximation to shelter.

Only, she wasn't the last one after all. 

Just when she'd ducked under the low-roofed shelter, 
pulled her knees up to her chin, bag to one side, another 
pair of bare feet splattered through the damp sand and she 
was joined by not just anyone but, of all the people it could 
be, by her, in her elegant one-piece swimsuit and huge 
green towel. 

"You don't mind if I join you, do you?" she asked.

Ginny shook her head, but inwardly fumed. Why did it have 
to be this woman? Why anyone at all? 

When Ginny arrived at the resort, she had none of the 
energy to socialise she thought she might have. Nor was 
she engulfed by the eligible bachelors who populated her 
fantasies. She had no enthusiasm at all for the sixties or 
seventies discos. Nor was she inclined to go on excursions 
to ancient Roman temples. She would rather stretch out on 
a towel on the beach, novel in hand, and dressed only in 
Factor 15 and her new summer outfit.

Perhaps her unsociability was a delayed shock after Brian 
had left her, although it had been a fairly amicable 
separation really. Things had sort of petered out over the 
years, and when Brian confessed that he had fallen in love 
with Melissa, well, it was almost a relief. Ginny had 
sometimes wondered what would bring their marriage to its 
final demise. And, anyway, in different circumstances Ginny 
might even have quite liked Melissa. She was a cheerful 
woman only slightly younger than Ginny and one, judging 
by her daughter, who might bring to Brian's life that bundle 
of joy that Ginny had failed to do.

However, wherever Ginny went to read her novel, on the 
beach, by the hotel swimming pool, even on the hotel 
balcony, there was always this other woman: the one now 
sitting next to her under the shelter. A woman who fit her 
swimsuit so much better than Ginny. How could it be that 
some women aged in such a more dignified fashion?

Perhaps it was because she had smaller breasts than Ginny. 
Although no expert on lingerie, Ginny was sure this woman 
was a B cup. Something, anyhow, much less pendulous 
than Ginny's own D cup. Her bosom had once been a 
source of teenage pride, but as it lost its natural lift it was 
becoming more of a burden than a boon. Of course, the 
swimsuit provided flattering support, but as soon as Ginny 
removed that top, her breasts just drooped like old grocery 
sacks. 

She should have chosen a one-piece!

And her companion didn't just have the better preserved 
bosom. Her face had none of the wrinkles and creases that 
even Oil of Olay hadn't cleared from Ginny's own. And her 
waist! Not as taut and slender as a teenager's waist (of 
which there were plenty on the beach to compare), but still 
no sign of the bulge that Ginny sported above her bikini 
bottom and whose contrast made her regret even more her 
ill-advised purchase of a two-piece.

Of course, now that she was up close to this other woman, 
a Sarah Waters novel gripped in one hand, Ginny could 
identify creases and lines on her face, but on such a round 
face with such a broad smile they somehow enhanced rather 
than detracted from her beauty.

And beauty it was, Ginny had to admit. At first, Ginny was 
frightened of expressing such an opinion. It wasn't right to 
admit that another woman was 'beautiful'. What she wanted 
was another man like Brian, if she could ever be bothered 
with a relationship ever again (and sometimes she was not 
sure that she did). 

As the Tunisian days passed by and she saw more of this 
woman, with her neatly square-cut bob, her elegant small-
rimmed spectacles and her sparkling, toothy smile, Ginny's 
judgment of this woman changed. In fact, she had almost 
sought her out, just to catch a glimpse of her. Or maybe 
rather more as she hid her gaze behind the shield of dark 
sunglasses, her novel balanced on her knees and a huge 
floppy sun-hat over her floppy bush of hair.

"Will the rain never stop!" her companion wondered. 

She turned her head and smiled again at Ginny, who 
swallowed to keep some part of herself from rising to the 
back of her mouth. Ginny averted her eyes from those 
warm green eyes, the tinted glasses now removed, but she 
didn't know where else to look.

"I didn't think it rained like this in Africa," Ginny at last 
remarked.

"It quite obviously does!" her companion exclaimed. 
"Actually, my name's Sally. And you're...?"

"Ginny!"

"I've seen you around. You're on holiday by yourself? Like 
me."

Ginny nodded. 

And then they started talking, Ginny and Sally, and it was 
almost as if they'd always known each other. And, outside, 
the rain continued to fall onto the freshly raked sand. 

It was strange. All that Ginny knew about Sally before were 
her long legs, her slim waist, her tasteful choice of clothes, 
her beautiful smile, and now those piercing green eyes. But 
Ginny felt a stronger bond towards Sally than she'd ever felt 
towards anyone. 

Anyone, that is, since her husband Brian.

As they spoke, and Ginny perhaps more so than Sally, 
Ginny divulged more about her feelings towards Brian and 
Melissa than she'd ever done to anyone except her older 
sister. So intent was she in her discussion that she didn't really 
notice the slow descent of the strap of her new summer outfit 
that supported her left breast gradually sliding, millimetre 
by millimetre, down her upper arm, but so intent was she in 
her discussion that she'd not really noticed its slow descent.

And then she noticed a look in Sally's eyes directed not 
towards her face but towards her bosom. And she detected 
also a peculiar gleam in those eyes and a corresponding 
brightening of her face. Ginny glanced down and was 
alarmed to see that the cup of her bikini top had somehow 
fallen loose and almost all her breast, including the nipple, 
was on display.

"Goodness! My new swimsuit!" exclaimed Ginny, about to 
adjust herself.

"Leave it like that," Sally said softly.

Ginny looked at Sally with alarm, one hand hooked on her 
strap and the other still grasping her beach bag. 

"What did you say?"

"Leave it like that."

"But my new summer outfit... It's not right..."

"That's all right, Ginny. Your swimsuit is fine. It's perhaps a 
little young for you, but it fits you well. I've noticed you, 
Ginny, you know... Looking at me. From beneath your 
shades..."

Ginny blushed. 

"You have a much better swimsuit than me," was all she 
could think to say.

"Nonsense!" said Sally. 

And at that moment, with the rain still beating on the 
shelter above, Sally leaned forward and placed her lips 
tenderly on Ginny's breast, just above the areola. 

Ginny gasped. 

"You have beautiful breasts, you know," said Sally, 
kneeling in front of Ginny, her arms around Ginny's 
shoulders, her bag tipped to one side and her towel half 
outside the shelter where it was soaking up the rainwater 
that continued to fall.

Ginny wanted to reciprocate, to reply in the same fashion, 
to say that Sally was the most beautiful woman she'd ever 
known, that age had matured rather than diminished her 
beauty, that her own bosom was just perfect.

The words didn't come. Instead, Ginny's mouth and Sally's 
met in a slobbery, animal urgency and from thence on 
conversation with Sally would never again be the same.








