Yellow Trunks by Catriona Windle

We trudge up the sandy hill, hot and sticky despite our summer clothes. Two girls on a mission, too hot for capers. We are in a quiet spot but we can hear in the distance the sounds of bathers enjoying the icy thrill of the sea. “Hello girls” he says, standing before us – ‘Yellow Trunks’. He is tall, dark and handsome and, with a flirtatious grin he pulls down the front of his trunks to show us what he’s got. I stop and look at it, at him, and then at Miriam, she’s looking at it, then she looks at me and nods for us to go on. Safely past I say, “What was that?”  We laugh all the way to the sea.

One Summer later we sit between the dunes discussing life. We have buried ourselves to the waist and are putting sand down the front of our bikini tops to see how we might look some day. Mine are bigger than Miriams. She says it’s because there’s more room in my bikini and we snort and hoot with amusement. A shadow falls over us – ‘White Trunks.’ He is short and pale, quite handsome. “Hello girls” he says looking slightly apologetic, and pulls down his trunks to show us what he’s got. We look at him, then each other, disconcerted. Off he goes and we are alone again. We quietly empty our bikinis of sand. Miriam looks at me and, with a small smile says, “I preferred Yellow Trunks.”