Bikini Tanned Quotes

Well in two months, it'd be sunbathing time. That made me smile. I enjoyed lying in the sun in a little bikini, timing myself carefully so I didn't burn. I loved the smell of coconut oil. And I don't want to hear any lectures about how bad tanning is for you. That's my vice. Everybody gets one.

A trim and tan bikini clad Aphrodite

Dita Von Teese, a star in the contemporary burlesque scene, once recounted something she’d learned in her early days stripping in LA. Her colleagues—bleach-blond dancers with fake tans, Brazilian wax jobs, and neon bikinis—would strip bare naked for an audience of fifty guys in the club and be tipped a dollar by each guy. Dita would take the stage wearing satin gloves, a corset, and a tutu, and do a sultry striptease down to her underwear, confounding the crowd. And then, though forty-nine guys would ignore her, one would tip her fifty dollars. That man, Dita said, was her audience.

At a thirty-foot distance she was a very attractive, ripe-bodied young girl. At close range the coarseness, and the sleaziness of the materials used in construction were all too evident. Her tanned hide had a coarse and grainy look. Her crinkle of putty-colored hair looked lifeless as a Dynel wig. The strictures of the bottom half of the bikini cut into the belly-softness of too many beers and shakes, hamburger rolls and french fries. The meat of her thighs had a sedentary looseness. Her throat and her ankles and the underside of her wrists were faintly shadowed with grime. There was a coppery stubble in her armpits, and a bristle of unshaven hair on her legs, cracked red enamel on her toenails. The breast band of the bikini was just enough askew to reveal a brown new-moon segment of the nipple of her right breast.

Thai prostitution was a haven for the men and a nuisance for the women. The streets of Phuket were outlined with bars ready to nourish thirsty sailors with euphoric intoxication to smother their pinched nerves from their personal lives deteriorating in their six-month absence. Thailand truly lived up to its port reputation. Hundreds of bikini-clad prostitutes littered the strip. Slim and petite, their narrow hips and flat chests appeared to be the appropriate age for the pink plaid schoolgirl skirts, dress shirts, ties, and pigtails intended to entice pedophilic eroticism. They wore heavy coats of pastel liquid shadow that clashed against their yellow tinted tans. They awkwardly wiggled to a nauseating blend of techno and Reggaeton as cotton-haired granddaddies lustfully gawked at them. Any Caucasian male cannot trek a block without the treatment of a pop culture heartthrob with a trail of Thai teens at his heels. “Wan hunnet baaht!” they taunt in a nasal screech. “Wan hunnet baht and I suck yo cock!” The oriental beauties cup their fists and hold them to their mouths as they wiggle their tongues against their cheeks to provide a clear visual for their performance skills. It’s easy to dismiss the humanity in Thai prostitutes. Their splotchy, heavily accented English allows the language barrier to muffle signs of intellect. They’re overtly sexual in their crotch bearing ensembles, loud and vulgar invitations, and provocative dancing that makes even corner butcher shops feel like Vegas strip clubs. Swarms of them linger in front of bars holding cardboard signs scribbled with magic marker that offer a blow job with the first beer purchased. Their eyes burn into passing tourists, with acute radar for creamy, sun-flushed complexions and potbellies - signals of the deep pockets of white male privilege.

Pasamos a una nueva porfía de la Biblia para las mujeres: sus atuendos. Me he topado de todo, revisando a cada denominación cristiana. Las hay que obligan a las mujeres a maquillarse, a usar joyas y a ponerse faldas o vestidos por debajo de la rodilla para mostrarse decentes en su congregación. O al revés: las que consideran que el maquillaje y la joyería son indecentes de cara al público. La discusión alcanza el punto de que ciertas ramas cristianas tachan de pecado a la depilación o a bañarse con bikini en verano por ir llamando la atención con lascivia. Este caos es tan confuso, que a menudo no puedo evitar soltar unas cuantas carcajadas. [...]. No hay nada de malo en pintarse con maquillaje o en disponer de joyas. Tampoco en su carencia. Quien quiera depilarse el vello corporal por estética, adelante. Nuestra responsabilidad en cualquiera de las alternativas, es que no nos devore el narcisismo por el aspecto físico. Es innegable la necesidad de conservar una apariencia adecuada, sin ser excesivamente recargada o descuidada (la higiene es uno de sus factores, porque influye en la salud). Pero cuando echamos más peso sobre el cuerpo y menos en el alma, surgen las termitas que corroen la estructura de nuestra fe, como los ligeros prejuicios (Mateo 7:1-5, 23:27-28, Marcos 7:1-9). [...]. La apariencia externa es el fruto de lo que abunda en el corazón, no a la inversa. Si el corazón y la mente están bien educados por un cristianismo transparente, la nitidez de la apariencia se cosechará como muestra (Mateo 15:10-20). Una mujer cristiana poniéndose un bikini para ir a la playa, no es lo que provoca que los hombres enciendan su fogosidad al mirarla. Una mujer cristiana no es una satánica poseída solo por vestirse con chupas de cuero, como Olivia Newton-John en 'Grease' (y ella fue una de las mayores devotas católicas de Hollywood). Los pecados, como el machismo de quienes afirman los ejemplos anteriores, nacen de la perversión personal de un individuo. Habrán muchos más condenados por Dios entre los que pregonan la superficialidad de que colocarte una estampita como foto de perfil en las redes sociales, te exime de ser un pecador a escondidas en otras áreas. Si el rey David pudo contener su lujuria ante la enfermera bien parecida que lo cuidó en su vejez, los demás hombres también pueden asumir el control sobre sus deseos (1ª Samuel 16:7, Salmos 51:17, 2ª Timoteo 2:14-16).

I splash enough water in Chloe's face to put out a small house fire. I don't want to drown her, just exfoliate her eyeballs with sea salt. When she thinks I'm done, she opens her eyes-and her mouth. Big mistake. The next wave rinses off the hangy ball in the back of her throat and makes it to her lungs before she can swallow. She chokes and coughs and rubs her eyes as if she's been maced. "Great, Emma! You got my new hair wet!" she sputters. "Happy now?" "Nope." "I said I was sorry." She blows her nose in her hand, then sets the snot to sea. "Gross. And sorry's not good enough." "Fine. I'll make it up to you. What do you want?" "Let me hold your head underwater until I feel better," I say. I cross my arms, which is tricky when straddling a surfboard being pitched around in the wake of a passing speedboat. Chloe knows I'm nervous being this far out, but holding on would be a sign of weakness. "I'll let you do that because I love you. But it won't make you feel better." "I won't know for sure until I try it." I keep eye contact, sit a little straighter. "Fine. But you'll still look albino when you let me back up." She rocks the board and makes me grab it for balance. "Get your snotty hands off the surfboard. And I'm not albino. Just white." I want to cross my arms again, but we almost tipped over that time. Swallowing my pride is a lot easier than swallowing the Gulf of Mexico. "White than most," she grins. "People would think you're naked if you wore my swimsuit." I glance down at the white string bikini, offset beautifully against her chocolate-milk skin. She catches me and laughs. "Well, maybe I could get a tan while we're here," I say, blushing. I feel myself cracking and I hate it. Just this once, I want to stay mad at Chloe. "Maybe you could get a burn while we're here, you mean. Matterfact, did you put sunblock on?" I shake my head. She shakes her head too, and makes a tsking sound identical to her mother's. "Didn't think so. If you did, you would've slipped right off that guy's chest instead of sticking to it like that." "I know," I groan. "Got to be the hottest guy I've ever seen," she says, fanning herself for emphasis. "Yeah, I know. Smacked into him, remember? Without my helmet, remember?" She laughs. "Hate to break it to you, but he's still staring at you. Him and his mean-ass sister." "Shut up." She snickers. "But seriously, which one of them do you think would win a staring contest? I was gonna tell him to meet us at Baytowne tonight, but he might be one of those clingy stalker types. That's too bad, too. There's a million dark little corners in Baytowne for you two to snuggle-" "Ohmysweetgoodness, Chloe, stop!

Images of white, semi clad women in colour would be very conspicuous in an otherwise unintelligible newspaper to Nanaki. It was somewhat incongruous to see little pictures, sourced from foreign news agencies, of white women in bikinis, sun tanning on a beach in Zakynthos or a procession of revellers in Sao Paulo complete with exotic costume regalia: trailing pheasant feathers for tails, operatic masks tantalisingly revealing pouty red lips, breasts protruding out of sequinned two pieces, women’s toned derrieres jutting out of glitzy g-strings vibrating animalistically to the samba, shapely legs fitting snugly into gold stilettos. Others showed women walking down the ramp in skimpy lingerie at a Missoni fashion show in Milan. At times these sights would intrigue Nanaki. For her, Urdu was unintelligible, just black marks on paper. Who reads this newspaper? And who are these pictures for? Whose reality is this?

But the minute the elevator doors close, Crew runs his nose up the side of my leg, inhaling the scent of coconut tanning oil and my sweat before he drops the pillow and bites my ass. I can’t help it. I suck in a gasp, gushing wetness between my squeezed-together thighs. And as the ding sounds for our floor, Crew pushes his fingers between my legs, tucking just inside the lining of my bikini bottoms and dragging over my arousal before he brings those fingers to his lips and sucks them loudly. “Fuck yeah. That’s a good fucking girl. Now, let me clean you up.

In the changing room later, I experience a different kind of warmth—the nakedness of a dozen women, all unashamed. These aren’t the posing bodies you find on the beach, dieted beyond all joy to be bikini-ready and tanned as an act of disguise. These are northern bodies, slack-bottomed and dimpling, with unruly pubic hair and the scars of cesareaen sections, chattering companionably in a language I don’t understand. They are a glimpse of life yet to come: a message of survival, passed on through the generations. It’s a message I rarely find in my buttoned-up home country, and I think about the times I’ve suffered silent furies at the treacheries of my own body, imagining them to be unique. We don’t know ourselves in context. But there is evidence of wintering here, freely shared like an exchange of precious gifts. That’s what you learn in winter: there is a past, a present, and a future. There is a time after the aftermath.

When I turn, I find that Ben is still talking to Gabby down the street and clench my jaw. What the hell does he want with her? Blonde hair pops into my vision, and I barely have time to school my expression before Miranda leaps up, wrapping all of her tanned limbs around me like a koala bear. “Whoa.” I laugh half-heartedly. Guess I won’t be locking myself in my room for a nap. Grabbing Miranda’s bikini-clad ass with both of my hands, I hoist her over my shoulder, and she squeals so loudly, my ear rings. Everyone on my yard stops to stare. The guys take a long look at this girl’s rear, which wiggles against my shoulder. I don’t even have it in me to glare. Mira and I have always had fun, but we have an agreement—nothing serious. Ever. That’s why it works between us. Because I have never felt that pull toward her, and she never wants more. My eyes dart to Gabby across the street, still talking to fucking Ben.

Blinking away, I focus on her shoulder, and on the strap that has slipped an inch to the side, revealing a tan line from her bikini today. I reach up, stroking the line with my thumb. I want to suck her there, bite it. I want to leave a mark.

Her honey-blonde hair is strewn across her face as she sways her head. She’s working a red sequined bikini separated by a tan, flat stomach, and a butterfly tattoo resting on her left hip. Her legs are clad in black fishnets that run into a pair of white-heeled boots—still a knockout.

Luc unties my bikini top and tosses it aside. A stray breeze blows over my breasts, teasing my already hardened nipples. He stands and hurriedly pulls off his trunks, affording me a snapshot I will carry forever of his tanned naked body. Broad chest. Washboard abs. Big, hard cock.

legit, a convertible that will take me anywhere—it’s almost overwhelming. But I am jolted back to life when a tall, tanned brunette strolls through the lobby. Her top is what’s left of a string bikini and covers almost nothing. Her bottom is a sheer skirt that covers even less. I hand over a Visa card for the charges. I could also use either cash or a prepaid credit card, but since the Fibbies know where I’m staying, there’s no need to be deceptive. I’m sure the Miami office has been notified, and there’s probably a set of eyes not too far away. If I were really paranoid, I could believe that the FBI has already been in my room and perhaps hidden a bug or two. I get to my room, see no bugs or spooks, take a quick shower, and change into shorts and sandals. I go to the bar to check out the talent. I eat alone in the hotel café and catch the eye of a fortyish woman who is dining with what appears to be a female friend. Later, back in the bar, I see her again and we introduce ourselves. Eva, from Puerto Rico. We’re having a drink when the band starts. Eva wants to dance, and though it’s been years, I hit the floor with all the energy I have. Around midnight, Eva and I make it to my room, where we immediately undress and hop into bed. I almost pray the FBI has the room wired

In the changing room later, I experience a different kind of warmth---the nakedness of a dozen women, all unashamed. These aren't the posing bodies you find on the beach, dieted beyond all joy to be bikini-ready and tanned as an act of disguise. These are northern bodies, slack-bottomed and dimpling, with unruly pubic hair and the scars of cesareaen sections, chattering companionably in a language I don't understand. They are a glimpse of life yet to come: a message of survival, passed on through the generations. It's a message I rarely find in my buttoned-up home country, and I think about the times I've suffered silent furies at the treacheries of my own body, imagining them to be unique. We don't know ourselves in context. But there is evidence of wintering here, freely shared like an exchange of precious gifts.

I didn't have the energy to scream at the flasher or yell for security. And besides, the 'security team' was just a bunch of tanned strippers in peekabook bikini briefs and heels. So I took matters into my own hands. 'Thank God you're here. Get on top of me right now and force-feed me all of that man meat!' I shouted at him. 'Your penis is irresistible to me! I must have it in my body right this minute!' I started to back him into a corner. 'No, don't put it back inside your pants! I require all of the services you are offering me. I request that you inspect my vaginables and see if they meet your exacting standards!' As I pulled my own pants down, he ran out of the building, never so scared in his life.

I'd adapted my own regimen of upkeep, trying to keep myself seventeen forever: at first begrudgingly, then with increasing panic as the years began to carve lines into my face, loosen my skin. It started with a weekly manicure... Add to that a monthly waxing appointment-- eyebrows, upper lip, underarms, bikini line, legs... When I was twenty-eight, I conceded to Botox... The lasers, I think, began at thirty, zapping the broken blood vessels around my nose, tightening the falling cheeks. The makeup went from a quick swipe of mascara to a full face of foundation, concealer, eyeliner... My air-dried hair was subjected to a weekly blowout, then a twice weekly one, which was when I finally understood the point of shower caps. They never did get me to spray-tan, though. I remain proud of that.

they were saying. And with the tricky steps, she was hesitant to turn around to find out. About halfway down, she saw a college-age girl walking up the stairs, wearing only a bikini and flip-flops, with a beach bag flung over her shoulder. Her hair was still wet from the water and beads of sweat were trickling down her exposed, tan skin. Her curves were impressive and the swimsuit barely contained them. She looked like she might burst out at various places any second. Jessie tried not to stare as they passed and wondered if Kyle was doing the same. “Damn fine ass on that one,” she heard Teddy say a few seconds later. Jessie stiffened involuntarily, not just at the crudeness but because the girl would have almost certainly been close enough to hear it. She was tempted to turn around and give him a scowl when she heard Kyle’s voice. “Right?” he added, snickering like a schoolboy. She stopped in her tracks. As Kyle reached her, she grabbed his forearm. Teddy stopped too, a surprised look on his face. “Go ahead, Teddy,” she said, putting a plastic smile on her face.

I twisted my head to look at the girl.  With one hand she held a wide straw hat to her head.  The other held an umbrella drink in a curvy glass.  She wore big movie-star sunglasses, tall, a reddish-new tan.  White bikini bottoms.  No top.  Just boobies. “Uh . . . hi.” “Hi,” she said. Then there was this shirtless fat guy at her side.  He didn’t have a top either, but his boobies were harrier.  He was hot pink with sun burn, wore a new moustache like a smear of brown crayon.  His ball cap said Kiss the Captain.

See! Told you!” Paige sings out, pointing up at a wooden tower, on top of which a lifeguard is lounging, smoking a cigarette, talking on his mobile phone, his skin tanned so dark he might be Indian, wearing nothing but a tiny, shiny pair of red Speedos. “But Paige, his swimsuit!” I object. Paige tosses her head. “Actually, Violet,” she says, “I think you’re being really sexist. Why should girls be able to wear bikinis if boys can’t wear Speedos? Boys like to tan too!” “My dad calls them budgie smugglers,” Kelly volunteers, and I snigger at this. So does Paige, when she figures it out.

Ciao, ragazzi!” Paige is saying to a couple of smooth-skinned, darkly tanned boys who’ve got up the courage to approach her. “Ciao, bella!” one says back eagerly. Oh, I think wistfully, if we could all be as light and easygoing as Paige, the world would be a much happier place! Paige wouldn’t have thought twice about it if she’d spotted a portrait that looked just like her in a museum! She’d have said “Cool,” taken a photo, made it her Facebook profile for a few weeks, and then forgotten about it completely. She’s not only the queen of this beach, she’s the queen of living in the moment, not worrying about things she can’t control. That’s what you should be doing, Violet, I tell myself. Live in the moment, okay? Stop looking over at your phone on the lounger, wondering if Mum’s about to ring or text. You’re in Venice on the beach in the summer sunshine! Enjoy it! Paige and her new friends are throwing around a big stripy ball, the boys’ lean bodies jumping and twisting in the air like slim brown dolphins, Paige’s boobs jiggling in a way the boys doubtless intended when they produced the ball. The lifeguard’s attention is so focused on the contents of her bikini top that a whole family could be eaten by sharks, screaming for help, without his having the faintest idea. Live in the moment. “Hey,” I yell. “Chuck it to me!” And I run up the wet sand toward them.

She stands there, frosty glass in hand, the sunlight through the windows setting her golden-brown hair and tan skin aglow. A lot of skin. So much gloriously curvy skin is on display. She's wearing dark-green boy-short bikini bottoms and a fitted white T-shirt that flirts with the edges of those tiny Lycra shorts, taunting me with potential glimpses of more smooth, dusky skin. I swear to all that's holy my knees go weak.

He kissed her neck and she bit his shoulder. His skin was like a salted caramel, and she didn't want him to rinse off before she got a taste. Even the piquancy of his sweat appealed to her, and as he reached overhead to adjust the sputtering showered, Iris kissed a path up the side of his torso to the softness of his underarm. He pulled the strings on her bikini top and she undid the tie of his board shorts. Seeing him outside, in daylight, naked and aroused, awakened every inch of her body like the cool breeze on her wet skin. Their transgression laced her desire. She couldn't help grinning as he kissed her, and their teeth clicked like pearls. The shower water was warm by now, and they ducked into the stream together. They kissed and caressed each other as the water made their skin slick with soap and sunscreen. Gabe ran his hands up and down her sides, then gripped the soft curves of her hips to spin her around and pulled her backside close. She leaned into his chest and felt his hardness thump between her thighs, her buttocks, slipping on her soapy body, and she teased him, swishing back and forth like a cat. He reached one hand around her breasts and slid the other down her stomach. When his fingers found between her legs wetter than water, he swore in her ear--- an exclamation and declaration of exactly what he wanted to do to her. Iris glanced up toward the house, where the fear of someone seeing them had morphed to thrill, then fantasy. Unbidden, the image of Jonathan watching them from a window flashed behind her eyes, and then it was Jonathan's tan arm crossed over her collarbones, his hand making her ache. The first wave of pleasure made it hard to hold herself up. She opened her eyes and braced against the wall, her fingernails making fresh yellow scratches in the soft silver teakwood.

Sexy Beach Bikini Styles and Best Bikini for Beach Fashion Trends Why a Sexy Beach Bikini is the Top Choice Sexy Beach Bikini is just swimwear, it is also a fashion statement. Whether you are heading to a summer holiday, a poolside party, or a tropical vacation, the right bikini gives confidence and style. Many women prefer bikinis because they are lightweight, stylish, and perfect for enjoying the sun. When choosing the best Bikini for Beach, comfort and fabric quality are equally important as design. Trendy Bikini for Beach That Women Love Fashion trends keep changing, and so do bikini designs. Today, women look for modern cuts, bold colors, and unique prints in their beachwear. Bikini for Beach with floral patterns, neon shades, or minimalist designs is always in demand. Two-piece sets remain popular, while halter tops and strapless bikinis also add charm. Beachwear Bikini for Women in Every Season Beachwear Bikini for Women is not limited to summer only. Resorts and indoor pools have made it a year-round choice. Many brands now design bikinis with quick-dry fabrics, soft straps, and eco-friendly materials. These details make beachwear stylish as well as sustainable. Affordable Sexy Beach Bikini for All Budgets A big myth is that trendy bikinis are always expensive. In reality, many brands offer stylish and Affordable Sexy Beach Bikini collections at budget-friendly prices. Online stores often provide discounts during summer sales, making it easier for women to choose fashion without breaking the bank. Sexy Bikini for Beach That Suits Every Body Type Every woman deserves to feel confident in her outfit. A Sexy Bikini for Beach is designed in different cuts that suit various body shapes. For example: ● Triangle bikinis highlight shoulders and add elegance. ● High-waist bikinis provide comfort and retro style. ● Bandeau tops are perfect for tanning without strap marks. ● Choosing the right type ensures both comfort and style while enjoying the waves. How to Choose the Perfect Sexy Beach Bikini When buying a Sexy Beach Bikini, look for fabric quality, fitting, and durability. Nylon, spandex, and polyester blends are the best choices for long-lasting use. The color you pick should match your personality. Bright shades add fun, while black and white bikinis remain timeless. Always check size guides before purchasing online. Bikini for Beach with Extra Comfort Features Many women prefer a Bikini for Beach that offers more than just style. Adjustable straps, removable padding, and stretchable material help in long wear. Comfort is equally important as appearance because beach time is about relaxation. A bikini that blends comfort with style makes holidays even more enjoyable. Mix and Match Your Sexy Beach Bikini Experimenting with different tops and bottoms gives new looks every time. Pairing a solid color bikini top with printed bottoms or adding accessories like sarongs, hats, and sunglasses can elevate the style. Sexy Bikini for Beach becomes more versatile when you can mix and match designs. Where to Buy the Best Affordable Sexy Beach Bikini With online shopping, it has become easier to find the right bikini. Trusted fashion websites, global swimwear brands, and local boutiques all offer Affordable Sexy Beach Bikini options. Reading customer reviews, checking size charts, and comparing prices ensure you make the best purchase. Final Thoughts on Sexy Beach Bikini Trends Sexy Beach Bikini is more than just beachwear—it represents confidence, fun, and freedom. Whether you pick a Bikini for Beach for comfort, a Beachwear Bikini for Women for trend, or an Affordable Sexy Beach Bikini for budget, the right choice always boosts your holiday vibes. A Sexy Bikini for Beach makes every trip memorable, stylish, and photo-worthy