Skinny Dipping Quotes

The surest way to hurt yourself is to give up on love, just because it didn’t work out the first time.

That was the thing about pictures--they were worth a thousand words, but sometimes they weren't the right ones.

We raced around, drinking and shouting out the windows into the night, finding parties to sneak into or bars that never closed. We wandered the night without fear, went skinny dipping in Central Park Lake at 3 a.m., and found dark clubs playing deafening EDM to dance to until we collapsed.

We can’t jump off bridges anymore because our iPhones will get ruined. We can’t take skinny dips in the ocean because there’s no service on the beach and adventures aren’t real unless they’re on Instagram. Technology has doomed the spontaneity of adventure and we’re helping destroy it every time we Google, check-in, and hashtag.

I’m a realist,” I replied stubbornly, “not a romantic. Romantics are always disappointed.” “Maybe they’re disappointed because they’re always surrounded by realists.” Simon countered.

If you stay on the sidelines of the here and now then your future will only ever be a pale version of a dream you never had the courage to experience.

Dip a slice of bread in batter. That's September: yellow, gold, soft and sticky. Fry the bread. Now you have October: chewier, drier, streaked with browns. The day in question fell somewhere in the middle of the french toast process.

I am not delicate. I am skinny dipping at 2am; I am dancing naked under the full moon and playing in the mud. I am the reverberating echoes of a curse word ricocheting off the steeply sloping mountain you thought I couldn’t climb; I am bare skin in the deepest depths of winter; I am the song of courage, and the melody of freedom you long to sing. I am a fearless mother. I am a passionate lover; a devoted friend. I am the healer, the witch, the nurturing of your wounds. I am the heat of a wildfire, the rage of a storm. I am strong. Delicate things are pretty-cute, even. But I am not delicate. I am wild, fierce and unpredictable. I am breathtaking. I am beautiful. I am sacred.

Life is too short to try and glue together broken plates that were cheap in the first place.

Putting yourself at risk...that was the only path to anything meaningful. The biggest risk was in not taking a risk.

But it was not the note that counted so much as the writing of it. Just because it wouldn’t last forever out there didn’t mean it hadn’t existed. that’s why I was there. I was there for a moment. And because of a string of beautiful moments spent at that very same place, moments I would keep inside me wherever I went.

If you kept your light inside of yourself too long, it might burn out altogether.

If you don't have any dreams then they won't come true.

They're on a crash course to nowhere. But you, my lady friend, you're a black hole. You've sucked me in, and now there's no escape...

You think you know everything that's happening around you. But you can't always see clearly when your standing right there in the picture.

After dreaming about being in love for so long I finally got what it meant to actually be in it.

...You have to live inside each beautiful or terrible thing as it happens to you, because the present may be all you've got.

You can only take steps toward the future you want. It's not guaranteed to be there. This is why you have to live inside each beautiful or terrible thing as it happens to you because the present may be all you've got. And if there's more ahead then the present is where you can really shape your future.

Sometimes the silence is the loudest thing in the room.

I was being strong. Even though I felt weak.

You can only take steps toward the future you want. It's not guaranteed to be there.

In those moments it's hard to remember that an angry voice is an invisible thing incapable of drawing blood.

#anks for the swim. You are a majestic swimmer,” Simon said as we neared the walkway to Wind Song. “You talk a lot of crap, you know that?” “I thank you for appreciating my verbal stylings,” Simon replied, with a formal bow.

Wait until a year from now where you say, “Holy fuck, I can’t believe I was going to kill myself before I etcetera’d… before I went skinny dipping in Tennessee, made my own IPA, tried out for a game show, rode a camel drunk, learned to waltz with clumsy old people, photographed electric jellyfish, built a sailboat from trash, taught someone how to read, ect. Ect. Etc.” The red washing down the bathtub can’t change the color of the sea at all.

She swallowed hard. “I want to try skinny-dipping.” He was so still, she wasn’t sure he was even breathing.

Or just don't wear it. Then you can check off the skinny-dipping and kill two birds.' 'I'm not surfing naked, Asher.' 'Rats,' he said.

I’ll see ya,” I said in a neutral tone. I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed by Simon or by myself, or by both of us. “I can walk home,” I added as Simon trudged alongside me to the walkway leading up to Wind Song. “I can see that. You’re very talented at it.

She had the whisky licking, skinny dipping smile.

Simon nodded. “You need your beauty sleep.” “Do I?” I said coolly. “I didn’t mean,” Simon stuttered. “I meant…you’re a girl and all.” “Thanks for telling me,

who you are is who you are when you are alone.

#e sound of a breaking wave echoed across the water. “I have doubts. I get afraid, same as anyone.” Simon’s eyes glazed over. But then they refocused and he smiled at me. “Nothing is for certain. Except maybe one thing.” “What’s that?” “If you don’t have any dreams, then they won’t come true.

Poetry doesn’t pay. But I need it. And so do you.

Believing is never a waste of time." Simon looked at me intently his eyes flickering. "Even if you're wrong you could have been right. Take me with my painting I don't know if I'm any good. So maybe I shouldn't try because maybe I'd be setting myself up for disappointment. But it's like you looking for old coins on the beach. Whether you find any or not is for bonus points it's the search that counts. It's the belief that they might be out there.

See what fun it is to do what Simon Says?” Simon teased, drawing closer toward me.

For all the women who’ve never been skinny dipping because you weren’t skinny. You can go chunky dunkin’ with me and the Kingman boys.

I've always had a good memory a good head for facts although when something is behind you it changes when you try to capture it in words. The past is slippery that way. I know all about that. And even the present is hard to pin down. You think you know everything that's happening around you. But you can't always see clearly when you're standing right there in the picture.

The difference between an ordinary life and an extraordinary life is only a matter of perspective. Pull the blinds. Look around you. It is a mad, mad world and you do not require ten digit bank accounts to immerse yourself in it. Travel down dusty roads without a destination in mind. Climb a mountain and scream out into the void. Kiss the hell out of a stranger. Skinny dip in a lake. Get lost and lose yourself (they are two separate things). Explore the wilderness (especially the one within). Think less of destiny and more of the moment right here. Because when you are old and ill with your loved ones around you, fame won't matter, nor will the extent of your wealth. You are the sum of the stories you can tell.

As the leaf takes its time finding the ground so must I.

The rest of the girls out there are just shooting stars," Simon whispered into my ear. "They're on a crash course to nowhere. But you, my lady friend, you're a black hole. You've sucked me in, and now there's no escape

Look. Aren’t they romantic?” Simon said, pointing out two "re!ies dancing together, their glowing lights making spirals in the dark. “Not necessarily,” I replied. “there are "re!y species where the females trick the males into thinking they want to mate, but they eat them instead.” “Oh, yeah, I think I know a few of them.” Simon laughed

I knew the vacation wasn't going to last forever... But the here and now was up for grabs, and I wasn't about to let it slip away.

You think you know everything that's happening around you. But you can't always see clearly when your staning right there in the picture.

Over the water of time I call to you In a language I do not know.

You make me want to go skinny dipping at midnight, and dance in the rain, and wish on falling stars, and believe in a life so exhilarating, so liberating, that it feels almost tangible.

You take your flashlight out on your walks, right?” Simon asked. “Depends on the moonlight.” “From now on, take it with you every night. When you’re out walking this way, you’ll pass the gazebo, where, chances are, I will be smoking.” “Then what?” “You can signal—say, three times if you want to take a walk with me. Twice if you want to walk alone. that way I’ll just let you walk on. It’ll be like a military code. No one gets hurt.” I laughed. “that’s silly and charming.” “I try. I can signal back with my cigarette lighter too,” Simon said, holding up the lighter and firing off three short bursts of flame. “So, like, if I see you first and I happen to not wish to talk to you, I can fire off two bursts and block you in your tracks.

I married an asshole, she thought, knifing into the waves.

You drink your whiskey, I’ll drink my wine. Later when we’re fevered and tipsy we’ll make savage love divine. Until then, let’s swim in the warm, opal sea of each other. Crash a few innocent waves, skinny dip, laugh and get lost in those blood-pumping hearts, and for a time forget all our broken parts.

After that, Simon swam naked every night. By the third skinnydipping session, I secretly peeled off my bikini top while I was in the water. It was safe. Simon was splashing somewhere ahead of me. He couldn’t see. It was an amazing feeling. I felt free. Or at least half of me did. And right then that seemed to "t with the person I felt I was on Long Island: half-cautious, half-spontaneous, surprising myself with my random behavior, my sudden moves away from who I thought I was. “So how was it, your half skinny dip?” Simon asked as I was drying off. “You were watching me?” I blushed, horrified. “Just a hunch,” he replied. “Feels good though, right?” I hit him with the towel.

He shouldn't be the one to go; I'd used up the water. "Can't we get it in the morning?" "It'll take me ten minutes." He shoved the couch aside enough to crack open the door. "Then I'll check the garage for a jack." He paused in the doorway. "Unless you want to go skinny-dipping. I'd risk being out at night for that

If she’d had any doubts he was a real deal country boy, they disappeared when he unabashedly stripped down to nothing—the sun had kissed his arms to mid-bicep, although his torso wasn’t without a faint tan. She’d thought lazily that maybe he had a pond. She’d like to go skinny dipping with him. Leap onto his back and wrap her legs around his lean hips. Hold on to his broad shoulders and press her naked breasts into his back and drift into the cool water together. As he opened his button-fly jeans, revealing snug briefs underneath, she’d whispered for him to stop. He was hard and sinewy in all the right places, with shadows and valleys she wanted to explore with her mouth and hands and eyes, but her touch first went to the line where dark faded to light on his arm, neatly following the curve of his muscles. “Nice farmer’s tan.

Put your arms around my waist, Hold me close for a kiss and savour the taste, I love you now I love you true, Can I drown please in your eyes so blue? Let’s hang our hearts on a crescent moon, And skinny-dip in starlit lakes to loves sweet tune, Let’s dance on boithrins grassy line, And waltz 'Neath the canopied leaves of nature fine. Lets sit afore fires on a winters night Let me read you poetry aloud by candlelight, Let’s lay under the skylight and tell constellations apart, And I’ll remind you of the place you have in my heart.

if anything but Love is coupled with Love – Love ceases to exist.

We get along fine. In return for food and shelter, they give me unconditional indifference.

i dream a thousand words before i sleep.

When a fat person goes in the water naked, would it still be called skinny-dipping?

Love isn't about thinking. You should know that by now.

Lottie, trust me when I say you’re not imposing. I want you in my house, in my room, in my bed. I want you on my couch, holding my hand while watching a show you’ve forced me to reluctantly binge. I want you in my pool, skinny-dipping like you enjoy so much. I want you on my roof, feeling the rain bounce off you during a storm. I want you at my dining room table, eating dinner next to me, giving me a hard time for whatever reason you come up with that day.” He lifts my knuckles to his lips and places a soft kiss to them. “I want you, okay?

That night I lay in bed, thinking about how summer romances really do happen so fast, and then they’re over so fast. But the next morning, when I went to the deck to eat my toast, I found an empty water bottle on the steps that led down to the beach. Poland Spring, the kind Cam was always drinking. There was a piece of paper inside, a note. A message in a bottle. The ink was a little smeared, but I could still read what it said. It said, “IOU one skinny-dip.

Ways to Prove that you love Nell De Luca 1. Tell her. Every day. Three times a day. As many times as it takes. 2. Never choose anything else over her. Not football. Not your own stubbornness. Nothing. 3. Be there whether she wants to go skinny-dipping or wants to study. Make sure she knows that she’s the adventure, not anything else. 4. Always tell her how amazing her food is (okay . . . that one is partly for you, too, because it means you get to keep eating her food). 5. Give her the best sex of her life (also works out pretty well for you). 6. Teach her whatever she wants to know, and learn from her, too. She’s a fucking genius. 7. Tell her she’s a fucking genius. All the time. When she doubts it and when she doesn’t. Just tell her. 8. Never walk away after a fight. Don’t. Fucking. Do it. 9. Prove you love her (preferably in bed, but that’s optional) once a day. Three times a day. As many times as it takes. 10. Be worthy of her. Not by playing football or pretending to be something you’re not. By being the man she makes you feel like you are. Strong and smart and kind and so damn lucky to have her.

There was no Disney World then, just rows of orange trees. Millions of them. Stretching for miles And somewhere near the middle was the Citrus Tower, which the tourists climbed to see even more orange trees. Every month an eighty-year-old couple became lost in the groves, driving up and down identical rows for days until they were spotted by helicopter or another tourist on top of the Citrus Tower. They had lived on nothing but oranges and come out of the trees drilled on vitamin C and checked into the honeymoon suite at the nearest bed-and-breakfast. "The Miami Seaquarium put in a monorail and rockets started going off at Cape Canaveral, making us feel like we were on the frontier of the future. Disney bought up everything north of Lake Okeechobee, preparing to shove the future down our throats sideways. "Things evolved rapidly! Missile silos in Cuba. Bales on the beach. Alligators are almost extinct and then they aren't. Juntas hanging shingles in Boca Raton. Richard Nixon and Bebe Rebozo skinny-dipping off Key Biscayne. We atone for atrocities against the INdians by playing Bingo. Shark fetuses in formaldehyde jars, roadside gecko farms, tourists waddling around waffle houses like flocks of flightless birds. And before we know it, we have The New Florida, underplanned, overbuilt and ripe for a killer hurricane that'll knock that giant geodesic dome at Epcot down the trunpike like a golf ball, a solid one-wood by Buckminster Fuller. "I am the native and this is my home. Faded pastels, and Spanish tiles constantly slipping off roofs, shattering on the sidewalk. Dogs with mange and skateboard punks with mange roaming through yards, knocking over garbage cans. Lunatics wandering the streets at night, talking about spaceships. Bail bondsmen wake me up at three A.M. looking for the last tenant. Next door, a mail-order bride is clubbed by a smelly ma in a mechanic's shirt. Cats violently mate under my windows and rats break-dance in the drop ceiling. And I'm lying in bed with a broken air conditioner, sweating and sipping lemonade through a straw. And I'm thinking, geez, this used to be a great state. "You wanna come to Florida? You get a discount on theme-park tickets and find out you just bough a time share. Or maybe you end up at Cape Canaveral, sitting in a field for a week as a space shuttle launch is canceled six times. And suddenly vacation is over, you have to catch a plane, and you see the shuttle take off on TV at the airport. But you keep coming back, year after year, and one day you find you're eighty years old driving through an orange grove.

First I need to do something.’ He pulled me closer towards him until our lips were almost touching. ‘What might that be?’ I managed to stutter, closing my eyes, anticipating the warmth of his lips against mine. But the kiss didn’t come. I opened my eyes. Alex had jumped to his feet. ‘Swim,’ he said, grinning at me. ‘Come on.’ ‘Swim?’ I pouted, unable to hide my disappointment that he wanted to swim rather than make out with me. Alex pulled his T-shirt off in one swift move. My eyes fell straightaway to his chest – which was tanned, smooth and ripped with muscle, and which, when you studied it as I had done, in detail, you discovered wasn’t a six-pack but actually a twelve-pack. My eyes flitted to the shadowed hollows where his hips disappeared into his shorts, causing a flutter in parts of my body that up until three weeks ago had been flutter-dormant. Alex’s hands dropped to his shorts and he started undoing his belt. I reassessed the swimming option. I could definitely do swimming. He shrugged off his shorts, but before I could catch an eyeful of anything, he was off, jogging towards the water. I paused for a nanosecond, weighing up my embarrassment at stripping naked over my desire to follow him. With a deep breath, I tore off my dress then kicked off my underwear and started running towards the sea, praying Nate wasn’t doing a fly-by. The water was warm and flat as a bath. I could see Alex in the distance, his skin gleaming in the now inky moonlight. When I got close to him, his hand snaked under the water, wrapped round my waist and pulled me towards him. I didn’t resist because I’d forgotten in that instant how to swim. And then he kissed me and I prayed silently and fervently that he took my shudder to be the effect of the water. I tried sticking myself onto him like a barnacle, but eventually Alex managed to pull himself free, holding my wrists in his hand so I couldn’t reattach. His resolve was as solid as a nuclear bunker’s walls. Alex had said there were always chinks. But I couldn’t seem to find the one in his armour. He swam two long strokes away from me. I trod water and stayed where I was, feeling confused, glad that the night was dark enough to hide my expression. ‘I’m just trying to protect your honour,’ he said, guessing it anyway. I groaned and rolled my eyes. When was he going to understand that I was happy for him to protect every other part of me, just not my honour?

That’s what I said. Found ‘em in the attic one day, they were my grandpa’s. Figured what the hell, did it once, then it became habit. And I gotta say, Hen, pretty disappointed in ya. Who doesn’t try skinny dipping at least once?” He shakes his head with a tsk. “Me,

You heard about the waterfall incident." "No Protector hasn't." Robin sighed. "One skinny-dipping session and a woman's branded a troublemaker for life." "It wasn't the skinny dipping that got you in trouble." "There was no way to know Donovan would be training the new soldiers over there that night.

She was so thin I could probably deck her on the side of the head with a pack of Marlboro Lights and she'd hemmorrhage internally.

For an Irish-Catholic boy with a nudity hang-up, it was an island of terrible freedom in a sea of "No.

Then they started a fire And I burnt to ashes

a first kiss is like a drug

i move forward with my drawer of treasures that will never decay.

We worked, we threw parties, we went skinny-dipping or sledding, we fucked, sometimes we fell in love.

Tip #4 Skinny-dip at will! (Idea) When single boast about finding your inner most happy place and hold on to it Odds are once married you can kiss personal space Good-Bye.

Skinny-dipping is like Paris. It's always a good idea.

The year was 1952.” I clear my throat and look down at my paper. “It was summer, and Frank Sinatra was on the radio. Lana Turner and Ava Gardner were the starlets of the day. Stormy was eighteen. She was in the marching band, she was voted Best Legs, and she always had a date on Saturday night. On this particular night, she was on a date with a boy named Walt. On a dare, she went skinny-dipping in the town lake. Stormy never could turn down a dare.” Mr. Perelli laughs and says, “That’s right, she never could.” Other people murmur in agreement, “She never could.” “A farmer called the police, and when they shined their lights on the lake, Stormy told them to turn around before she would come out. She got a ride home in a police car that night.” “Not the first time or the last,” someone calls out, and everyone laughs, and I can feel my shoulders start to relax. “Stormy lived more life in one night than most people do their whole lives. She was a force of nature. She taught me that love--” My eyes well up and I start over. “Stormy taught me that love is about making brave choices every day. That’s what Stormy did. She always picked love; she always picked adventure. To her they were one and the same. And now she’s off on a new adventure, and we wish her well.

You can’t choose what life throws at you, but you can choose how you react to it. The truth is, we deserve nothing. We need to fight for what we want. We need to fight for the things that make us want to go skinny dipping at midnight, and dance in the rain, and wish on falling stars. We pave our own way. We create our own destiny. We choose the life we fucking want.

I will lay there in that dark, with my bare-naked, skinny-dipped soul, with all my truth’s words drying off me, becoming a part of me, and that’s where you’ll find me. You’ll find me in the dark.

I understood that to be a woman in the world was to spend so much time trying to act the right way. Be loud enough, but not too loud. Stand up for yourself, but pleasantly. Beauty was everything, but you shouldn’t rely on your looks. Always, always I was trying to get it right, to find the valance, but here around this circle, naked but not sexualized, together we could flail and scream and open ourselves raw without worrying about anything else at all. We were powerful and free, and I felt like I had when I went skinny-dipping for the first time: I was moving through something larger than myself, but also I was part of it, no parries between us.

Mary Webster was on the blower. Her advance agents saw Hank and me swimming in the middle of the river last night with no clothes on. H'rm, said Atticus. He touched his glasses. I hope you weren't doing the backstroke.

This has just came in from high command.  There will be no loitering on the beachhead.  Anyone found skinny dipping or fishing with grenades will be put on a charge.  Two marines have already been disciplined for this offence.’  A few men laughed and he smiled.  ‘Also there will be no fraternisation with the local female populace.  This will not be tolerated.  High command believe they may well carry some exotic disease our doctors may not be able to treat.’  That brought a little more laughter.  ‘Again two marines have already been disciplined,’ the rest of his sentence was drowned out by the laughter.  He waited until it died down again.  ‘In their defence the marines stated that the females plied them with a local beverage made from coconuts.  As there doesn’t seem to be any coconut trees in space the high command disbelieved their story.  So don’t try it, you won’t get away with it.

She throws her jeans at me and dives into the pellucid lake, slicing through the water almost without a splash. A church bell rings out in the distance, echoing in the quiet aftermath of Everly’s quick jump into the unexpected.

Did you kill those three people on the interstate?” “Yes.” I flinch. I didn’t expect him to say yes. I expected an Are you kidding? Stop being so paranoid. Instead I get a soft, simple answer, as if I asked him if he ever skinny-dipped.

Someone once called Lincoln two-faced. 'If I am two-faced, would I wear the face that I have now?' Lincoln asked." "Abraham Lincoln wasn't much of a dancer. 'Miss Todd, I should like to dance with you in the worst way,' he told his future wife. Miss Todd later said to a friend, 'He certainly did.'" John Quincy Adams was a first-rate swimmer. Once when he was skinny-dipping in the Potomac River, a women reporter snatched his clothes and sat on them until he gave her an interview.

She really did trust Eliza. People made mistakes. She understood that now. And as Happy as she was to be with Ryan again, her friendship with Eliza was just as important. You only met a few kindred spirits in your life, and you had to hold on to the ones you were lucky enough to find.

...My friend Bo had just finished skinny-dipping when one of those bastards came trotting out of the woods and bit his dick clean off.” “Just bit it off? Just like that?” “Yeah,” I said. “Then that bastard pig put it on a stick and heated it over the campfire while Bo ran home and tried to explain it to his mama.

On stormy days, when the boat traffic was light, we would slip off our bathing suits and skinny-dip, letting the rush of water and sea lettuce caress our bodies. Our glee was punctuated with high-pitched squeals as one or the other hit a cold spot or chanced a foot on the sandy bottom, where crabs lay in wait to nibble on our toes. We

Wait.” One of his eyebrows lifted, and I could have sworn he blushed. “You think I have big dick energy?” I didn’t have anything to hide. “Hell yeah. You’re all buff and manly and stacked. All that swagger you toss around. Plus, I know your dick is big.” Facts were facts. Big dicks were big dicks. And I didn’t make the rules or hand out the dicks. I refilled my glass and poured a little more in his. “You’ve never seen my dick.” “Oh, yes I have. I saw that monster your senior year of high school when we went skinny dipping at the Foresters’ pond.” He scratched the back of his neck and grimaced. “Don’t look at my dick.” “Well, I haven’t since then.” I laughed. “But I bet the damn thing is even bigger now.

Jackson stood quietly as Alani came into the house. Unlike the other women, she didn’t wear a swimsuit. Shame. He’d love to see her in one. Everyone had duly celebrated Trace’s engagement, and Alani seemed taken with Priss—but then, who wouldn’t be? Priss was funny, smart, cute and—luckily for Trace—stacked. Unaware of Jackson, Alani stopped to look out the patio doors. She looked . . . wistful. Like maybe she wanted to take part, but couldn’t. In so many ways, despite being kidnapped by flesh peddlers, or maybe because of that, she was still an innocent. At just-barely twenty-three, she acted much older. Like a virgin spinster. Every night, in his dreams, they burned up the sheets. Here, in reality, she avoided him. She avoided involvement. But he’d get her over that. Somehow. Suddenly Priss came in, wet hair sleek down her back, rivulets of water trailing between her breasts. She spotted Jackson right off and, after smiling at Alani, asked them both, “Why aren’t you guys coming down to swim?” Alani jerked around to stare at Jackson with big eyes. His crooked smile told her that he had her in his sights. “I was just about to ask Alani that.” Priss laughed. “You’re still dressed.” “I can undress fast enough.” He looked at Alani. “What about you?” Her lips parted. “No, I . . . didn’t bring a suit.” “Pity. Maybe we could move up to the cove and skinny-dip in private?” Pointing a finger at him, Priss said, “Behave, you reprobate!” And then to Alani, “Beware of that one.” Still watching him, Alani nodded.

Earl, you can’t walk around with a lead slug up your bottom. It’s bound to affect your outlook.” Tool jerked his hand away. “I’ll get it took care of, I swear.” “It could well be the turning point in your life,” she said. “What they call an epiphany. Or at least a catharsis.” He assumed those to be the surgical terms for a bullet removal, and he promised Maureen he would schedule the operation as soon as he got a break in his bodyguarding schedule.

He rolls his eyes. “You know this doesn’t count for number six, right? Maybe in Manhattan they consider this skinny-dipping, but in Sunshine Falls we’d call that getup ‘a glorified bathing suit.’ ” Another challenge. I’m a woman possessed. I sink beneath the water, unclasp my bra, and hurl it at him. It thwacks against his chest. “Closer,” he allows, lifting the dainty black lace strap to examine it in the moonlight. “All this,” he says seriously, “wasted on Blake Carlisle.

The Fuck It List shines in all its laminated glory. I smile at the twenty items I boldly, yet semi drunkenly, chose. Go skinny-dipping. Buy a vibrator. Try foreplay with ice. Kiss a foreigner. Do karaoke while drinking.  Try new food. Go skydiving. Watch porn. Play strip poker. Get tied up. Be blindfolded. Come from oral sex. Try mirror sex. Have sex in public. Have sex against a wall.  Get high. Have a quickie. Have outdoor sex. Kiss someone in front of the Eiffel Tower. Experience multiple orgasms in one night.

Thank you." After rounding the couch, the young queen sat her hip on the cushy armrest. Her thoughts went back to the impromptu party in the commissary the night before. “I assume no Mishmorats or Viiduns are missing. Do you know if any real mischief took place last night after we left?” “None you need to worry about,” Ian told her. She could see he was hiding something by the twinkle in his eye. “What happened?” she asked, certain he had a story to tell. “Let’s just say there may be an influx of soldiers visiting your garden.” Her eyes scrunched, unable to guess what he was talking about. “Okay, and why?” Ian’s shoulders jostled with a snicker. “Efren showed off your garden to Kira last night. She discovered the warm pond. You know how your sisters have a fondness for swimming in their underclothes.” “Oh great,” Eena groaned. “But don’t worry about it too much, Queenie, there is a deterrent.” Ian let go a laugh he couldn’t quite stifle. “What deterrent?” she asked, grinning at his amusement. “Shanks likes to swim too.” “Oh?” “Actually, he prefers skinny dipping.” “Ew! Ew, Ian, like I need that image in my head!” (Now you know how I feel on a regular basis,) he said, cracking up. After a moment of grossing out, Eena all but begged Ian, “Please, can we change the subject.

His bald head gleamed in the light which fell through the window and cast his shadow along the floor and up the wall. His chest was hairless, his thighs and shanks skinny but overlaid with ropes of muscle. Still, he thought, it’s an adult’s body we got here, no question about that. There’s the pot belly that comes with a few too many good steaks, a few too many bottles of Kirin beer, a few too many poolside lunches where you had the Reuben or the French dip instead of the diet plate. Your seat’s dropped, too, Bill old buddy. You can still serve an ace if you’re not too hung over and if your eye’s in, but you can’t hustle after the old Dunlop the way you could when you were seventeen. You got lovehandles and your balls are starting to get that middle-aged dangly look. There’s lines on your face that weren’t there when you were seventeen.

You know everybody hooks up on the ski trip, right? It’s like a school-sanctioned booty call.” “What?” “That’s where I lost my V freshman year.” “I thought you lost it in the woods near your house.” “Oh yeah. Whatever, the point is, I had sex on the ski trip.” “There are chaperones,” I say worriedly. “How can people just have sex with chaperones around?” “Chaperones go to sleep early because they’re old,” Chris says. “People just sneak out. Plus there’s a hot tub. Did you know that there’s a hot tub?” “No…Peter never mentioned that.” Well, that’s that, I just won’t pack a bathing suit. It’s not like they can make you go in a hot tub if you don’t want to. “The year I went, people were skinny-dipping.” My eyes bug out. Skinny-dipping! “People were nude?” “Well, the girls took their tops off. Just be prepared.” Chris chews on her fingernail. “Last year I heard Mr. Dunham got in the hot tub with students and it was weird.” “This sounds like the Wild West,” I mutter. “More like Girls Gone Wild.

The next day Aunt Lou was the very first up in the morning again. “I’ve driven a car,” she said to Papa. “Now it is time to ride a horse. Only five more days before we have to go back East. It’s time.” “‘Old lady on a dapple…’” began Jack before Mama put her hand over his mouth. Grandfather and Papa smiled. “Zeke, maybe,” said Aunt Lou. Papa looked at Mama. “I remember a long time ago,” he said softly. “Do you?” Mama nodded. “When I first came here I wanted to learn to ride your wildest horse, Jack, and to fix the roof…” “And to plow and almost everything else,” said Papa. “And she did,” said Caleb with a smile. “She wore overalls, too.” “I had a lot to learn,” said Mama. “Well, Sarah taught me how to swim when she first came here,” said Caleb. “In the slough?” exclaimed Aunt Harriet. “You bet,” said Caleb. “You bet,” echoed Jack, making everyone laugh. “I remember skinny-dipping in Maine,” Caleb said. “That water was cold.” “I’ll ride Zeke,” said Aunt Lou, starting to walk to the barn. “No,” said Papa, going after her and taking her hand. “I’ll saddle up Molly.” “I’ll go with you,” said Grandfather. “This time we’ll take a quiet and slow ride around the slough. If that’s possible for you,” he called after Aunt Lou.

In front of me girls were entering and exiting the showers. The flashes of nakedness were like shouts going off. A year or so earlier these same girls had been porcelain figurines, gingerly dipping their toes into the disinfectant basin at the public pool. Now they were magnificent creatures. Moving through the humid air, I felt like a snorkeler. On I came, kicking my heavy, padded legs and gaping through the goalie mask at the fantastic underwater life all around me. Sea anemones sprouted from between my classmates’ legs. They came in all colors, black, brown, electric yellow, vivid red. Higher up, their breasts bobbed like jellyfish, softly pulsing, tipped with stinging pink. Everything was waving in the current, feeding on microscopic plankton, growing bigger by the minute. The shy, plump girls were like sea lions, lurking in the depths. The surface of the sea is a mirror, reflecting divergent evolutionary paths. Up above, the creatures of air; down below, those of water. One planet, containing two worlds. My classmates were as unastonished by their extravagant traits as a blowfish is by its quills. They seemed to be a different species. It was as if they had scent glands or marsupial pouches, adaptations for fecundity, for procreating in the wild, which had nothing to do with skinny, hairless, domesticated me.

My father strode up and cleared his throat. “Oh, hello, Mr. Martin,” Seth said. “Hello,” my father said. They shook hands. “Charlotte, your mom and I want to discuss something with you, but I don’t think it’s a good time now. I think you need some rest.” “Oh Jesus, what now?” I said. “Charlotte!” my mother scolded. “I’m drunk, you guys. It’s not a big deal.” Seth anchored me to his side by wrapping an arm around my waist. My mother stuck her hand out to Seth. “Hello, Seth, I’m Charlotte’s mom, Laura.” She blushed. “Oh, Motherrr, are you blushing? He’s just a professional baseball plaaayer with twelve-pack abs and perfect hair, get over it!” “Let’s go, drunky.” Seth pulled me along. “Hey, Taylor,” my father said, calling Seth by his last name. We turned back to see my dad point to his own eyes and then to Seth’s. I’m watching you, he mouthed, and then he buckled over and started laughing. “Your family is totally weird,” Seth said into my ear. “I see where you get your sense of humor.” “Yep, they’re all right. By the way, it’s your fault I’m drunk.” I caught Helen’s eye as we left the bar. Seth waved, she smiled, and Roddy laughed. “I think you had a little too much before I got involved.” “I told you that. Hey, wanna go skinny-dipping?” “I’m getting you a sandwich and then I’m putting you to bed,” he said. “Killjoy.

The summer of 1999, we went on holiday to Spain to visit my cousin Penny, who runs a horse farm in Andalucia. It is a beautiful, wild part of the country. Shara would ride out early each day in the hilly pine forests and along the miles of huge, deserted Atlantic beaches. I was told I was too tall for the small Andalucian ponies. But I didn’t want to be deterred. Instead I ran alongside Shara and tried to keep up with the horse. (Good training, that one.) Eventually, on the Monday morning we were to leave, I took her down to the beach and persuaded her to come skinny-dipping with me. She agreed. (With some more eye-rolling.) As we started to get out after swimming for some time, I pulled her toward me, held her in my arms, and prepared to ask for her hand in marriage. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and as I was about to open my mouth, a huge Atlantic roller pounded in, picked us both up, and rolled us like rag dolls along the beach. Laughing, I went for take two. She still had no idea what was coming. Finally, I got the words out. She didn’t believe me. She made me kneel on the sand (naked) and ask her again. She laughed--then burst into tears and said yes. (Ironically, on our return, Brian, Shara’s father, also burst into tears when I asked him for his blessing. For that one, though, I was dressed in a jacket, tie, and…board shorts.) I was unsure whether his were tears of joy or despair. What really mattered was that Shara and I were going to get married.

Bruno, this is my friend Pippa. Pippa, my cousin Bruno.” Bruno. The in-with-the-wrong-crowd Bruno. Divinely and supernaturally gorgeous Bruno. And he just winked at me. Not good. He closes the distance between us in two long strides of his tight white pants and says “Piacere!”--which I remember from my phrase book means “pleased to meet you”--before taking ahold of my shoulders and kissing each of my cheeks. His lips are on my cheeks. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and want to die. It’s physically impossible for a face to be any redder. I try to say “Piacere!” back but only a squeaky noise escapes my lips. I raise my shirt just enough to hide behind and fake a coughing fit, waving with the other hand for him to leave the room. He laughs and mutters something in Italian as he walks off. Chiara closes the door. Way to make a great first impression on the sexy Italian. “What did you say to him?” I ask when I’ve recovered the ability to speak. “I told him that he should knock on doors that are closed. That you are American and do not lie on the beach with le tette out. You are private.” “Le tette? What’s that?” My face pinks again. “My boobs?” “Si.” She sprawls across the bottom bunk. “I think it is sweet. Leaves room for the imagination.” “Um…thanks.” I finish getting dressed. “What did he say?” She laughs. “He said, ‘She will one day.’” My nose scrunches at the thought of baring it all on a beach towel in a foreign country, with Bruno and other guys who look like Bruno watching. I shudder. “Doubtful. There are some parts of me the sun just wasn’t meant to see.” Chiara rolls to her side and looks at me. “So you have never been swimming without clothes on?” “Skinny-dipping?” I smile as I stow my dirty clothes into my suitcase. “Well, the moon can handle those parts of me just fine.

The dog proved to be as dumb and stubborn as a mud fence, so Stranahan had named him Strom.

The detective had moved to Fort Lauderdale from St. Paul because his wife had inexplicably yearned to experience humidity.

I wouldn't trust the guy alone with my bowling ball, that's what a horndog he is.

Stranahan told her not to mistake arrogance for pride. "A guy like Chaz can revive his ego with the palm of his hand.