Swimwear Quotes

I'd never noticed him anywhere near the pool, but he knew my swimwear cold, which was flattering and alarming at the same time.

Nekhbet shrieked in alarm. I turned to see what was going on. Immediately, I wished I could burn my eyes out of my head. Liz made a gagging sound. "Lord, no! That's wrong!" "Agh!" Emma shouted, in perfect baboon-speak. "Make him stop!" Bes had indeed put on his ugly outfit.He climbed onto the roof of the limo and stood there, legs planted, arms akimbo, like Superman- except with only the underwear. For those faint of heart I wont go into detail, but Bes, all of a meter tall, was showing off his disgusting physique- his potbelly, hairy limbs, awful feet, gross flabby bits- and wearing only a blue Speedo. Imagine the worst looking person you've ever seen on a public beach- the person for whom swimwear should be illegal. Bes looked worse than that. I wasn't sure what to say except: "Put some clothes on!" Bes laughed= the sort of guffaw that says Ha-ha! I'm amazing! "Not until they leave," he said. "Or I'll be forced to scare them back to the Duat." "This is not your affair, dwarf god!" Nekhbet snarled, averting her eyes from his horribleness. "Go away!" "These children are under my protection," Bes insisted "I don't know you," I said. "I never met you before today." "Nonsense. You expressly asked for my protection." "I didn't ask for the Speedo Patrol!" Bes leaped off the limo and landed in front of my circle placing himself between Babi and me. The dwarf was even more horrible from behind. His back was so hairy it looked like a mink coat. And on the back of his Speedo was printed DWARF PRIDE.

Could this underwear pass as a swimming costume? Perhaps. Is there such a thing as a Y-front swimming costume? Probably.

Why, Dain Aetos,' I grin and walk toward him, then grasp the door handle at his side. 'You've seen me in swimwear, tunics, and even ballgowns. Are you telling me it's the leather that does it for you?' He scoffs, but there's a slight flush to his cheeks as his hands covers mine to open the door. 'Glad to see our year apart hasn't dulled your tongue, Vi.' 'Oh,' I toss over my shoulder as we walk into the hallway, 'I can do quite a few things with my tongue. You'd be impressed.

In 2015 the winter was unseasonably warm. I remember it well enough to feel a pang of sentiment toward those days. Children were playing in the sunshine, bathing suits donned long after swimwear should have been traded for jeans and sweaters. We were all so happy that Jack Frost had forgotten us that year. We didn't know any better, but it should have been our first hint that the world was going wrong. Five years later, when the crops were all burnt, and the sun wasn't drawn with a happy face on a child's illustration anymore, we would all have chance for regret. The

I have to admit, for a second it was sort of turning me on, because I kept imagining Georgia in a very positive light. She was donning designer swimwear with fringe or whatever and she was lying on her stomach with the bikini-top straps untied. I was lathering her up with sun block and my hands were getting into all the cracks and crevices. The image got me pretty excited, and before I knew it, I had an erection. At first I thought it would go away, but it kept getting worse, like harder in that painful way. So that’s when I did something a little weird – I started barking at it. Like a Great Dane or a pit bull or whatever. I literally barked at my erection! And it worked, I’m not kidding.

The date rape drug he’d intended to give me has knocked him out so hard he’s barely even flinched, despite being dragged to the top of a twelve-storey building, stripped naked and bound to a post. His head lolls towards his chest. I stand back to admire him, taking in his slumped frame as he wilts against the pressure of his rope bindings. He looks Christ-like, vulnerable. His skin is grey in the murky moonlight. His body is incredible. Hardly surprising, since he seems to spend half his life at the gym. His stomach is taut, rippled with abs. His pecs are straight from a swimwear ad, his broad shoulders and ripped arms are built like a boxer’s. His biceps are strong, lined with veins that will soon cease to pump blood. He has the kind of arms that could pin you down so tightly you wouldn’t be able to move a muscle. His hands are large – the least attractive part of him: dry, thick, stubby. They’re the type of hands that could grip your wrists and stifle screams. Hands that could have killed me tonight. Hands that would have hurt me. Hands that would have held me in place while he raped me. I let my eyes wander down to his cock, which would probably have been pounding away inside me around now if things had gone his way. I could tell pretty early into our date that he was a predator. Perhaps it takes one to know one, but I could see it in his dark eyes and sly glances, the hungry way he took in my body, the type of questions he asked, his eagerness to buy me drinks. He probably didn’t think I had it in me to notice. Of course he didn’t. He just saw my shiny, sweeping hair, my lashes, my clothes, my smile. He saw what everybody else sees: my mask.

Monica experienced a vague discomfort at the idea that both her late grandfather and the Almighty Father were inside her mother’s swimwear.

Also, someone stating that an experience being experienced a certain way, takes away from the experience, is absurd to me. "If you've never been in the lake with no clothes on before, then you've never been in the lake" is an outrageous statement, and a false one. I would venture to guess that the experience would be the same, with or without clothes, due to the relatively unrestrictive nature of swimwear. To be fair though, because I do value fairness and demand it from others, I could be wrong about my assessment of this. I, myself, have never been in the lake.

Swimwear by design is the classic case of trying to have your cake and eat it too. It was devised to offer nudity and covering at the same time.

It flicked through all the channels until it found a repeat of the 1990s show in which people in swimwear saved other people from drowning by running in slow motion towards them

don’t have any swimwear,” she all but whispers. My heart hammers in my chest, so I place a hand over it to stop it from freefalling to the ground. She doesn’t own a fucking swimsuit. Jesus. I exhale, then drag a hand over my hair. I want to give her every-fucking-thing she doesn’t have. And so much more.

Mary Ellen finally gave in to Breanna's pleading, and they bought the latest style in swimwear. Not the kind with stockings and skirts, but the one-piece with the legs halfway up the thighs. She definitely would not wear hers.

Bloody Egyptian gods in their bloody revealing swimwear.

3. ECONYL Currently making a splash in the swimwear world, ECONYL is going to great lengths to help solve the problem of ocean pollution. The regenerated nylon is made from fishing nets and industrial plastic waste dredged up from oceans and landfill around the world, and its inventors claim it can be infinitely recycled without losing quality or purity.

Last but not least, the gay establishment Jabril took us to is now a menswear boutique, retailing provocative undergarments, sexy swimwear and erotic wear.               Young, I’d love to visit Amsterdam with you. I’m sure we’d have fun reminiscing about our young years in the canal city.☺               Love, hugs and more,               Andy.

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