TTLS
New member
I have just been through the annual pilgrimage of torture and humiliation
known as buying a bathing suit. When I was a child, the bathing suit for
the woman with a mature figure was designed for a woman with a mature figure.
Boned, trussed, and reinforced, those swim suits were not so much sewn as
engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift and they did a darn
good job.
Today, stretch-fabric bathing suits are designed for the prepubescent girl
with a figure chipped out of marble. The woman with a mature figure has
little choice. She can either front up at the maternity wear department
and try on a floral costume with a skirt and come away looking like a
hippopotamus that has escaped from Fantasia - or she can wander around any
run-of-the-mill bathing costume departments and try to make a sensible
choice from what amounts to a designer range of fluoro rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around. I made my choice and
disappeared in to the small chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The
first
thing I noticed about the bathing suit was the extraordinary tensile
strength of the stretch material. The lycra that goes into bathing suits
was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets by a sling shot.
And it comes with the bonus that as long as you can lever your body into a
lycra suit, you can protect your vital organs from shark attack; the reason
being that any shark foolish enough to take a swipe at your passing midriff
would immediately suffer from jaw whiplash injury.
I fought my way into the first suit but as I twanged the last shoulder
strap in place, I gasped in horror. My bosom had disappeared. I found one
cowering under my left armpit. It took a little longer to find the other --
flattened beside my 7th rib. The problem is today's suits don't have bra cups.
The mature woman is meant to wear her bosom spread across her chest like a
speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and turned to the mirror to make a
full-view assessment. The suit fit all right. Unfortunately it only fit
those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out of
the top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of playdough wearing an
undersized piece of cling wrap. As I tried to work out where all these
extra bits of me had come from, the sales girl poked her head around the
curtain.
"Oh, there y'all are," she gasped.
"Yes, they are ALL me," I replied, looking at the extra bits. "What else
have you got?" I tried on a crinkled cream one which made me look like
designer tape. I tried on a floral two-piece which made me look like an
oversized napkin in a napkin ring. I struggled into one of leopard skin
with a ragged frill and ended up looking like Tarzan on an off day. I donned a
black one with a net midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning, and
I tried on a pink one whose legs were so high cut I would have needed to wax
my eyebrows to wear it!
Finally - success. I found the one that fit. A two piece with a short
style bottom and halter neck top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge
friendly.
I bought it. When I got home I read the label: "Material may become
transparent in water." I am determined to wear it. I just have to learn
how to do the breaststroke on dry land.
known as buying a bathing suit. When I was a child, the bathing suit for
the woman with a mature figure was designed for a woman with a mature figure.
Boned, trussed, and reinforced, those swim suits were not so much sewn as
engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift and they did a darn
good job.
Today, stretch-fabric bathing suits are designed for the prepubescent girl
with a figure chipped out of marble. The woman with a mature figure has
little choice. She can either front up at the maternity wear department
and try on a floral costume with a skirt and come away looking like a
hippopotamus that has escaped from Fantasia - or she can wander around any
run-of-the-mill bathing costume departments and try to make a sensible
choice from what amounts to a designer range of fluoro rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around. I made my choice and
disappeared in to the small chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The
first
thing I noticed about the bathing suit was the extraordinary tensile
strength of the stretch material. The lycra that goes into bathing suits
was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets by a sling shot.
And it comes with the bonus that as long as you can lever your body into a
lycra suit, you can protect your vital organs from shark attack; the reason
being that any shark foolish enough to take a swipe at your passing midriff
would immediately suffer from jaw whiplash injury.
I fought my way into the first suit but as I twanged the last shoulder
strap in place, I gasped in horror. My bosom had disappeared. I found one
cowering under my left armpit. It took a little longer to find the other --
flattened beside my 7th rib. The problem is today's suits don't have bra cups.
The mature woman is meant to wear her bosom spread across her chest like a
speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and turned to the mirror to make a
full-view assessment. The suit fit all right. Unfortunately it only fit
those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out of
the top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of playdough wearing an
undersized piece of cling wrap. As I tried to work out where all these
extra bits of me had come from, the sales girl poked her head around the
curtain.
"Oh, there y'all are," she gasped.
"Yes, they are ALL me," I replied, looking at the extra bits. "What else
have you got?" I tried on a crinkled cream one which made me look like
designer tape. I tried on a floral two-piece which made me look like an
oversized napkin in a napkin ring. I struggled into one of leopard skin
with a ragged frill and ended up looking like Tarzan on an off day. I donned a
black one with a net midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning, and
I tried on a pink one whose legs were so high cut I would have needed to wax
my eyebrows to wear it!
Finally - success. I found the one that fit. A two piece with a short
style bottom and halter neck top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge
friendly.
I bought it. When I got home I read the label: "Material may become
transparent in water." I am determined to wear it. I just have to learn
how to do the breaststroke on dry land.
