Beach

Ken slammed on the brakes of his red Corvette convertible, top down, cutting a donut in the beach sand. He looked up and saw her on a lifeguard stand. “Barbie! Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you, like, everywhere!” 

Barbie looked down. “Be there in a jiffy! Tutti! Please take over my shift!” 

It took a while for Barbie to get to the Corvette. First, one of her stiletto heels got stuck on a rung on the stand and she fell face down in the sand. She managed to stand up without any sand on her and her chignon unmussed because, well, because she’s Barbie. Then her stilettoes sunk deep in the sand with each step. It was a real chore getting to the car, but she managed to do it without ever losing her shoes.  

“Oh Ken, I am just so-o-o-o busy all the time with all these jobs! I’m a fashion designer, a Rockette, a truck driver, a news anchor, a lounge singer, interior designer, rapper, and oh, the list just goes on and on! Right now, I am a lifeguard here at Malibu Beach. Oh, sorry, I’ve never asked! What is your job or jobs, Ken? 

“Oh, I just drive around in this Corvette, Barbie.” 

“That’s great, Ken!” 

“By the way, a strap is down on your swimsuit, not that I care.” 

“Oh, darn! It’s just so hard with these clothes. I don’t know why I even bother.” The strap stayed down. 

“Say, that reminds me, there is a beach down the road they call clothing optional. That means you do not have to wear clothes at all!” 

“That’s great, Ken!” 

“Hop in!”  

And away they went down the road. 

Ken turned onto a seashell road that went between very tall sand dunes. Ken stopped and they hopped out of the car. Barbie started to remove her swimsuit, but it seemed to just stick to her. She realized she had never undressed before, nor even dressed for that matter – clothes just appeared on her according to her job or activity. Ken had to help, and it took a lot of tugging and finally got it down to around her ankles, then realized they had to take the high heels off too. 

Barbie had never felt such relief! She noticed how big her tummy had grown without the suit. 

Then both of them had to tug and pull on Ken’s swim trunks and finally got it off. 

They ran onto the beach. 

“Barbie, the people here look kind of strange without their clothes on,” Ken observed.  

“They sure do! I know men have hairy chests and women don’t and women have bumps on their chests and men don’t, but they sure look different without clothes on!” 

“They sure do!” Ken agreed. 

A couple approached them with puzzled looks on their faces. 

“Boy, where’s your honker!” the man guffawed. 

“Honker?” 

“Girl, where’s your nipples?” The woman asked. 

“Nipples?” 

“And, girl, I have heard of Brazilian Waxes, but they sure did a number on you! Must have hurt like hell!” 

“Wax?” 

Ken and Barbie looked at each other. Except for the bumps on Barbie, their bodies looked the same. 

The man asked if they ever drank liquids or ate food. 

Ken answered, “No. Why do you ask?” 

“Just wondering how you go to the bathroom.” 

“Bathroom?” 

The woman asked Barbie if she could touch her on her arm. 

“Sure! Wherever you like!” 

The woman shrieked, “Plastic! Your skin is plastic! I knew something didn’t look right!” 

Barbie frowned, something she had never done before. She felt her face crack a little. 

“Sorry,” the woman said. “We are just so fascinated with both of you. How old are you?” 

“Old?” Barbie responded. “We don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s been the same since 1959.” 

“Oh, that can’t be true!” the woman exclaimed. 

“Well, it is.” Barbie felt irritated for the first time in her life. “Come on, Ken, let’s go.” 

When they got to the car, Ken bent over at a 90-degree angle to pick up his trunks.  

“Aw, the hell with it!” Barbie yelled. “I never felt better in my life without all those damn clothes pinching and squishing me. Forget the trunks, let’s get the hell outta here, Ken!” 

She had never cursed before. It felt good. 

They got in the Red Corvette and drove off, with Barbie yelling, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, free at last!” 

Now go watch the movie. 

Published by clackker@gmail.com

I write short stories - usually about a thousand words, more or less - for my pleasure, and yours.

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