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Streaks

The little girl ran down the beach, her naked behind flashing in the sun. Her mother ran after her, waving a towel in the air and shouting: "Miranda! Miranda!" It was obvious that she wanted the girl to come back and finish dressing, but the girl was having none of it. She dodged between the rocks that littered the sand, stopping behind one long enough to stick out her tongue in childish defiance, and kept going.

"The things you can get away with when you're young," I said to my wife, who was lying next to me under our beach umbrella.

"I'd give her a slap," my wife said. "And you'd do the same if that was your daughter."

"Don't be so sure." I gestured down the beach. "Look, she's having fun, and nobody seems to mind." I could see that there were some people looking towards the errant child and her guardian, but, as soon as they had determined that nothing was wrong, they went back to their own amusements.

"But it must be embarrassing for her mother."

"Yes. But you know that parents have more than enough things to embarrass their children with. Just imagine - when that kid's first boyfriend comes to visit and hears the tale of her streaking down the beach."

My wife thought about this for a moment, then laughed. "I see what you mean."

I nodded. "Right know, that little girl doesn't care. It's just a game to her. In a few years she'll be mortified if anybody reminds her of it ... ."

"And in a few years after that, she'll be secretly proud of it and wishing she could do it again."

I tweaked my wife's bathing costume. "Like you are?"

My wife's face turned red underneath the sunscreen. "I wouldn't dare!"

"But you are thinking of it?"

"I wouldn't!" She caught my expression. "Alright, I would, but I can't. I mean, I'm a grown woman. People would stare, and I'd be arrested."

There was the sound of indignant shrieking from the far end of the beach. The girl's mother had caught up, and was now doing something that that the girl found demeaning and unbecoming to her dignity.

"And you don't exactly have a 'beach ready' body, do you?"

This got exactly the reaction I wanted. My wife sat up and glared at me. "And yours isn't so great, either! Right, lad. Tell you what, you and me are going to strip off and run down the beach together!"

I stood up and hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my swimming shorts. "You're on!"

We streaked down the beach, hand in hand, screaming in delight at the freedom of our bodies, before plunging into the cold waves.