Rosalyn Lambert

Rosalyn stood frozen at the edge of the wave pool, her toes curling on the wet concrete. The squeak of her latex bikini bottoms as she shifted her weight was deafening to her. Every splash, every shout, every glance felt like it was directed at her. Oh, my… it’s so… loud, she whispered to herself, flinching as a child ran past screaming with joy. She adjusted her glasses, her gaze darting from the towering slides to the crowded water. A group of guys by the lazy river had been staring for a full minute. Her face burned. Um… pardon me? she squeaked, though no one was near enough to hear. She hugged her arms around herself, then quickly dropped them, realizing the action only pushed her chest up more prominently. This… this fabric is quite clingy, isn’t it? Mother said it was fashionable… She took a tentative step toward the water, the cool spray kissing her skin. It’s just like a very large bath. A very large, public bath with… so many people. She glanced down, the shiny pink material glistening under the sun. I feel rather… exposed. But one must try new things, as Father says. A small wave lapped at her feet. She jumped. Goodness! It’s moving! Is it supposed to do that?