Black Woman in a White Bikini

Violet looked at her friend without expression.

"I know that," said Violet again. "Don't you think I know that?"

Talking with her manicured index finger as if it was a knife, Shonice continued throwing water on her friend's, silly vacation plans.

"It is what it is and what it will always be," said Shonice as if Violet's life was already cast in stone and predetermined. "Oh, no, that ain't never gonna happen," said Shonice punctuating every phrase with her manicured index finger as if she was following a singalong song. "If that's what you're thinking and if the reason why you're going to the Hamptons, you ain't never gonna meet some rich, white boy there."

While trying to pretend to be excited that she was vacationing in the Hamptons, unable to mask her real feelings of rejection, Violet looked at her friend with as much sadness as she looked at her with shame. Unfortunately for her, with her a woman of mixed-race, even though the character in the story was all black, empathizing with her, she suddenly felt much like Toni Morrison's character, Pecola Breedlove. Truth be told, not accepted by anyone and feeling conspicuously abnormal, between people's stares and with her the center of their whispered conversations as if she was a circus oddity, she didn't fit in anywhere.

Even though everyone said that she was beautiful, she didn't feel beautiful. By the curious stares she received, she felt conspicuous. Even though when she looked in the mirror she looked beautiful, Shonice, her very best friend, made her feel ugly by continuing to call her Pecola. Instead of feeling beautiful because she was a good-looking, mixed-race woman, she felt ugly because she was a mixed-race woman. Rather than being who she was, wishing she was normal and could assimilate and fit in, she wished she was an ugly, white woman or a beautiful, black woman than a mixed-race woman of color.

Just as her black friends made fun of her when growing up and didn't include her as one of them, her white friends shunned her when it came to inviting her to their houses and/or to parties. Other than continuing to call her Pecola, Shonice was her only friend who, most times, treated her with kindness, acceptance, and respect. Tired of one-night stands and done with men who never called her again after dating her, she hoped to find a man who accepted her for who she was. Only, too many men, whether black or white, just wanted one thing, sex. Moreover, too many men didn't dare bring home someone who looked like her to meet their mothers.

"I know that but I'm going there anyway," said Violet lifting her head with determined resolve. "Other than guarding my purse on the bus or listening for footsteps behind me while walking home from work, it's time I went somewhere and did something exciting over my summer vacation. It's time I had some fun instead of always working, being on high alert, and being a victim in my own neighborhood. It's time I took a break from Detroit."

Violet looked at her friend. She was so pretty with her brown, velvet skin. She wished she was as dark as Shonice. Feeling like an oddity, she wished she had Shonice's big, brown, beautiful eyes instead of being born with white folk's, blue eyes. Glad that she had her lush, straight, black hair instead of Shonice's Afro-nappy hair, she even wished she had Shonice's African nose and lips instead of having white folks nose and lips. If only Pecola Breedlove knew how lucky she was to be born black and not mixed-race, maybe then she would have stopped praying for blue eyes.

"And where you gonna go and what you gonna do when you get there? All their beaches are private," said Shonice talking with her hand as if she was haggling merchandise in a Moroccan market. "They ain't gonna allow some negro to squat on their pristine, white sand and swim in their clear, clean water. Uh-uh. Oh, no," said Shonice adding color to her words with her index finger. "And any place you find to stay in the Hamptons, if you find anyplace that will take you, is much more expensive than any suite at the Harbour Square Suites," she said as if she had been there and was an expert on the Hamptons.

Violet fell thoughtfully quiet. Being that most black people don't swim, she knew her friend wasn't impressed that she was vacationing by the water, even if it was the Hamptons. A favorite summertime spot of Detroiters, now she wished she had told her friend she was going to Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio, instead. Only, much more complicated than saying that she was vacationing in the Hamptons than to go to Cedar Point, she'd have to invent a boyfriend too. No one goes to an amusement park alone.

Everyone from Detroit went to Cedar Point to ride the Top Thrill, the Millennium, the Maverick, the Raptor, the Magnum XL-200, the Gate Keeper, the Wicked Twister, the Valravn, the Blue Streak, the Gemini, the Iron Dragon, and the Corkscrew rollercoasters. Everyone from Detroit enjoyed playing the games of chance to win a giant stuffed animal for their lady. Everyone from Detroit rode the Ferris wheel and the Merry-Go-Round. Just as no one from Detroit went to Cedar Point alone, no one from Detroit went to the Hamptons.

"I know that," said Violet pushing out her busty chest. "Where there's a will there's a way. For once in my life, I'm going to go where I want to go. This is America after all and I'm an American. Besides, not all the beaches in the Hamptons are private. They have public beaches too," said Violet guessing that they did but unsure if they did.

Shonice rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Yeah, public beaches for affluent, white folk but not for poor, black niggas," said Shonice. "Just as they don't want you on their private beaches, they don't want you on their public beaches either."

# # # # #

Violet arranged for a ride from Detroit to New York from her friend, Esther, who routinely traveled to New York as a sales representative for a major cosmetic manufacturer. Then, having never been on a boat, afraid of the water, even though she could swim, she took a boat to deliver her to the Hamptons. Even though she was a college educated woman, making no sense to her, just as she didn't understand how such a heavy plane could fly in the sky, she didn't understand how such a heavy boat could float in the water.

Wanting to get a closer look at the mansions, her only way to get there, she was unable to even walk on one of their precious, private beaches without her being stopped and questioned by security and/or arrested by the police. If only just to get a closer look at the mansions even from afar, curious how the other half lived and if she could see a celebrity, she took a smaller boat to deliver her closer to the shore. If nothing more than her memories and the ability to tell her friends that she went to the Hamptons, daring herself to walk on one, she wanted to get as close to a private beach as she could get.

"Can you bring me closer to shore? Closer," she said looking at the man steering boat while hoping see a celebrity walking the beach. "I want to get close enough to walk to shore."

A look that he'd never give a white person, he stared at her as if she was a drug smuggler. He continued staring at her as if she was an illegal alien from Cuba landing in Miami, Florida. Instead of looking at her as if she was an American wanting to visit the Hamptons in New York, he made a questioning face as if he suspected her of being a wetback crossing the Mexican border into Texas. Suspiciously looking at her, he stared at her as if she was a terrorist wearing a bomb vest beneath her clothes instead of wearing a bikini beneath her clothes. He stared at her as if she was up to no good.

"Walk to shore?" He looked at her as if she was crazy. "These are private beaches Miss. They're owned by the residents who live here," he said. "It's illegal for you to walk on a private beach. You're not allowed there. You run the risk of being arrested for trespassing, fined, and even put in jail."

He stared at her in the way that most men stared at her while undressing her with their eyes. He stared at her in the way that most men wanted to have sex with her but not bring her home to meet their mothers. Obviously, as many men were, he was sexually attracted to her, especially when she removed her blouse and short skirt to strip down to her white bikini that she wore beneath her clothes.

Staring at her long line of sexy cleavage and her shapely figure, he stared at her as if she was naked instead of her wearing her revealing white bikini. He stared at her as if he could see more than what he was seeing of her beautiful body. He stared at her as if he was imagining kissing her, removing her bikini, and having sex with her naked body.

"Please?" She stored her clothes in her bag before reaching in her purse to hand him an extra twenty-dollars. "I don't even have a camera to take pictures. I just want to have something to tell my friends that I walked on a private beach in the Hamptons," she said. "I don't even care if I get arrested. The adventure will be worth the risk."

With him having no compunction about taking her money, he took her closer to shore while staring at her beautiful, bikini clad body. As if mesmerized by her curvy body and hypnotized by her big, blue eyes, he stared at all that her white bikini revealed and all that he could see of her bikini clad ass, her tits, and her pussy. Continuing to undress her with his eyes, he continued staring at her as if she was naked.

For once in her life, something that Pecola Breedlove never felt, with him staring at her as if she was a rich, white woman from the Hamptons instead of a poor, mixed-race, woman of color from Detroit, Violet finally felt accepted. She felt beautiful. If only just pretending that she was, she felt as if she was a resident living in one of the million-dollar mansions in the Hamptons instead of living in a roach and rat-infested Detroit housing apartment run by the city.

"Okay lady but I'm not responsible if you get yourself arrested," he said. "Many of these mansions have private security. If the Coast Guard stops me, I'm not accepting responsibility for your actions. I'm throwing you under the bus. I'm telling them that this was all your idea and that I had no idea that you were going to climb out of my boat and swim to shore."

# # # # #

He moved his boat, basically a rowboat with an outboard engine, as close to shore as he could without beaching it. Without even knowing how deep the water was, careful not to tip the small boat, Violet gingerly climbed over the side. Once in the water, she reached over the side for her belongings, an overnight bag and her pocketbook, before abandoning the boat.

When she climbed from the boat, the water was nearly shoulder deep. As if she was an African, black woman in Africa wading to shore, she held her small suitcase and pocketbook on her head while walking from the boat to the shore in chest deep water. As if she was a Navy Seal on a dangerous, secret mission, she slowly moved closer to shore under the watchful eyes of residents enjoying their private beach.

The rich residents from the shore stared at her as if she was an invader or a dangerous intruder. Had she had a camera, they surely would have thought that she was Paparazzi. No doubt, if she was a black man, they would have felt more threatened. Had she been a black man, they would have called for their security who would have called the police and arrested her for trespassing. If she was anyone else but a beautiful, mixed-race woman wearing a white bikini, they would have taken more precautions and felt more cautiously on guard by a suspicious stranger wading to shore to dare walk on their private beach.

Inching her way forward, one slow step at a time while wading through the cool, clear, clean water, she was surprised to see the beautiful, private beaches filled with attractive, young, white men and beautiful, young, white women. Heather, Aubrey, Blair, Courtney, Elizabeth, and Zara stared at her as if she was a competition. Wyatt, Sebastian, Sawyer, Preston, Miles, and Blake stared at her as if she was a light, skinned mermaid. All twelve residents stared at her as if she was naked.

With all eyes upon her, instead of feeling conspicuous, now proud of her light skin, her blue eyes, and her jet, blue-black hair, she felt special. With no other woman looking like her, she felt different from the rest of the blonde haired, blue eyed, fake breasted clone women who inhabited this private beach. She felt as special as Toni Morrison's character in the Bluest Eye, Pecola Breedlove, who lost her mind and died thinking that she had blue eyes.

When she finally emerged from the water to walk up to the beach, her bathing suit was nakedly transformed. With this a new bikini, having not worn it before and something she didn't know would happen, her white bikini turned virtually see-through. Looking like a 10 in the way that Bo Derek did in the movie 10, albeit a mixed-race, nearly naked 10, she was unaware that she was nearly totally exposed.

Ready to introduce herself, Violet walked from the water and closer to the gawking men and women. In the way that Pecola thought she had blue eyes in the story, as if she was a character in Hans Christian Anderson's story, The Emperor's New Clothes, Violet was smiling while unaware that she was nakedly exposed. She was happy. Finally feeling as if she belonged there, she felt free. Finally arriving where she imagined she belonged, she left the crime, the hopelessness, the despair, and the poverty of Detroit for the Hamptons far behind.

Alas, it wasn't until she saw the women staring at the shape of her natural C cup breasts and the dark impression that her black, trimmed pussy made in her bikini bottoms that Violet knew there was something wrong. It wasn't until she saw the men ogling all that they could see of her beautiful, black body, her ass, her tits, and her pussy, through her nearly transparent, white bikini, that she felt as conspicuous as she felt embarrassed. Instead of continuing to walk across the beach closer towards them, not knowing what else to do, she stopped, dropped her bag and pocketbook, and squatted down in the sand to cover herself with her hands and arms.

When she looked down at herself, she saw what they all could see. As if she wasn't wearing anything, she saw the outline of her breasts, her erect nipples, and her black, trimmed pussy through her transparent while bikini. Now, instead of feeling beautiful, she felt naked. Instead of feeling accepted, she felt ashamed. Instead of being happy that she was walking on a private beach in the Hamptons, she was embarrassed. As if they stared at her as if she was Pecola Breedlove in the flesh, her smiling face turned from happiness to horror.

# # # # #

Whether her feelings of acceptance were imagined or real, she no longer felt accepted but rejected. As if the people who lived there were her judge and her jury, she was naked before a dozen, young, rich, white residents of the Hamptons. With her obviously the product of some plantation owner two centuries back, she suddenly felt as used, abused, and raped as her black ancestors felt when they were powerless slaves. With everything staying the same and nothing ever changing, just as these rich white, privileged young adults were products of their environments, she was too.

What was she thinking making the trek from inner-city Detroit to the exclusive Hamptons? What was she thinking walking on a private beach? How dare she? What was she thinking wearing a white bikini? How dumb was that? Obviously, while hoping to see a celebrity and/or meet a rich, white man, she was thinking that she'd just walk and/or lay out on the beach and not swim or wade in their precious water. Obviously, overwhelmed that she was really there, starry eyed before and humiliated now, she wasn't thinking.

With her nearly white skin darkening from the summer sun to a darker shade of beige, she looked like a minority, fairy maiden that had materialized from an underwater world. All she needed to complete her image of being a monstrous invader to their perfect world were scales and fins. After they embarrassed her by talking about her in hushed whispers mixed with laughter, the women ignored her. With men being men whether rich or poor, the men ignored her until they realized that they could clearly see her naked ass, her naked tits, and her naked pussy through her virtually see-through bathing suit.

Yet, no matter if they were women or men, they all stared at her. The women stared at her with invasive disapproval while the men stared at her with sexual lust. One man, a gentleman, an American Indian of mixed-race, a multi-millionaire from the Shakopee Mdewakanton Sioux Tribe, one of many who owned the Mystic Lake and Little Six Hotel and Casinos in Minnesota, spotted her. He had been watching her come to shore through his binoculars from his mansion.

The only compassionate man in the bunch, giving her respect by giving her the modesty that she deserved, he raced to her with a towel. His name was Body, short for Bodaway meaning Fire Maker. Just as she had motivated him to action by her beauty and body, he'd no doubt enflame his neighbors by welcoming her as his uninvited guest. In the way that he looked at her and she looked at him, as if this was her destiny and was meant to be, no doubt they'd be starting their own fires later.

"It's okay. It's okay," he said waving one hand to everyone while his other arm was already around her shoulders and covering her nakedness with his oversized towel. "There's no reason for alarm. I know her. She's my invited guest," he said to the six couples. "It's okay. She's with me."

He picked up her bag and her purse and escorted her to his house.

"Thank you for the towel," said Violet in a whisper while looking up at him with an embarrassed smile. "I'm so embarrassed. Having never worn this bikini before, I didn't know that it turned transparent when wet," she said giving him a nervous, little laugh while wrapping her nakedness with his towel.

He smiled at her while staring in her blue eyes instead of staring at what he could see of her nearly, naked body.

"I'm Brody," he said giving her a big smile along with a kiss on the cheek. "Smile and pretend we know one another," he said in a whisper while smiling at her as if she was his lover instead of a stranger. "What's your name?"

She returned his smile with her smile.

"Violet. Violet Christine," she said. "I'm from Detroit," she said suddenly as glad as she was proud that she was from there instead of from here.

Love at first sight, what started as a chance meeting on a beach in the Hamptons became a heated love affair. Within months of meeting one another, Violet and Brody married. He sold his house in the Hamptons, a place where he didn't belong and wasn't accepted, and moved back to Minnesota with Violet as his wife. They raised two children and lived happily ever after.

THE END

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