Marigolds, Ajax and Paris

She could just about insert her fingers into her waistband, maybe the exercise of long walks along the beach and swims in the sea had offset those ice-creams in the buffet that she had been unable to resist.

Covering up with a loose floral dress and a wide floppy hat, she made her way to the hotel lobby to wait for the transport. In due course a coach arrived, complete with a tour guide who had her name on a clip-board; such efficiency would never have happened back home. Soon she was in a group being shepherded along a gangplank onto a boat and then they were on the move across the harbour, the guide broadcasting some safety information on the loudspeakers.

There was a lady steering the boat while a couple of men coiled ropes and did other sailor things. Janice noticed that the woman had a red shirt on that looked exactly like the one that Steve had been wearing, but with the arms ripped off and a knot tied at her waist to make it fit. She was lithe and good looking, clearly the nautical life suited her.

There was something present that had been conspicuously absent during her stay; a prickling under her breasts. Until then the fresh air and lack of clothing had prevented that familiar irritation; perspiration and general dampness, the bane of her life for many years. Now it had returned, just as soon as she had put a bra back on.

She sneaked to the rear of the vessel to find a quiet spot. There with a bit of wriggling she managed to release her bikini top from under her dress. She lifted each boob in turn to let the fresh air dry off the perspiration and felt better immediately.

The boat passed beyond the breakwater and suddenly the wind increased, causing her dress to billow behind her. The bow dipped unexpectedly into the waves and bucked wildly upwards, sending spray high into the air and over those on board. Janice clutched a rail for support as several of the others shrieked in surprise, falling about with the sudden motion. There was much laughter and she saw that many of the passengers were drenched from the seawater. Several ladies were giggling as their clothes clung to their bodies. One stood up in the front and threw her arms open just like that scene in Titanic.

Janice checked herself; her thin dress was now completely transparent and she may as well not even be wearing anything, everyone could see her body revealed through the soaked material pressed against her by the breeze. Her sun-darkened areolae could be seen straight through the cheap material, so much for drying off the sweat.

She felt impulsive, emboldened, crazy. She had spent days on the beach with nothing on, what was so different?

She loosened the belt around her waist and stripped off her sodden dress, which she draped over the rail. Now her bare chest was exposed to the spray, the wind and the sun and she slipped off her sandals so that she wore only her white bikini panties.

Janice wondered what the crew would do and looked at the crew position. The woman was watching her, as were many of the others on board, but to her relief she wasn't signalled to get dressed again. Remembering back just a few days, she never dreamt of going braless under a blouse; now she was topless. Not only that, but the only topless lady on board. Her boobs were hanging loose and swinging with the motion of the vessel. The spray was no longer a nuisance, it was refreshing, liberating. She wondered what would be said if she removed her panties but thought better of it. She'd better retain some degree of modesty.

Leaving her stuff where it was, Janice returned to the front part. There were some double-takes from the others, and some different expressions from many of the ladies. Not looks of disgust or disapproval; more like envy.

There was a call from above and she saw that a member of the crew had climbed the mast. He was waving and pointing out to the side and people were running to look. Janice understood the word 'dolphin' and sure enough there were tiny specks leaping in and out of the waves in the distance.

The boat turned towards them and when they got closer she could make out that they were indeed those creatures. Before long they were frolicking around them, jumping in and out of the water.

After a pause for several of the passengers to take photographs, the boat accelerated again and continued on its way. It rounded a headland and in the shelter the sea became calmer once more. Eventually the thrumming from the engine quietened and they turned into a cove. Soon they were at anchor near a tiny beach and people started climbing down into a rowing boat to go ashore. Some undressed to costumes and dived into the sea, so Janice jumped in. There was a disconcerting pause before she hit the water, the drop was higher than she had thought however it was lovely to be able to swim without having to wait for the transport.

She swam the short distance to land and she found that a couple of people were now removing their swimsuits to explore the area. Men and women were stripping off naked. Clearly there was something about a secluded bay that encouraged people to strip off. Her bikini panties were promptly thrown onto a convenient boulder and she joined in with the nude exploration.

Before long the crew arrived and started setting up some boxes with food and drink then handing out plates of rice with chunks of seafood. Sitting on the sand in the sun, enjoying fresh orange juice, Janice looked about. Around half of the people were now undressed; boobs and cocks abounded. Even the lady who had been steering the boat had taken her clothes off now that the food had been distributed. Her slender body had a deep even tan, this was evidently a regular occurrence.

Eventually it was time to return, so she gathered her bikini bottoms. The sand had stuck to her where she had been sitting and felt rough as she walked, but it rinsed away as soon as she entered the water again. She swam back with the panties wrapped around her wrist and was able to climb back on board using a rope ladder that had been hung off the side, but like several others she didn't put her clothes back on straight away, remaining as she was for as long as possible.

The boat retraced its route back to the port. Janice settled down on a bench in the shade, feeling the air currents wafting gently over her. The engine note was soporific and after the food her eyelids became heavy, soon she dozed off.

She was disturbed by a change in motion of the vessel. They had reached the rough water once more and the boat was pitching again. The wind had risen causing her hair to blow behind her as they headed into the quayside.

Just then she heard a shout. Turning, she saw her dress flying up in the air caught by the wind and being carried off over the ocean. It was gone for ever, there was no chance of retrieving it. She looked round to check on her bikini top, but that had vanished also. She checked the sea and there it was, floating in the surf and disappearing rapidly. So she was now stuck with what she had left, which wasn't much. Shoes, bikini bottoms and a hat. Luckily that had been jammed between the slats of a bench seat. Well, there was a certain style in that.

There wasn't a great deal of point in wondering about it now, as the boat was heading towards the port. Soon it was being tied up and a gangplank extended to enable the passengers to disembark. And all she had to wear on the bus journey was her bikini panties and shoes.

She'd better practice breathing in and cutting a dash, quickly.

She picked up her bag and tried to hold it in front of her ample chest, trying to conceal herself but it didn't reach far enough across to cover both sides at the same time. Dismayed, she tried to wrap her arms over her nipples. It was no good, she would just have to brazen it out.

The woman steering the boat was waving at her, holding something out. It was a packet with a red T-shirt like the one she was wearing and gratefully she pulled it on. There was a small logo over her left boob bearing the name of the tour company, so it was the same design as Steve's. It was tight, at least one size too small (possibly two) and didn't stretch over her belly, but it afforded some modesty and she could hardly complain. So with the bag clutched in front of her, she followed the others and boarded the coach to return to the hotel.

* * *

She was in a low building set against the hillside overlooking the beach. It was a small bar and beach shop with music was being played. It wasn't raucous commercial pop though; rather there was a single guitar accompanying a female singer. A gentle folk ballad, with a melodic voice and delicate musicianship.

The song finished and the small number of customers sitting under sun-umbrellas applauded. The barman beamed with happiness and thanked the audience for their appreciation, the singer was his daughter taking a break from her duties serving the customers.

Janice wiped a table clean with a damp cloth and picked up a tray of used dishes. It was funny how life turned out, a series of quirky decisions and twists of fate that meant that she was now working there.

She had won the fancy dress night, whilst not expecting anything at all. Some people had worn well-made and expensive costumes, she had worn the red T-shirt.

She had racked her brain for literary figures. It was difficult to think, to get inspiration; beyond comics she hadn't read a great deal -- she had never been keen on thick books with small print. There was Asterix the Gaul, a comic strip that she remembered from somewhere. It had a character in it that would suit, but she couldn't remember the name; it was a big guy who wore an oversize pair of striped trousers. She found a pair that she pulled hard up to her armpits over her breasts and secured them with a belt, the pants needed to be white and blue but she didn't have any like that. She tried to tweak her hair out into plaits but it was too short and she needed a horned helmet.

It wasn't a good look anyway, she decided. There was a limit to the amount of camel-toe that should be allowed in the world and when she checked in the mirror it was a clitastrophe.

Discarding that idea, she pulled on the red T shirt and caught a reflection in the mirror. It made her laugh, it was all she required. She created brown ears from rolled up serviettes, added a dab of black mascara to her nose. There was even a brown waste bin in the room that she held under her arm like a honey pot. Skipping across the room, she had transformed into Pooh. And wasn't Pooh from a book?

The compère had dressed as Pippi Longstocking, but had called herself 'Pippi Langstrumpf', which Janice worked out was the original name in those foreign language books that she couldn't understand. Odd-coloured thigh-high stockings and a torn skirt so tiny that it didn't even cover her butt, she looked a complete slut with ginger hair that stuck out at the sides.

There were a couple of Velmas and Dorothys bursting out of tight tops, several Cat Women and lots of Roman Emperors wrapped with bed sheets that were loosely tied over one shoulder. Bethany and Ray were there as Jasmine and the Genie; she wore open-side long pants with the tiniest bra imaginable, he was mostly covered in blue dye.

But there was only one Winnie the Pooh.

So a bottle of sparkling wine was won. And if she hadn't gone on the boat trip she wouldn't have lost her clothes and might have ended up in yet another toga fashioned from a bedsheet.

And Pippi with the odd stockings and bare pussy wouldn't have awarded her the prize, and neither would she have invited her to her father's beach bar. OK, she probably invited everyone, drumming up trade for the shack situated in an isolated corner of the beach, but Janice had taken up the offer and explored further than ever before to find the place.

Otherwise she would have ended up instead back in the airport headed back to her job cleaning at the nursing home where there was nobody left who knew her name.

But here she was, helping out with customers, laughing and joking, really enjoying herself. She had stayed there all day, then had grabbed a cloth and helped with clearing tables when they became busy. Automatically without thinking, it was ingrained after all those years doing just that. Gone back the next day, and the next. Ended up helping out serving baguettes and juices at lunchtime then paella and cocktails all evening.

She'd been offered a job, there wasn't much pay but accommodation was included, so she had moved out of the hotel to live in a tiny room at the rear of the bar. It was cosy, just a bed and roughly laid cement block walls but at least the view from the window was of a stretch of real sand. There was a tough little shrub emerging from the ground nearby, determined to live in the arid conditions and sometimes it gave shelter to lizards from the overhead sun.

If she was destined to be a cleaner she may as well be cleaning here; her flight had gone and she had stayed behind. The dilemma had seemed impossible but as Alfonso had explained she still had her passport and could just buy a ticket home any time she wanted.

So it had come to pass that mopping, dusting and wiping were her mission in life. Right now she had every intention of spending the rest of her days here, getting a deep seamless tan on every square inch of her body.

In the meantime, it was time for her break. A quick something to eat from the bar, before returning to her wiping of tables; flat surfaces, tomorrow high-dusting. There was no need for a towel when she walked along the beach to view the spectacular sunsets; there was no need for any new clothes either because apart from a colourful sarong tied at the waist for working in, nowadays she rarely wore anything at all.

Life could be worse.