The Good ‘Ol Summer Time

by admin

When I was young, the last day of school meant the beginning of summer, no matter what the date on the calendar said. And Summer meant all kinds of wonderful things. The weather was the best it would be all year, with days so long they seemed to stretch forever, warm temps, heart-breaking blue skies and the green of grass and leaves as far as the eye could see. There would be work to do of course (yes I am old enough to remember days when you could get away with working at 10 or 11 years old), picking crops for a local farm and doing yard work for neighbors, but that meant coins jingling in my pocket and money being saved up for a new bicycle.  There was all kinds of fun to be had; fishing, hiking and camping, baseball and bike riding, cook outs and reading comics in the elbow of a big limb of a tree I liked to climb. But Summer also meant trips to the Seacoast, to beaches and rocky shores where a myriad of sights could be seen. There’d be all kinds of exotic ephemera to find in the sand and rocks from flora and fauna to objects people would leave behind like an old silver lighter I once scavenged. Some of the most memorable sights I drank in, like a thirsty traveler approaching an oasis, were those of especially beautiful young women commanding the attention of all those around them in that glorious stretch of time known as Swimwear Season.
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As a boy, the lure of such grand and glorious views was not what it would become by my teens when adolescence would hammer me with testosterone and channel my mind in one helpless direction. The glory of boyhood is the charm of innocent infatuation, wide-eyed wonder born of pure appreciation of a beautiful girl and a sense of something special that wouldn’t come back again until the seasons had made their inexorable turn. There was something absolutely hypnotic about the confidence of the young women I’d see at the beach, a self-assuredness that was simply intoxicating. The magnificence of the Bikini Beauty and its impact on my mind and that of my boyhood friends was something akin to the glamor one would see if you turned on the TV and saw Marianne from Gilligan’s Island in her short shorts and brief Gingham top or Raquel Welch in that unforgettable fur bikini in One Million Years BC. There was a heady mix of awe, excitement, respect, a little bit of healthy awkwardness at being so moved by feminine beauty, as well as the thrill of having a moment of joy all your own. Catching a great fish or hitting a home run are thrilling experiences, but that glorious instant when beauty transfixes the eye, heart and soul is like no other.    
You can see more of this article in our July/Aug issue of ModelsMania

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