I used to abhor tan lines. Then I grew up.
Tan lines denote time outside, activity, youth. They outline the good bits and show off the rest.
I don’t “tan”, per se. I’m just out there in it and I let the sun do the rest. I love seeing a man’s pale bottom and upper thighs; I’m sure he loves seeing the white triangles on my breasts.
I went out last night. A man who swears he’s not gay invited me to make out with him. I obliged.
His beard tickled and his tongue was soft. Back at his apartment, drunk and curious, I went spelunking. He was quite small. And uncut (which I think is fucking cool). I remember his precum slipping between my fingers and then casually begging off to pass out. He slept on the couch but cuddled me this morning.
He never got to see my white triangles, but my Internet boyfriend does.