Dear sexy men in the tuxedo swim briefs,
Oh, hello. Is this seat taken? Excuse my girlish giggling. I came across your photos in a Shinesty ad that Facebook dropped into my newsfeed, and I couldn’t help but stare.
The skimpy, brightly colored speedos exposing so much of your pale, masculine flesh is just too much for my feminine sensibilities to handle. And oh, dear me! I must avert my eyes from the tuxedo ruffles and bow tie suggestively cupping your–manly areas.
But how can I? What, with your rugged, outdoorsman stance, legs spread, foot propped up on that big, hard hunk of rock. Oh, heavens! Am I blushing?
Please excuse me. I just can’t help myself!
Look at you, so cool and so–hot–at the same time. You must be melting that snow you’re sitting on. You had to know that you’d cause a commotion with any women who happened upon you. I can just see it. She’s skiing, maybe with girlfriends, maybe with her family, but she veers off course. She’s always been the “good girl.” Always done the right thing. Lived a moral life. But something’s been tugging at her heart. A fire that won’t die. Some internal force she can’t control pulls her off the beaten path–and away from prying eyes.
That’s when she comes upon you. The only men who could ever pull off tuxedo-printed swimwear on a snowy mountain. She scans your body from head to toe. Takes in the rugged hiking boots, the blue socks that match your package perfectly. The pale white skin that likewise matches the snow. The bushy beard. The trucker hats. The sunglasses that so resemble the ones her grandfather used after eye doctor appointments.
The orange swim brief man–the beefcake with the macho beard–leaps from his rock to catch a glimpse of this fair maiden. She’s running toward him, unsure of what she wants, but with a burning fire in her loins that must be quenched.
But what’s this? Blue swim brief man is pointing at something. Someone. Who? Who are you pointing to, blue swim brief man? Is it me? You want me to join you on your sexy ski trip? But I’m just a lonely suburban mom watching you through a computer screen! Oh, stop it! Now you’ve got me giggling again!
I’m sorry, this has gone too far. You have just so much testosterone! Please, you’ll have to leave. My husband will be home soon, and he can’t find me so–worked up. Please, just go, never to return. I’ll miss you, but we’ll always have have the moment when I discovered your inappropriate dress on a snow covered mountain.
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