I was going to edit this for Dad-safety, but really, Dad, you should just skip this one entirely. It’s like that one time I wrote this blog post and warned you about not reading it and you read it anyway and then you regretted it. Don’t make the same mistake twice, Dad. Just, yea, close the tab and slowly back away from the computer. That’s right, ever so slowly…
For the rest of you, there are two very important things that you all must know about me. First, I love Coney Island. It is one of my most favorite places in the world. No matter what time of year, what time of day, that you go to Coney Island, something crazy is always happening. Good crazy, mostly. I really believe that Coney Island is one of the only places where people just sort of let their freak flags fly. Even those people who go about life trying to fit in and be normal, when they get to Coney Island that shit goes right out the window. People who are still too repressed to let their inner weird-o see the light of day? Well they steer clear and I feel sorry for them. Such a boring life they must lead. Second, I embarrass myself all the time. Or, well, seemingly embarrassing things happen to me but I think that for the most part being embarrassed is just sort of a waste of energy and so I don’t feel embarrassed. I just sort of carry on. Like that one time I ran 10 miles and then worked out at the gym for 45 minutes before realizing that the light blue string hanging out the bottom of my running shorts was not attached to said shorts but was coming from the tampon that was, at that time, shoved inside my body. I could have been embarrassed but no. I continued right on stretching until I gathered the energy to make my way down to the ladies locker room to tuck the string back where it belonged. Life, ya know?
Anyway, normally my love of Coney Island and my tendency to get myself in potentially embarrassing situations don’t really overlap. Only today they totally did. So there I was, all by my lonesome on the beach waiting for my friend Kendra. The sun was strong so I thought to myself, “self, you really ought to put on some sunscreen.” So I went about putting sunscreen all over, even taking care to get some under the strings of my bikini so that I didn’t end up burning the skin just around the edges of my bathing suit. I always, always, always burn the area of my butt right where my bikini ends. Every fucking time. In fact, I even did it today. That is not important. What is important is that in the process of trying to get the sunscreen on around my bikini top I totally managed to, initially unbeknownst to me, flash those sitting around me on the beach. And, obviously because it is me, rather than just quietly putting my boob back where it belonged I said, to no one in particular, and while tucking it back into its temporary home, “get back in there!”
Sometimes it’s like I have no control. In all the hubbub happening with the right boob, I didn’t realize that the left one was also exposed. So there I was, on Coney Island, before noon, boobs out. Good work, me. I was almost hoping that, since I had already exposed myself, at least someone could enjoy the show. But not like a creepy someone. Just someone who would be like “oh, breasts! Well isn’t that a nice little surprise for a Tuesday!” I imagine this person with a British accent. Perhaps thankfully, now that I am thinking about it, the only people standing near me were a dude in a Speedo standing up and meditating while leaning on his bike and a woman flailing around listening to music and drinking Cannabis Energy Drink. I fucking love Coney Island. And so now I am left to ask the age-old question: if a girl flashes the beach at Coney Island and no one is around (or conscious enough) to see it, did it even happen? I am not so sure myself. I guess I’ll find out if a picture of my tits show up on the internet. God forbid.
But that’s not all! After Kendra arrived and I told her all about my misadventures in sunscreen application, we decided to go for a swim. So we went over to the life-guard protected area and hopped in. There we were, swimming, when all of a sudden I saw what appeared to be, at first glance, either a tentacle-less jelly fish or a very small shark. Then, upon looking again I realized that it was the biggest condom I have ever seen. Like so big. I screamed, obviously, and Kendra and I quickly ran out of the water. Here’s the thing though. I partially screamed because, ew condom in the water and what if it comes near me and sticks to my leg and then I have some sort of crazy horrible disease because that’s how it works, right? But also I screamed because that condom was so goddamn big. I mean, I know there is that thing that people a lot of times think that bigger dicks are better but I’ll tell you what, I would not like to meet the dick that belonged to that condom. No way Jose. Once, when I first moved to the city I had sex with this guy with a huge penis and I swear the second I laid eyes on that thing I lost all color in my face. My lady parts are fucking delicate, you know? I had trouble walking the next day! And I think this condom, if memory serves, was even too big for his penis. If I ever had sex with the penis that fit into that condom I would never be the same. For real.
By the by, does anyone else think that the sentence construction I just used was really weird? It’s like, through this whole thing I have not imagined a penis attached to a dude. I have imagined just like, a free-standing gigantic penis kind of going through life, unattached, waiting to find a similarly unattached vagina or else someone in possession of a vagina who didn’t run the other way when faced with this particular phallus. I would say poor penis only, judging from the condom which appeared to have been used, it did find someone that wasn’t afraid of it. I hope she, or he, enjoyed him or herself. Until that last sentence there this imagination game I had was totally heteronormative. Not cool, Rebekah, not cool.
So, that’s what happened on Coney Island today. People may or may not have seen my boobs without a bathing suit covering them, and I definitely saw a condom that was, at that moment, thankfully lacking a penis. Also, I have learned that I do not have a future in erotic fiction, so that’s a career path to cross off the list. Happy Tuesday, everyone!