The Beach Sissy

Jamie had a simple rule about beach days: the smaller and pinker the swimsuit, the better.

His swimsuit drawer proved it.

There were black bikinis, white thongs, bright neon micros, and a couple of ordinary swim briefs that Jamie almost never bothered wearing anymore. But one side of the drawer was unmistakably his favorite—a collection of tiny pink bikinis and thongs in every shade imaginable.

Baby pink. Hot pink. Cotton-candy pink. Metallic pink. Pink with little white strings. Pink with tiny bows at the hips.

Those were Jamie’s suits.

Jamie was a young man with a naturally slender build, smooth legs, longer hair, and a decidedly feminine sense of style. He liked being a guy, but he also loved being feminine. He jokingly called himself a “beach sissy,” because the beach was where he felt most comfortable turning the femininity all the way up.

And today was definitely a pink-bikini day.

He stood in front of his bedroom mirror wearing one of his favorites. It was a ridiculously tiny pastel-pink string bikini with narrow sides and a cheeky little rear. The front was minimalist and smooth, giving the whole swimsuit a delicate feminine silhouette.

Jamie turned sideways.

Then backward.

Then forward again.

He smiled.

“Definitely this one.”

He slipped on oversized sunglasses, a loose white beach shirt, and sandals. His pink bikini strings remained visible beneath the shirt.

That was part of the fun.

By the time Jamie reached the beach, it was already busy. Colorful umbrellas dotted the sand, music drifted from portable speakers, and people were walking along the shoreline in every conceivable style of swimwear.

Jamie found his spot, spread out his towel, and pulled off his shirt.

There it was.

Tiny.

Pink.

Feminine.

And unmistakably Jamie.

Years earlier, he would have spent the first ten minutes wondering whether everyone was staring at him.

Now he practically hoped they were.

Jamie walked toward the water, his little pink bikini looking more like something from the women’s swimwear section than a traditional men’s swimsuit. That was exactly why he loved it.

As he passed a group setting up an umbrella, he heard someone behind him say, “Excuse me, miss—you dropped this.”

Jamie turned around.

A woman was holding his sunscreen.

She froze for half a second when Jamie faced her.

“Oh! Sorry!”

Jamie grinned.

“No problem. And thank you.”

She handed him the bottle, still looking slightly embarrassed.

Jamie continued toward the water with an enormous smile.

Being mistaken for a woman never offended him.

Quite the opposite.

There was something strangely delightful about knowing that, from behind or at a quick glance, his feminine presentation worked well enough that someone simply assumed he was another bikini girl heading toward the ocean.

It happened surprisingly often.

Sometimes people corrected themselves immediately. Sometimes they didn’t realize until Jamie spoke. Occasionally someone never figured it out at all.

Jamie loved those moments most.

Not because he wanted to trick anybody. He simply enjoyed occupying that wonderfully ambiguous little space where people weren’t quite sure what category to put him in.

At the shoreline, Jamie stepped into the cold water.

“Whoa!”

A woman standing nearby laughed.

“Cold?”

“Freezing!”

“That’s why I’m still standing here.”

They both laughed.

She was wearing a black bikini that actually covered considerably more than Jamie’s.

Jamie noticed her looking at his swimsuit.

“I love your bikini,” she said.

“Thanks!”

“The pink is adorable.”

Jamie smiled.

“My favorite color for the beach.”

“I can tell.”

Jamie looked down at himself and laughed.

“Too much?”

She shook her head.

“At this beach? Not even close.”

That was another thing Jamie had discovered.

Once he stopped worrying so much about whether his swimsuit belonged in the men’s department or women’s department, shopping became much more interesting. He simply looked for styles he liked.

Bikinis.

Thongs.

String bottoms.

Micros.

If something was cute, tiny, stretchy and looked good on him, Jamie wanted to try it.

Pink simply added that extra little touch.

Eventually he walked back up the sand and stretched out on his towel. A few minutes later, two young women settled nearby.

One glanced toward Jamie.

“Your suit is so cute.”

Jamie lifted his sunglasses.

“Thank you.”

“Where did you get it?”

Jamie laughed.

“That is classified information.”

They laughed too.

Soon the three were talking about swimwear, beaches and the eternal problem of getting sunscreen onto your own back.

Jamie loved how completely normal the conversation felt.

Nobody demanded an explanation.

Nobody asked why a guy was wearing a tiny pink bikini.

Nobody seemed particularly concerned about whether the swimsuit was technically designed for men or women.

It was just a swimsuit.

And Jamie was just Jamie.

Later that afternoon, he decided to walk along the beach.

This was his favorite part of every beach day.

Jamie loved the feeling of warm sand beneath his feet, ocean air against his skin, and the almost nonexistent sensation of his tiny swimsuit.

He passed women wearing thong bikinis.

Men wearing Speedos.

Another guy wearing a thong.

Surfers.

Families.

Couples.

Tourists.

Nobody looked exactly alike.

Jamie realized that was precisely what made the beach interesting.

Halfway through his walk, he stopped at a little beachfront stand for a drink.

The employee looked up.

“What can I get you, ma’am?”

Jamie smiled.

“Lemonade.”

Then he spoke in his normal voice.

The employee looked up again.

“Oh—sorry, man.”

Jamie laughed.

“You were fine the first time.”

The employee laughed too.

Jamie walked away carrying his lemonade and feeling ridiculously pleased.

Twice in one day.

Not bad.

As the afternoon sun began dropping toward the horizon, Jamie returned to his towel.

His little pink bikini had created exactly the kind of tiny tan lines he liked.

He sat watching the ocean for a while.

There had been a time when Jamie thought being feminine meant he needed to make some enormous decision about himself.

Was he masculine?

Feminine?

A crossdresser?

A femboy?

A sissy?

Something else entirely?

Eventually Jamie had realized that he didn’t need to solve himself like a puzzle.

He could simply enjoy what he enjoyed.

And Jamie enjoyed femininity.

He liked smooth skin.

He liked cute clothes.

He liked tiny bikinis.

He absolutely loved thongs.

And pink had somehow become his unofficial beach uniform.

Most of all, he enjoyed the playful little thrill when somebody looked at him and saw a girl before seeing a guy—or perhaps couldn’t quite decide which they were seeing at all.

For Jamie, that ambiguity felt liberating.

As the beach started emptying, Jamie pulled his white shirt back on but left it completely unbuttoned. His tiny pink bikini remained visible underneath.

He gathered his things and started walking toward the parking lot.

A woman passing him smiled.

“Love the pink!”

Jamie smiled back.

“Me too.”

Tomorrow he might wear the hot-pink thong.

Or perhaps the tiny white bikini with pink strings.

He hadn’t decided yet.

But one thing was certain.

Jamie would be back.

Because somewhere between the sunshine, the ocean, the tiny bikinis and the occasional cheerful “Excuse me, miss,” Jamie had discovered his favorite version of himself.

The beach sissy in the little pink bikini.