Jacob grins at you and tells you there's a change of plans

"Hey babe," Jacob says with a leer, eyes looking down the front of your shirt.

You smirk, knowing that although you're not flat - you were on target for a B-cup when you stopped growing - he's not getting the eyeful he might have wanted. Still, it's nice to see him paying attention to the girls, and feeling flirty you spread your arms along the open window and lean even further over.

Behind you some guys are getting a great view of your ass and make sure you know it, but you ignore them as you eye your handsome boyfriend.

"What brings a handsome man like yourself down to a place like this?"

"I'm looking for a date," he winks.

"Oh really? I could be your date," you grin back.

"Nah, you're not dressed right."

"Not...?"

"My date needs to be wearing a bikini. Preferably a little one with a tiny thong."

"What... bikini?"

Jacob shrugs, looking a little sheepish. "I lied about the theatre. The movie I thought they had was cancelled or something. Now they're showing some stupid rom-com."

"We could see that..."

"Nah, I have a better idea. Let's go to the beach."

"Beach?" you perk up. Back home you never got to go to a beach. The occasional swimming pool, especially if you snuck in, but never the beach. "Oh, but I don't have a swimsuit. I think I packed one, though..."

"No need to go get some old suit. There's a reason I told you to come here," he points with his chin toward you, and you look back.

Behind you a small thrift shop looks out at the street, its window crowded by merchandise and signs. 'Sale!' '50% off!' 'Barely used items available'

"Oh." You fight a feeling of disappointment, hopes that Jacob might buy you a brand new suit barely born before being dashed. "Maybe we could find a nicer store..."

"Probably, but it's a straight shot to the beach from here. You can buy a suit and towel and walk out wearing it, then we'll be at the beach in half an hour."

"Well..." you hedge, but the call of the beach is intoxicating. Even though you know you shouldn't be spending money you tell yourself that it wouldn't be much. Maybe ten bucks if you're lucky, and then you'd be able to play at the beach. "Alright," you tell him with a shrug, pushing away from the door, "but don't blame me if I don't come out again for three hours. You coming?"

"Nah, I have to guard the car."

Rolling your eyes you push your way into the shop, bells chiming to announce your presence.

"Help you?" a scruffy looking man asks, startling you. Somehow you figured the owner would be a woman.

"Swimsuits and towels?"

"Back of the store, by the change rooms."

Pushing through the overburdened racks of clothes you find the swimsuit section, a demoralizing array of old styles, hideous patterns, and monstrous sizes you could wrap two or three times around yourself, making them into dresses.

Persevering you find a few and duck into the change room. Snapping the curtain shut behind you it takes no time to drop your skirt and top and wiggle into one suit after another. One of them is too loose, another looks too childish, leaving you with a third one that you like just fine, except for the long tail of thread hanging from the side where the ties meet the bikini top. A bandeau-style, it only has a single tie going across the back, and a cut-out between the breasts. Combined with the g-string side-tie bottom you're pretty sure Jacob will love it.

"Hi," you tell the clerk, enjoying the way his eyes bug out as you saunter up to him with just the bikini on. Your clothes and a hastily picked towel are draped over your other arm. "I'd like to wear this out. But first, I need to cut this string," you point to the dangling thread.

With his eyes fixed on your breasts the older man's hands shake as he extends a pair of scissors toward you. Fingers gripping the thread he pulls taut, and you shiver at the touch of cold steel against your soft skin. Leery of him cutting you or the bikini you're relieved when the scissors snip the thread close to the bikini and retreat with a long thread.

"How much for this," you motion toward yourself, "and the towel?" you ask.

"Uhhh...." his eyes travel up and down your body for a long time, and you feel a smirk form, which turns to a shocked "oh!" as he reaches out, grabs your breast, and turns the top down.

For a moment you think he's groping you, but then he pulls a small green tag off the material, and reads it. "Five for the suit. Towels are three, so eight total."

"Uh, thanks," you say with an automatic smile, a little shocked by his brazenness. Digging into your purse you sadly part with the money and saunter out to the car, where Jacob's eyes light up with a desire that puts a roll into your hips.

"Good enough?" you ask, turning in a circle, letting him see the butt-floss between your cheeks.

He nods dumbly, ogling you as you slip into the car - after you remind that the door's locked, that is. After that he wastes no time driving you toward the closest beach, sneaking as many looks at you as he can without plowing into the other cars.