Avoiding the midday sun, I lay on the hotel bed while Haze browsed around the local shops. At about two pm, she bounced merrily into the room and dropped a shopping bag onto the bed. I yawned and smiled. “This is the life,” I said. “What’s in the bag?”
“A thong,” she replied.
“But you’ve got a thong,” I protested, “though you might as well not have.”
“Why not?” asked Haze casually as she prepared to take a shower.
“Well for what good it does in the modesty department, you might as well not bother. They’re nothing more than string knickers!”
Haze giggled. “You’re jealous!”
“I’m not,” I lied sullenly.
“Oh yes you are. I’ve seen you frowning at any man who looks at me.”
“Well you have to be careful with Frenchmen, they...”
“You frowned at the bead-necklace man and he wasn’t French,” Haze interrupted.
“Wasn’t he?”
“No. Moroccan, I think.”
“Well they’re even worse. They treat women like meat!” I exclaimed. “That explains those offensive remarks.”
Haze seemed at a loss. “What offensive remarks?”
“You know…err….”
“Don’t go coy on me.” Haze grinned. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, he said…he mentioned your…your…well your boobs and…err …well your bottom.”
Haze laughed out loud. “I knew what you meant,” she said, “I just wanted to hear you say it. Anyway, they weren’t offensive remarks, they were compliments.”
I frowned. “I don’t know what’s come over you. You’ve never been like this before.”
“Like what?”
I searched for the right word.  I couldn’t find it so settled for, “Forward, a bit brazen.”
Haze laughed aloud again. “It’s the sun and sea air,” she said, dismissing my concerns. “But don’t worry, I’m all yours. Oh, that reminds me, so is the thong.”
“What?”
She pulled it from the bag. “Look,” she said, holding it aloft between thumb and forefinger. “It’s for men.” She winked, rather crudely, I thought. “It’s got a pouch.”
“I’m not wearing that!”
She seemed taken aback. “Why not?”
“It’s no bigger than a hankie with an attached bit of string. I’d look ridiculous!”
“Everyone else on the beach wears them,” she pointed out.
“Yes, and they all look ridiculous!”
“Me?”
“Well no, not so much you. You look all right, but the men look stupid.”
“Not as stupid as the one man wearing oversized Bermuda shorts when everyone else is in thongs.”
“What man wearing oversize Bermuda shorts?”
“You!”
I frowned again. I was pleased with my Bermudas. “Well, I’m not wearing it.”
“Just try it on,” she suggested with a grin.
“No.”
“Go on, then if you don’t like it I’ll take it back.”
I considered her offer and firmed my decision.  “No.”
“Go on.”
I considered again. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve told you.”
“Because you’ll look ridiculous?”
“Yes.”
“Just try it and see, please.”
“No.”
“Pleeease?”
I considered yet again. She was winning me over. “I’ll try it When you’re in the shower,” I said.
“Why not now?”
“When you’re not here, I’ll try it then.”
Haze smiled her understanding. “Okay, I’ll have my shower now. Call me when you’re ready.”
“You won’t sneak back and peek?”
“No, honest,” she said as she padded towards the bathroom.
I began to pull down my shorts but sensed something. I pulled them back up sharply and turned. Haze was peeking around the bathroom doorframe. “Just kidding,” she chortled before disappearing again.
Keeping an eye on the bathroom door, I waited a few minutes then slipped into the thong, adjusting the stringy bit several times in the interest of comfort. I stood in front of the wardrobe mirror, moving this way and that, turning, twisting and flexing muscles. Not bad, not bad at all, I thought when I’d got used to the idea. My only concern was the bagginess of the pouch. The men on the beach who were clearly born of donkeys, bulged proudly in that department, whereas my pouch seemed a bit…well, empty. I had an idea. Locating Haze’s tissue box, I grabbed a handful of tissues and carefully stuffed the pouch to form a more appropriate size and shape. Back at the mirror, I checked again from various angles. Yes, yes, it looked good, thought I’d have to pull my stomach in a bit. I was pleased with the result. I’d wear my new thong tomorrow.
“Are you ready?” Haze called.
“Yes,” I smiled. “You can come in now.”
Perhaps by instinct, Haze’s eyes went straight to the pouch. She seemed perplexed, sceptical even. “Strange,” she mused. “is it padded? I didn’t think so when I bought it. Still, turn around, let’s have a good look.”
I moved around the room, my chest puffed out provocatively. Haze seemed to be
concentrating, considering and forming an opinion as she chewed her bottom lip and perused me from different angles as I proudly strutted, peacock-proud.
“Um, yes, you were right,” she said at last. “Stick to the Bermuda shorts. I’ll take the thong back first thing tomorrow morning.”