Bikini Beach: My Dumb Bikini Summer

By

Emily Safeharbor

emilyatsafeharbor@gmail.com

(Feedback is super special to me so if you have any thoughts at all I’d love to hear them!)

Chapter 1:  Girls Just Want to Have Fun

Emily came home to her empty apartment.  She wished she had the energy to go and do do something.  When she was younger she used to make so many memories, almost every week she was up for doing something or trying something but now it seemed like everyday she would just slouch deep into her computer chair, scroll through the internet, waste her time, waste her life, and then go to sleep knowing she had to go to work the next day.  That was her everyday life now and of course today was no different.  

She slouched deeper into her chair, remote in one hand and a cup of green tea in the other, flipping through screen after screen in a bored malaise.  It had gotten so bad that she viewed watching an actually scripted drama as an improvement so with an act of will she turned on her television and for the first time in years began flipping through he changes it had.  She saw the canned laugh tracks of sitcoms, the pleasing smiles of cooks on cooking shows making dishes she knew she could copy but didn’t have the energy to, and even a few dramas that failed to bring excitement into her dimly lit apartment. 

She paused momentarily on a news segment about the latest political scandal, her brow furrowing slightly at the rhetoric on screen. Politics always had a way of pulling her in, but she never did anything about it.  She never actually joined an organized or made a difference, she just got madder and madder.  She didn’t want to get mad tonight.  She wanted something light, something that would remove at least some of her day-to-day thoughts.

Click.

The screen filled with a blaring 80's synthesizer track and the neon title “My Dumb Bikini Summer” appeared, flashing in bright pink and blue. The scene cut to a sun-soaked beach, where a group of young women, all impossibly tanned and scantily clad, laughed and frolicked in the sand. The camera panned to a bumbling guy chasing after them with exaggerated, cartoonish movements.

Emily rolled her eyes, her thumb hovering over the button to change the channel. She knew this genre well—cheesy, sleazy, and utterly ridiculous. The kind of movie where every “joke” had a misogynistic punch line and, every plot point was a flimsy excuse for scantily clad beach scenes. A relic of an era that made her cringe.

“Seriously?” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. “They really thought this was the pinnacle of comedy.”

A particularly ludicrous scene unfolded—a beach contest where the protagonist, in an attempt to impress the bikini-clad judges, ended up face-planting into a sandcastle.  It was stupid, ridiculous, and problematic in all the ways she condemned. 

“God, the 80s were wild,” she mumbled before getting up to turn off the TV.  Just at the moment her hand was barely touching the power button, a bolt of lighting came through her open window, slammed into her TV and it felt like time was slowing down.  She could see the lightening bolt.  She could see the electricity travel from the TV to her finger.  She could see it racing up through her veins into her mind.  And she had just enough time to think, "Isn't lightening the stupidest of 1980's cliché's for something magical to happen?" before ... Blackness.

Emily's eyes fluttered open, a harsh brightness stabbing through her eyelids. She squinted against the blazing sunlight and felt a sharp grainy texture beneath her. Sand. She was lying on sand. She sat up slowly, her head spinning as the world came into focus—a vast, sun-drenched beach stretching out before her, framed by swaying palm trees and dotted with colorful beach towels and sun umbrellas.

The scene was almost too perfect, too postcard-like, as if it had been airbrushed by someone with a love for garish, oversaturated hues. Emily blinked, trying to piece together what had happened. She glanced down at herself and frowned. Her sweatshirt and sweatpants were gone, replaced by a bright pink bikini she would never, in a million years, have picked out for herself. She knew she shouldn't be, but she had always had issues with her flat A-cup chest and never wore anything so revealing because of it.  She tugged at the fabric, feeling exposed and awkward, her discomfort mounting with each passing second.

A loud cheer erupted nearby, pulling her attention to a group of men tossing a football back and forth in the shallows, their laughter booming and carefree. Further down the beach, a group of women in barely-there swimsuits were engaged in an exaggerated game of beach volleyball, each spike and dive accompanied by bouncy, slow-motion physics that defied any semblance of reality.

Emily's mouth fell open. She knew this place. The music, the scenery, the people—all straight out of “My Dumb Bikini Summer.”

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE???????" Emily shouted at the top of her lungs.

After her outburst, the festivities on the beach paused. The football splashed into the shallow water. The volleyball hit the sand with a soft thud. For a moment the perky breasts stopped bouncing, coming to rest with a slight jiggle. 

Beautiful blue and hazel eyes turned to her. Only the crashing of waves could be heard for a moment. 

Then the young man closest to Emily smiled and shouted, “You must be the new girl!” 

That seemed to break the spell of silence and everyone got back to their games, their laughs, their jiggles. 

The smiling guy approached, a tall, well toned hunk with alabaster skin that had been tanned into a gorgeous tan. His slightly darker skin made his impossibly white teeth stand out. He wore a red speedo, the sort TV lifeguards and no one else wore. 

When he got close enough he didn’t have to shout over the waves, he stopped and touched one of his perfectly sculpted pecs. 

“I’m Tad. I’m glad you’re here. We can use all the help we can get. If we don’t figure out how to raise half a million dollars by the end of the week, we can kiss this paradise goodbye.” Tad emphasized that last word with a flourish of his hand that a children’s theater director would have considered a bit much. 

He held out his hand to help Emily up. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

Emily stared at Tad, her mind reeling as she tried to process his words. Half a million dollars? Paradise? This was straight out of the ridiculous, overblown plot of the movie she had just been mocking from the safety of her living room. The absurdity of it all made her want to laugh and scream at the same time.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Emily asked, her voice edged with frustration. She still felt disoriented, her thoughts a muddled mess of disbelief and a simmering anger at being stuck in this sexist, nonsensical world. “And why am I in a bikini? I didn’t sign up for this!”

Tad’s smile didn’t waver. He stepped closer, his sun-kissed skin glistening under the bright sunlight. “It’s Bikini Week, of course! Everyone’s gotta be in a bikini—it’s the rules!” He gave her a wink that was so exaggerated it almost made her cringe. “We’re raising money to save this beach from being turned into a luxury resort for accountants by evil developers. It’s all hands on deck!”

Emily shook her head, her annoyance bubbling over. “That is the dumbest plot I’ve ever heard,” she muttered, but Tad seemed unfazed.

“It’s not just a plot, it’s our lives!” Tad declared, striking another dramatic pose, his hand sweeping out to indicate the entire beach. “This place is a haven, a refuge, a sanctuary for fun and freedom! And if we don’t come up with the cash, it’s all gonna be bulldozed away!” His voice was laden with over-the-top sincerity, like a soap opera actor going for an Emmy.

Emily ran a hand through her hair, pushing back the stray strands that had stuck to her forehead. The heat, the sand, the ridiculous scenario—it was all too much. She needed a plan, some way to get out of this cheesy nightmare and back to reality. But Tad was still talking, his speech escalating in drama and volume.

“Think about it! The memories, the friendships, the runs on the beach that were so fun that it almost felt like we were doing it in slow motion!” He gestured grandly as if the imaginary camera had zoomed in on him. “We’re gonna put on the biggest, Bikini Car Wash Roller Disco Aerobics / Breakdancing Boombox Battle BBQ Muscle Competition Surfing Tug-of-War Jet Ski Racing Beach Side Stunting Wet-Tshirt Contest this town has ever seen!”  

“Okay, Tad, listen,” Emily started, exasperation heavy in her voice. “I’m not interested in washing cars in a bikini or doing any of this convoluted nonsense. I just want to go home.”

Tad frowned, looking genuinely puzzled for the first time. “Home? But this is home now, new girl. And we all have to pitch in, or there won’t be a home left to save.”

“Seriously?” Emily said, rubbing her temples. “You’re really going with the whole ‘save the beach’ shtick? No, Tad. I’m not the new girl. I don’t belong here, and I’m definitely not staying.”

Before Tad could respond, a loud, upbeat synth track blared out of nowhere.

“Attention Beach Goers! Due to an incoming Typhoon-slash-Tsunami, all ferries, bridges, airplanes, and any other conceivable method of getting off this beach island have been canceled indefinitely.”

Tad stomped his foot in frustration. “Gosh darn, this again!” He shook his head. “I was really looking forward to trying to get you… wherever you said you were going. But I guess that settles it.” In an instant, his frown transformed back into that thousand-watt smile. “Your home is here. Welcome!”

With no warning, Tad pulled Emily into a tight hug, pressing her face against his muscled chest. She could feel his package pressing into her stomach. It wasn’t hard, but it was definitely… present. He pulled away just as quickly.

“Come with me,” he said cheerily. “Let me introduce you to The Girls. They’ll show you around. You’ll fit right in!” Tad took her hand, his grip firm, leading her toward a beach volleyball game. Just as they got close, a tall, stunning blonde at the net leapt into the air, her natural, ample breasts bouncing with her movement as she spiked the ball with surprising force—right in Emily’s direction.

In an instant, the white volleyball rocketed straight toward Emily’s chest, knocking her off her feet and flat on her back, the impact knocking all the air out of her lungs. She vaguely registered shouts of concern and the shuffle of people gathering around her as Tad leaned over and lifted her back up, steadying her.

“I’m… I’m…” Emily gasped, still a bit dazed, and her swimsuit felt unexpectedly tight. It hadn’t felt like that before. She looked down, eyes going wide. They were definitely bigger than they’d been before. But how?!

—

Emily stared down at her chest, trying to catch her breath. Her once modest bikini top now strained against a noticeably fuller bust. She gingerly touched herself, her fingers meeting the unexpected curve. There was no logical explanation, no reasonable way for this sudden change to have happened. Yet, there it was, impossible to ignore.

Tad, noticing her bewildered expression, raised an eyebrow. “Whoa! Looks like you took that spike to the chest pretty hard, huh? I’ve seen this happen before. It’s kind of a Bikini Week thing.”

Emily blinked, completely confused. “What do you mean, ‘a Bikini Week thing’? What the hell is happening to me?”

Tad scratched his head, pecs flexing nonchalantly as if to reassure her. “Oh yeah, it’s just a bit of—what’s the word?—‘hyperpressurated dermal amplification’ or something like that. Happens all the time around here. Something about the air pressure during Bikini Week. It’s a rare phenomenon, but basically, any bumps or bruises you get can cause your chest to swell. But, you know, only in women’s chests. Some kinda weird atmospheric science thing.”

Emily’s jaw dropped. “Hyperpressurated what now?” She looked down at herself, the absurdity of Tad’s explanation mingling with the very real change beneath her fingers. “That can’t be real. That’s not even… That doesn’t make any sense!”

Tad nodded enthusiastically, like she’d asked him about the weather. “Oh, it’s real, alright. Totally bizarre, but it’s just one of those Bikini Week quirks. Like, the scientists said something about the barometric pressure, oceanic ions, and… uh… geothermal resonance? Yeah, geothermal resonance! That’s the one!” He pointed confidently at the sand, as if the ground itself held the answer. “Apparently, it amplifies localized trauma in specific ways. But don’t worry, it’s harmless. Just a bit of swelling!”

Emily fought the urge to scream. “So you’re telling me that the air pressure here makes women’s chests swell if they get hit? And no one thought that might be a problem worth, I don’t know, warning people about?”

Tad shrugged, his smile unfazed. “Nah, it’s all part of the fun! Most girls just roll with it. It’s like a free upgrade, right?” He winked, oblivious to how ridiculous and infuriating it all was. “Plus, it only happens during Bikini Week. Lasts until the end of the festivities, and then poof, back to normal. It’s like magic! But, you know, science magic.”

Emily rubbed her temples, muttering under her breath. “Science magic. Of course.”

Tad gave her a hearty pat on the back, sending her stumbling a few steps forward. “Don’t worry about it, Em! You’ll get used to it. Happens to all the new girls eventually. You’re already fitting right in!” He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze, then started leading her closer to the volleyball net where The Girls were playing.

As they approached, the volleyball game had picked up its pace. The sun glinted off the net, casting long shadows on the sand. One of the players—a tall, statuesque blonde with effortless beauty—paused mid-serve to wave at Tad and Emily, tossing her hair back. Her bikini left little to the imagination.

“Hey, newbies!” the blonde called out, jogging over, flashing a perfect smile. “Did Tad tell you about the whole swelling thing?” She winked, grinning. “Happened to me my first Bikini Week, too. I hit a palm tree on the way down a slide, and bam!” She motioned to her ample curves, her chest bouncing slightly. “MONDO cool, huh?”

Emily stared, completely at a loss. “Cool? You think this is cool?”

The blonde shrugged, unfazed. “It’s all part of the experience, babe. It’s what makes Bikini Week, well… Bikini Week! Everyone’s gotta have their thing, you know? It’s like a rite of passage.”

Tad nudged Emily playfully, his smile as bright as ever. “C’mon, Em. Let’s get you in the game! Once you’re having fun, you won’t even notice. Trust me.”

Emily took a deep breath, the absurdity of her situation pressing in from all sides. If this “hyperpressurated nonsense” was real, she was trapped in a place where the rules of reality bent in the name of some eternally sunny, bikini-clad paradise. And if she was going to survive this bizarre week, she’d have to navigate these “science magic” quirks without losing her mind.

Emily sighed, her eyes narrowing as she looked around at the carefree beachgoers. “Alright,” she muttered to herself. “Let’s see what other surprises this place has up its sleeve.”

 Hot sand and blindingly bright beach towels sprawled along the shore, a checkerboard of neon colors beneath the blazing California sun. Bodies everywhere—glistening, bronzed, oiled up, and basking in the rays. Young men with rippling muscles volleyed a ball back and forth, grunts and cheers mixing with the crash of waves in a way that felt surreal and yet all too tangible. This beach scene could’ve been ripped straight from a postcard, but there was something off about it, something disorienting.

Emily blinked, trying to get her bearings when a nasal, almost teenage voice filled the air, loud but somehow disembodied. “I was a math whiz, a total nerd,” it said. “But that summer? That summer, I became a king.” The voice seemed to hover around her, and Emily squinted, looking for its source. No one else seemed to notice it.

A girl in a bubblegum-pink bikini, practically spilling out of it, grinned and sauntered over to Emily “I just saw Chad! He is totally hot!” Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she looked at Emily, her head cocked in amused curiosity. "Earth to Bunny, come in!”

Emily’s brows knit together. “Uh… my name isn’t Bunny,” she said, her voice uncertain, thick with a strange unease. The girl’s eyes, rimmed in frosty blue shadow, narrowed slightly, and then her laugh sparkled out again.

“But isn't it a fun name? Don't you think it would be totes more fun to be Bunny then Emily?”

"No...” Emily muttered, rolling her eyes as she conceded for the moment. “But where did that… voice come from? The one talking about being a king?”

The girl’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at Emily like she’d suggested the earth was flat. “Voice? There’s no voice, Bunny. I mean Emily. Are you sure you haven’t been in the sun too long?”

Just as she was about to protest again, the girl perked up, her gaze darting over Emily’s shoulder. “Oh. My. God. Chad is coming this way!” Her voice dropped to a reverent whisper, her excitement barely contained. Emily turned, caught off guard by the sight of a tall, athletic man striding down the beach with a confidence that was somehow both magnetic and insufferable.

He was the picture of 80s heartthrob—tanned, toned, with blond hair carefully sculpted into what could only be described as a voluminous mullet. His red swim trunks clung just a little too snugly, and a pair of neon green sunglasses framed his face. He sauntered over, radiating the energy of a man who knew he was the center of attention, his eyes drifting over Emily in a way that made her want to smack him and laugh in equal measure.

“Ladies,” he greeted, dropping his shades just enough to give her a slow once-over. “Lookin’ trim.” He grinned, the kind of grin that hadn’t encountered rejection enough to respect it.

Emily’s lip curled instinctively, and she crossed her arms. “My eyes are up here, Chad.”

Chad blinked, the concept clearly foreign to him. He leaned back, processing her words with the effort of someone still grappling with basic algebra. “What d’you mean?”

Emily opened her mouth, but before she could explain, the girl in pink—Missy, her name had to be Missy—cut in with a giggle. “She’s just messing with you, Chad! C’mon, we need to get her out of this sun.” She grabbed Emily’s arm, her grip deceptively strong as she led her toward an oversized mansion just off the beach.

“Wait, whose place is this?” Emily asked, stumbling as they crossed the threshold.

“Oh, it’s mine!” Missy replied breezily. “Rented it with the money from my bake sale.” Emily looked around, taking in the marble floors, the cascading chandeliers, the multiple staircases. A bake sale? Emily was sure this place would cost tens of thousands to rent for the weekend, but Missy didn’t bat an eye, tugging her deeper inside.

They guided her upstairs, Chad offering her a hand with the air of someone who’d grown up in command. “You need some sleep, Bunny,” he drawled. “Take a nap, clear your head. Maybe you’ll be back to normal when you wake up.”

Emily tried to argue, but her head felt like it was stuffed with sand, her eyelids heavy as she let them steer her into a room. Her legs buckled, and the soft mattress claimed her, her mind swimming as the voices faded.

When she woke, it was dark outside, the room dimly lit by the neon glow of beach lights and the throbbing beat of loud music. She rolled over, finding a note left by her bed. Your clothes were dirty, so we sent them out. Try this!

Grimacing, she slipped into the provided outfit—a bright, skintight bodysuit that looked like it’d barely survived the 80s. She made her way downstairs, the sound of chaos intensifying with every step. Inside, the party was raging. Beer cans littered the floor, forming precarious pyramids, while girls with feathered blonde hair laughed and flipped their heads in time with the music. A kegstand contest was underway in the corner, while others cheered and chugged with fervent dedication.

Amidst it all, a disembodied voice sounded again, blending eerily with the blaring synths. “To crown a king,” it declared, “you need a night to remember.”

Emily froze, goosebumps prickling her skin. Her gaze whipped around, searching for the source, but it was lost in the crush of bodies, the smoke, and the spinning lights.

Then the doorbell rang, impossibly clear above the noise, and Chad sauntered over, throwing open the door to reveal a delivery guy with thick glasses and a stack of pizzas.

Chad squinted, looking the guy over. “Hey, you’re that nerd from my math class, right?” he asked, oblivious to the scorn in his voice.

The guy, visibly annoyed, corrected him. “It’s calculus.”

“Yeah, whatever. Say maybe you could give me this as a freebee? ” Chad said as he loomed over Wesley.

Emily clenched her fists, irritation building as she watched Chad’s smug grin, the easy way he leaned into the doorframe as if the world belonged to him. She rushed over and shoved some money in Wesley's hands.

"Sorry, Chad doesn't mean to be a dick, he just is." she said before closing the door. The guy—Wesley, according to his nametag—had a look of gratidude to her as the door closed.

"I didn't know it at the time, but I had met the love of my life." the voice over spoke once more.

Wait ... what did that mean????