My Swimming Trunks Have Been Sucked Off -

Chloe’s eyes went wide. Mark started to laugh—that horrible, silent, shoulder-shaking laugh that precedes an explosion. Elena put down her book. She looked at my face. She looked at my clasped hands. She looked at the empty patch of sea behind me.

Chloe swam in, shaking water from her ears. “Anyone want to go back out? The light is amazing.” My Swimming Trunks Have Been Sucked Off

And my swimming trunks were the first thing it tasted. Chloe’s eyes went wide

I reached the shallows, where the water was only knee-deep and treacherously transparent. I had to crawl. On my belly. Like a marine. I dug my fingers into the sand and slithered, the waterline dropping from my chest to my waist to my… well. The moment of truth arrived when my feet touched dry land. I was behind a small rock outcropping, five meters from Elena. She looked at my face

She looked up from her book. “You’re back early. Did you see any fish?”

I surfaced with a gasp, not from lack of air, but from the sheer, wet vulnerability of it all. The water was crystal clear. My wife, Elena, was still on the beach, her face buried in a book. Our friends, Mark and Chloe, were arguing about the best angle for a snorkeling selfie twenty yards away. No one had seen.

I chose Option B.