I'm in a beach shelter with three highschool girls I know, who want to build websites. They're disappointed with the existing programs. I talk mostly with the one I know best, a tallish blonde white girl I've had a crush on for some time. I try to explain why she's getting problems but she lacks basic concepts--doesn't know what a pixel is, or ASCII. She rolls her eyes in frustration.

She's wearing a short terrycloth robe over her swimsuit. She decides to give up on website programming for the day and just swim. Waves her hands like brushing away the Web, as she gets up--and this gesture shakes her robe open.

She's naked underneath! Sleek caramel belly, thighs, and pussy as smooth as the rest: shaved her pubic hair. Lush large labia red and slick with sweat--or excitement. A ruby clitoris peering out...

I stare, instantly excited. I look up; she has wide, innocent eyes, as if nothing's unusual, no flirtation. She casually says goodbye to her friends who have to leave, and turns to say something to a middle-aged relative (aunt, mom, cousin?) she's going down to the water with.

As she turns, I see her from the side and back--and now she's in a suit, a high-cut maillot of metallic purple and blue, baring a lot of hip and thigh, but merely daring, not illegal!

I blink--and when she turns back to me, she's naked again. Makes no sense, I'm bewildered. She turns again and it happens again! She's found or made a suit that's invisible in the front, or a magic spell creating the illusion of a swimsuit from the back.

She can CHOOSE who to flash just by her stance. And fool her chaperone...

She faces me and gestures, and the muscles of her inner thighs and cheeks of her ass shift and ripple in response. I thought it was hard sometimes not to look at breasts jiggling, but this... I shiver with excitement.

And look up again to find eyes of her aunt on me, coldly disapproving--and disturbingly like my mother's. I notice only now that the dark, hooded bathrobe she's wearing is really a near-full Iranian chadoor. Her murderous, fundamentalist glare is suddenly more chilling, and I realize:

This means war. It's that simple. Swimsuit tricks, and other compromises, won't make it--not in Iran, and not here. It's open war, between sex and repression. No, that's how they characterize it--but that's false. It's more.

A war between freedom and repression.

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