"Mom, what kind of beach is this?" asked Kyra. We were wondering how long it would take our daughter to spot her first pair of naked breasts on the beach in Cannes. We explained that it was quite common for middle-age and elderly women to go topless at European beaches. However, anyone with breasts worth looking at usually kept them covered.
One lad sat in the sand a few feet from his mother tossing pebbles at her breasts, giggling with glee each time he scored a nipple bullseye. His mom, unfazed, continued dragging on her cigarette as the boy played.
An older gentleman on our right slept quietly on his back most of afternoon, ignoring the sunburn risk to his uncircumcised manhood through a threadbare, skintight banana-hammock.
Some of the best sights are a few steps away from the sand. We were waiting for the light to change at a crosswalk when an elderly couple pulled up on a motorcycle. The woman on back was clearly past 70. She was exceptionally trim; there wasn't an ounce of fat to support her sagging, wrinkled skin, tanned to a uniform golden bronze. Her wiry, bleach blond hair overflowed her helmet and her swollen, puffy lips had seriously depleted Cannes's otherwise abundant collagen reserves. But it was impossible not to stare at the enormous breasts on her tiny frame, pumped so full silicon that every wrinkle disappeared.
Maybe Europeans are more free spirited than Americans, or maybe I'm too self conscious, but I usually keep my shirt on and wear long baggy shorts at the beach. I'm not fond of looking at the layer fat that now protects my awesome abs from harm, and my once impressive pecs are rapidly becoming man-boobs. If I don't like seeing my body I'm quite certain that others would be similarly disturbed. I just wish some of them shared my sense of modesty.