My Swimming Trunks Have Been Sucked Off -

“Nicholas,” she said, in the calm, terrible voice she uses when I’ve done something wrong but she’s deciding whether to be amused or furious. “Where are your swimming trunks?”

Chloe swam in, shaking water from her ears. “Anyone want to go back out? The light is amazing.”

I was indeed squatting, a perfect catcher’s stance, hands clasped in front of me like a fig leaf woven by a desperate man. “Stretching. Important to stretch. Post-swim.” My Swimming Trunks Have Been Sucked Off

I felt the elastic waistband yank backward, then a strange, cool kiss around my thighs. I looked down just in time to see the bright blue fabric—featuring a cheerful pattern of cartoon pineapples—spiral away from my body like a startled squid. It vanished into the dark maw of the rock, sucked into the underworld.

There was a beat of silence. Then Mark let out a wheeze so loud it scared a seagull. Chloe fell over in the sand. And Elena—my wonderful, patient, slightly terrifying wife—simply closed her book, stood up, and walked to the rental car. She returned a moment later with a beach towel. “Nicholas,” she said, in the calm, terrible voice

I took a breath. “The Aegean Sea has claimed them as tribute.”

“And your wedding ring?”

Mark finally noticed me. He squinted. “Nick? Why are you the color of a tomato from the neck down? And where’s your… oh.”

The beach was small, curved like a comma, with a single scrubby olive tree at its far end. I began a slow, horizontal sidestroke, keeping my entire body below the surface except for my nose and eyes. I looked like a very anxious crocodile. Mark’s voice drifted across the water: “Dude, have you seen my flipper? I swear I left it right here.” The light is amazing