A timely treatise on tan lines

This week, my buddy Secret Spanko wrote a blog about tan lines and how appealing they look on spankees. He included several pretty pictures and linked to several other bloggers who had written about the same topic. Check him out, and give him some love, will ya?

Lest you think I'm writing this to pick on or piggyback upon my pal, rest assured -- this post was his suggestion. :-)

I've lived in California all my life; I understand the appeal of a suntan. I grew up in the Coppertone and Johnson's Baby Oil era. No one talked about SPFs or skin cancer; getting a tan was the holy grail, as it made us look young, sexy and healthy. Alas, while I didn't inherit my mother's red hair, I got her redhead's fair skin, and all I did was burn and freckle, pretty much remaining pasty white. However, I did have a few tan summers in my late teens/early 20s, as I was working evenings and spent days by the apartment pool. So I was happy to finally have that golden California glow.

I didn't know any better. But my younger spanko sisters? You do.

Honestly, I understand the appeal of tan lines. Years ago when self-tanner came onto the market, I was overjoyed. Granted, the early self-tanners were gross -- they smelled awful and they made your skin orange-y. But they gradually improved and now, I can get a pretty decent tan via Jergen's Natural Glow. And when I do, I leave my panties on so I can have a little bit of tan line myself.

And here's a classic tan-lines shot:

Very sexy indeed. But here's something that definitely isn't:

Yup, that's my forearm. Never mind that it's covered with sun/agespots (I could call them freckles, but I wouldn't be kidding anyone). See that big white scar? That's skin cancer, kiddies. Squamous cell carcinoma. Not as lethal as melanoma, but still potentially dangerous.

So I had it burned off. Ever smell your own skin burning? It's grotesque.

I'm not telling you guys to completely avoid the sun; I know that's unlikely. But please, please use sunscreen. There are so many good ones now. And for God's sake, don't use tanning booths. Ever. Under any circumstance. Respect your beautiful skin and don't nuke it.

Next time anyone tells you you'd look sexier with a tan, ask them if they think skin cancer is sexy.

OK, just so I don't end on such a morbid note, I'll share a funny tan line story. When I was 18 and working at the fast-food place, I hated the days when the store supervisor would visit. Jerry was an "older man" (30) and a lech to end all leches. He'd watch us girls, leering at us, making comments, blocking our way as we tried to pass him. If someone like him existed in today's work climate, he'd be buried in sexual harassment lawsuits.

One day, I was wiping the tables in the dining room. Jerry and our manager Mike were sitting there eating, watching me, laughing and whispering. Ugh, I thought. I'm in for it now. Sure enough, Jerry called me over.

"Hey, Erica," he smirked, giving me the up-and-down look. "You've got a nice tan there. Been sunbathing?" I said thank you, yes, I have.

He and Mike exchanged a glance, and Mike snickered. "Bet you have some nice tan lines, huh?" Jerry said.

"Yeah, I guess I do," I smiled.

"Mmmmmm," Jerry sneered. "I'd sure like to see 'em."

OK, you bastard. Two can play at this game. I beamed at him. "Would you like to see one right now?"

I watched both their jaws drop. "Sure!"

I leaned over the table, stuck my arm in front of him, and slowly pulled my watch up my arm, revealing the white stripe on my wrist. "There you go."

They were speechless. I smiled triumphantly and went back to my cleaning. :-)

Have a great weekend, y'all.