Wanderlino
Arruda
Once
more,
summer
comes
rolling
around
again,
and
with
it,
the
scintillating
universe
of
young,
golden
female
flesh
languidly
lounging
along
sparkling
pool-sides
and
sizzling
beaches.
Perhaps
this
is
no
surprise
to
you,
being
that
each
and
every
year
does
have
its
own
December,
and
each
December
has
its
own
days
of
sun
and
sweltering
heat.
But,
it
just
so
happens
that
in
this
God-given
year
of
nineteen
hundred
eighty-four,
there
is
an
abundance
of
marvelous
new
views
and
angles
of
sensual
square
centimeters
on
display,
in
both
hemispheres
of
the
fair,
sex
as
my
friend
Simeao
would
say.
The
swimsuits,
my
friend,
have
become
so
small,
almost
transparent,
sheer,
bordering
on
inexistence,
discovered
by
Cabral,
a
Portuguese
of
high
standing.
Here,
and
in
every
part
of
this
delectable
country
found
by
an
admiral
on
his
way
to
discover
as
indias.
The
indian
women
or
women
of
India?
And
this,
since
1500,
and
with
nudity
not
always
being
punished…
The
news
comes
to
us
from
North
and
South,
all
up
and
down
our
exuberant
coast.
Never
has
there
been
as
much
live,
outdoor,
outright,
open-air
femininity
exposed,
quite
natural
and
with
style,
as
befits
they
whom,
with
fresh
blushing
youth,
parade
their
beauty
to
delirium.
Bets
placed
since
the
beginning
of
the
month,
salty
or
sweet,
hot,
as
riveting
to
the
eyes
as
the
sun,
turning
the
young
men’s
heads
and
leaving
hearts
smoldering.
You
wouldn’t
even
need
to
hear
of
similar
news
from
the
outside
world
because,
right
here
at
home,
visions
of
loveliness
enchant
our
eyes
as
far
as
can
be
seen.
What
a
light-year
leap
from
the
one-piece
turtleneck
swimsuits
and
ribbons
around
the
knees
of
our
grandmothers!…How
much
more
relaxed
are
the
beauties
who
look
well
in
and
know
how
to
walk
in
these
latest
tidbits.
They
say
that
the
real
color
of
summer
is
the
color
of
skin,
golden
tones
covering
the
entire
body,
in
a
daring
exhibition
and
investment
toward
seduction,
complete
and
bludgeoning,
abiding
and
abetting.
They
say
that
the
time
of
summer
is
like
the
time
of
no
other
season,
sprinkled
with
liberty,
full
of
holidays
and
vacations,
X-mas
time,
traveling,
free
time
galore.
Summer,
when
the
temperature
goes
up
and
the
pressure
climbs
to
maximum
by
the
ticking
of
the
clock
and
the
expectation
of
the
coming
New
Year
and
what
it
promises.
Now,
this
scorching
December,
something
new
is
up.
There’s
a
renewed
esthetic
sense.
Just
pure,
sleek
elegance
because
fat
can
no
longer
be
tolerated,
nothing
of
cellulite
or
slights
to
the
roving
masculine
eye.
From
Bahia
to
Rio
de
Janeiro,
from
a
thousand
beaches
come
new
names
for
the
pieces
of
cloth
which
will
be
used
to
cover
the
pubic
areas
which
are
quickly
turning
public:the
mini-curtain,
the
roll-up,
the
bikini
plug,
the
lightning…Lightning,
because
it’s
just
a
thin
streak…whoever
wants
to
use
them
has
to
be
able
to
look
real
natural
in
them,
personalize
them
as
much
as
possible.
This
gives
it
the
cadence
and
the
swing
of
Ipanema
or
Itapoa.
And
do
you
really
think
that
any
of
this
is
new?
Pero
Vaz
de
Gamma,
when
writing
to
the
king,
Dom
Manuel
de
Cabral,
shows
the
success
of
this
primal
fashion
modeling
when
he
wrote
“that
among
all
that
came,
there
was
only
one
woman,
an
indian
girl,
that
always
came
to
mass,
and
to
whom
they
gave
a
sheet
with
which
to
cover
herself
in
church.
She
would
wrap
it
around
her
but
always
when
she
sat
down,
she
wouldn’t
remember
to
arrange
the
folds
to
keep
herself
covered.
In
this
way,
Sir,
the
innocence
of
these
people
is
such
that
the
innocence
of
Adam
would
not
be
any
greater
in
comparison.”
In
truth,
the
Admiral
didn’t
actually
have
anything
new
to
discover
at
all…Not
even
if
it
were
today,
his
ships
arriving
and
making
port
at
Copacabana
or
in
Camboriu…or
even
here
in
the
pools
of
Figueira…
