Summer Says

Summer Says come out and play.

She’s so hot—how can you resist her?

Summer says take off your shirt, it’s that kind of day, and you’re a guy, what have you got to lose?

But Summer doesn’t recognize safe-words.

You can’t rely on her to stop just ‘cause you ask nice, and sometimes by the time you know you’re going to have a problem, the damage is already done.

You wanted a tan.

Summer likes a man with a tan, she’ll let him in on the action.

Turns out, you have a hard time tanning—Summer isn’t fond of too-light skin.

Is that it, then?

You’re not even gonna try?

Too chickenshit?

Just gonna stay at home in the dark and nurse your precious skin, leave Summer to flirt out there with every other guy?

No!

So you slather on the cream that’ll let you face her and feel safe.

You venture forth.

There she is, all hot and bothered, having fun.

Girls, boys, everybody gets a piece of Summer.

“Come play with me,” she says. “Be friends.”

They roll and writhe and touch and kiss in the sun, brandishing their bare skin like weapons of love, the most elegant swordfighting dances.

So why don’t you have your shirt off?

You know what she likes, you know what she’s like, you’ve taken steps this time to protect yourself.

“Come play with us,” Summer Says.

But you don’t trust your arms.

You don’t trust yourself to keep up, not to get hurt, so you let Summer happen.

She’s going to do what she does, with or without you, until she changes her mind, so are you just going to sit back and watch all the boys and the girls making out with Summer?

You could join them, or you could slink back into your cave and wait to fall.