A few years ago I was walking along Nevsky Prospekt and peering into the faces of the elderly people walking towards me... On that day, poetry was born to me. It was as if my gaze itself was catching old people from the crowd. I have always felt a special feeling towards older people. This is not so much pity or compassion as a desire to somehow support them morally, to warm them up, to say kind word, thank you for doing so much for our prosperous life today.

My grandparents have been dead for a long time. Grandmother Natasha - on her mother's side - survived the occupation in the Stavropol region during World War II. She said that in the hungry years in winter it was happiness to find a mouse hole where the mouse collected a handful of grain. From this handful you could make a loaf of bread. Grandmother Anya, on her father’s side, was an anti-aircraft gunner during the war, shooting down Messerschmidts. She returned from the war shell-shocked, heard nothing and learned to read lips. Baba Anya played chess well and cooked fish. A Korean woman taught her how to cook during the war. I don’t remember my grandfather on my father’s side; he died young. Grandfather Vasya, my mother’s father, ended up in a concentration camp and was liberated by the French. Then he reached Berlin, was seriously wounded and celebrated Victory Day in a military hospital. Until the end of his life, he retained his fighting spirit and ineradicable sense of humor. Grandfather Vasya always found something to laugh and be happy about. When they were all gone, I felt orphaned, because I had a special spiritual connection with my grandmothers.

By the end of their lives, grandparents become softer, they stop rushing, running somewhere, and can focus on loving their grandchildren and communicating with them. This is probably why we often love our grandmothers so tenderly and deeply. In many of the grannies I meet in different cities, I see a reflection of Grandma Anya and Grandma Natasha. It saddens me to see how poor old people collect bottles, sell seeds and bouquets of flowers on the beaches under the scorching sun, barely moving their swollen legs. It costs all of us - strong, young, active - nothing to treat a grandmother or an old man to dinner, lunch, buy embroidered towels or knitted socks, scarves from them... Personally, I always try to buy flowers from grandmothers, and not from flower shops. I would like to save old people from having to stand heavily on their feet near the metro, in the middle of the crowd. I want them to sell everything quickly and go home. It pains me to think that some old people may never sell a single jar of cucumbers or a single handkerchief.

At the flea market near the Udelnaya metro station you can meet huge amount poor old women who
They laid out used things from the house on the ground: books, plates, electric lamps, cutlery - everything that they could bring. It seems to me that sometimes, instead of having dinner at a restaurant, you can buy at least something for this amount from your grandmothers. Then we will have more kindness, and they will suffer much less.

Grandmothers

I'm walking along Nevsky Prospekt,
Towards me, breathing fragility,
Everything is covered in wrinkles reaching out to the light,
Grandmothers with knapsacks are in a hurry.

Grandmothers! Everyone is wearing cotton handkerchiefs...
Grandmothers! Defenseless people!
You knit with double glasses on your knitting needles,
Your hands don't let you rest.

Grandmothers! Smile, grandmas!
Grandmothers! Smile for me!
Grandmothers! You are such sweethearts!

And in eyes faded from earthly losses,
And in the hands there is a sign of fatigue.
Autumn of life! Often you are not for two;
There is no one to support.

God! Give us a heart for grandmothers!
God! Calm our run.
God! On the way you put us
Memory: what is a short century.

The rain has ripened in the gray sky of St. Petersburg,
It suddenly poured out and took me by surprise.
The snow is melting at Vitebsky station,
There is a commotion among the grandmothers.

God! Give us compassion
In the eternal permafrost of our hearts.
God! That's the charm
On the last line of life.

Grandmothers! Smile, grandmas!
Grandmothers! Smile for me!
Grandmothers! You are such sweethearts!
You are all common in our common country.

Writer, poet, business coach Natalia Grace
www.stihi-greis.ru

(Events unfold in Tula from 1964-1994)

This erotic novel in 36 stories is written based on the diaries of Evgeniy Schwartz, who emigrated to Israel in early 1994. In this work, the names and surnames of the characters and specific places of individual historical actions have been changed, and the time of the unfolding events has been changed in some way. And the rest, I assure you, everything is pure and frank, the truth, although very bitter in some places, but...
At that distant time, the Tula settlement was not particularly different from other similar provincial Russian cities. He was not too religious, rather patriarchal traditions, with old habits and new ones that had arisen. young talents. And therefore, all these incredible events could happen in any corner of Russia, with any little boy, and subsequently with a young man, a man. But still, most of these stories happened directly in Tula and not with anyone, namely Zhenya Schwartz. Many adult men and women will probably remember similar incidents from their distant childhood and early youth. There will, of course, be orthodox readers who will pretend to be indignant and say that this has never happened to them and that, in essence, it cannot happen. But I just don’t believe them!
Please make yourself comfortable and get acquainted. This little boy name is Zhenya Schwartz. Five months ago he turned four years old. He lived with his mother and father in a working-class district of the city of Tula, in small house on Shtykova street, 51, in the courtyard. Zhenya huddled in his tiny walk-through room and slept on his new small single bed, which he had dreamed of for so long, because for several years before that he had slept on a homemade creaky wooden cot with the menacing name “goats”.
***
It was an ordinary early summer morning, and on the calendar it was the seventh of June 1964, Sunday. Through a sweet dream, Zhenya heard a not loud and not hasty conversation between Baba Mani and his mother.
“You can’t take him with you, he’s already big,” said the grandmother.
“The last time I was simply dumbfounded when I saw his eyes. The way he looked at me, I was even ashamed. He opened his little eyes, grabbed my crotch with them and looked and looked.
“Why are you mom, he’s still just a child, and how can he understand anything, it’s even funny,” answered Zhenya’s mother.
“But anyway, you don’t need to take him with you to the women’s bathhouse anymore,” Baba Manya insisted.
“Does he have a father?” she reasoned out loud.
“Yes,” the grandmother answered herself.
- Let Semyon take him with him men's sauna and takes it.
Zhenya had already completely forgotten the last time he went to the bathhouse with his mother and grandmother, but this involuntarily overheard conversation suddenly made his tenacious childhood memory return to one spring Sunday morning.
Zhenya stretched sweetly, turned over on his stomach and, half asleep, his vision swam vivid memories. In fact, it was so pleasant, pleasant, that I didn’t want to wake up. Zhenya remembered how he and his mother and grandmother washed themselves in the city bathhouse. How, having quickly undressed him first, his mother and grandmother were still undressing, sitting on the bench of the dressing room, and he ran to the door leading to the bathhouse itself, in order for the last time before it to draw as much cool air into his lungs as possible and burst into the unbearable heat.
Mom and grandmother, taking Zhenya by the hands, the three of them entered the roast and wet room. Thick clouds of steam walked like clouds driven strong wind. Cold drops of water falling from the ceiling onto the head and shoulders bit hard, like angry mosquitoes, filling the room of the common women's bathhouse with some kind of fabulously strange, rather mysterious atmosphere. Almost nothing was visible, only barely noticeable in the white steam, flickering naked bodies people. Mom and grandmother led Zhenya by the hand to the bath couch and, sitting him down, took the iron buckets and, filling them hot water, were the first to begin lathering themselves with thick, whipped white foam, like vanilla marshmallows. For some reason they had especially much of it in their armpits and lower abdomen. It hung in large pieces, like cotton wool, and reminded Zhenya of the beard of “Father Frost,” who came to congratulate him at home in New Year. From time to time, curly black hairs appeared through this cotton wool. Even then, Zhenya thought: “That’s great! You probably don’t need to wear panties; it’s so warm, and the wind won’t blow into your armpits when you’re racing around the yard on a bicycle!”
He even laughed and began to fidget on the couch.
“Sit still,” mother said, and her soapy hand besieged Zhenka.
Naked aunties and adult girls walked past them with gangs filled with hot water, and Zhenya saw their tits bouncing, swaying from side to side as they walked, splashing with droplets of water flying from their steamed tips. Zhenya sat on a stone trestle bed and rubbed his arms, legs and chest with a prickly washcloth and soap. He deliberately lathered a lot of foam on himself in order to somehow hide from two dozen curious eyes of the opposite sex, which, as it seemed to him, were doing nothing but just looking at him. Grandma stood in front of him and, squeezing some egg shampoo into her palm, cheerfully commanded:
“Quickly close your eyes, otherwise it will sting!” and, like a cat, she grabbed his head with both hands, rubbing the shampoo with hard fingers.
- Don’t you open your eyes? - asked the grandmother.
“No,” Zhenya answered.
“Now I’ll pour some warm water on you from the gang,” she explained. And the warm, pleasant water rolled heavily but quickly onto Zhenya’s head. Zhenya opened his eyes slightly, and wow... right in front of his nose, glistening, a hairy, curly, black, slightly triangular ball was trembling and moving slightly, from which a barely noticeable dark path of tiny hairs stretched up his plump tummy to his navel. It was a real grandma's squeak. So shaggy that Zhenya could barely see the darkening vertical fold running from the lower abdomen to the crotch. The hairs in it were especially thick, they were curled into small braids along which soap streams flowed like grooves, and droplets of water hung at the very ends. And this “grandmother’s miracle” ended with a fur comb, similar to grandma’s big comb, sticking out between her legs. He wrapped his light eyelashes into the left and right groin of his slightly tanned, smooth thighs. And the lateral black hairs of this “miracle” slightly reached the rounded bones of my grandmother’s forty-three-year-old, elastic, wide pelvis. Zhenya was numb. He had never seen anything like this before. He himself did not understand what attracted him so much.
“Well, hairs and hairs, what’s wrong with that,” thought Zhenya. But there was something in these hairs, braids, folds, comb and eyelashes that made Zhenya want to look and look at them, he wanted to stroke his grandmother’s pussy like a black fluffy kitten, and maybe even cuddle up to her and kiss her. But not like a pussy, but like a part of the body of his beloved grandmother or like a kitten, however, Zhenya did not dare to do this. He suddenly felt scared and his chest was bubbling.
His daze was interrupted by a new squall warm water from the gang and Zhenya breathed out a sigh of relief:
- Ugh…
- Isn't it hot? - asked the grandmother.
“No...” he said, stuttering slightly.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Zhenya answered.
“Stop looking at one point, “shy,” said Grandma Manya and turned Zhenya’s head away from her with her hand.
“Well, then, granddaughter, lie down on your tummy, on the trestle bed, now I’ll wash your back,” the grandmother informed. Zhenya lay down obediently on his stomach. His face was in front of his mother's back. Mom sat in front of him, rubbing her feet with a washcloth and talking to some girl. While soaping her heels and soles, she periodically leaned forward, and Zhenya’s gaze revealed a new miracle, a new mystery of the female naked body. At that moment, Zhenya did not perceive the person sitting with his back to him as his mother. It actually seemed to him that it was not his mother, but someone else’s aunt, and she didn’t notice him, that Zhenya was absolutely invisible.
- Zhenya thought to himself, “I should tell Shurka and Sanka about this, they’ll be jealous!”
Grandma, meanwhile, began to soap his back, butt, and legs. Moving closer to the head, Baba Manya carefully rubbed Zhenya’s neck and shoulders with a slippery, prickly washcloth. Near Zhenya’s right cheek, lightly touching it, two grandmother’s breasts swayed meatily. They were large and heavy, with a beautiful shape, as Zhenya thought. At their tips there were dark red circles, slightly smaller than the lid of a jar of shoe polish, with multiple small pimples, and in the middle of these circles stood two cherry-colored nipples, the size of a mother’s thimble. These tit nipples tickled his cheek every now and then, and one clung to the right nostril of Zhenya’s nose, while the tits swayed, hitting each other, slightly making a smacking wet sound. Droplets of water and fragrant grandmother's sweat collected on the swollen hot bath nipples and fell on Zhenya’s lips. He, licking them, licked away the taste baked milk with honey. Zhenya closed his eyes, opening his mouth slightly, and the left nipple slipped across his lips and tongue, leaving a feeling of elasticity and sweetness. Turning his head and resting his chin on the stone trestle bed, Zhenya began to look at his mother’s butt. Only now he saw that it was smooth and round, divided into two identical halves. On each of them she spontaneously moved left to right, back and forth, expelling small soap bubbles from under her.
“Wow,” Zhenya whispered and smiled. Mom leaned over once again forward, and a “mysterious creature” appeared before his childish eyes. This “creature” looked like a large river shell with two doors, the kind Zhenya found in the flood lakes of the Oka River last summer, when he and his parents went to pick mushrooms near the city of Aleksin.
“Exactly, it was a shell,” he decided, only it was all overgrown with curled hair, and a small finger stuck out between two large swollen flaps.
“Yeah, that means my mother’s pussy is growing, just like mine, but it’s still very small,” thought Zhenya.
“Turn over on your back,” said the grandmother, and Zhenya turned over. His pussy began to brazenly stick out upward, like a young acorn, resting on two unripe peas, and looked like a funny addition next to feminine forms mothers and grandmothers. Baba Manya turned her back to Zhenka and, leaning forward, began to wash his feet with a washcloth. Zhenya fixed his eyes on his grandmother’s butt. She was more like my mother's. Her well-fed buns, like little humps, rose slightly to her waist, and her entire butt resembled two down pillows. Two flat furry wings stuck out from the lower part of its halves, firmly stuck to the damp thighs, between which, shamelessly, a crescent rolled out two hairy bagels of a buttery color. And everything that was previously covered in front by a fur comb was now open for Zhenya close up, turned at different angles. The hairy, ruddy donuts ended right next to the very hole of the butt, which was lightly covered with dark plush fluff around it. Zhenya turned his gaze to his grandmother’s boobs. Squeezing into the circle of Zhenya’s legs, together with the washcloth they dragged them back and forth, rubbing them until they shine, pressing pleasantly, knocking Zhenya’s knees with their thimble nipples. Then they dragged two heavy weights over Zhenya’s protruding acorn. Zhenya shouted:
“It’s ticklish!” and he laughed.
“Well, then everything else is mine,” said Grandma Manya and went towards the shower stalls.
The hot steam sank so low that the bodies of people were visible only up to the waist. And Zhenya looked after his departing grandmother, admiring how she walked, wagging her round, steamy butt.
“Mom, let me wash your back!” Zhenya said cheerfully.
“Wash it,” my mother answered and lay down on her stomach. Zhenya took a washcloth. He began to slowly move along the back, simultaneously touching his mother’s hot figure with all his fingers. The hand walked along the sides of the body, bending around the protruding balls of the half-covered hard tits, jumped over the halves of the rounded butt, slightly touching the pliable lamb hairs sticking out guiltily from the inside of the meat buns pushed together. Zhenya really liked it. He washed the washcloth again in the gang and ran it over his butt again, thereby washing away all the foam from the beautiful hairs and saw how they twisted into crazy hair spirals, experiencing something shy and proud.
“Thank you,” said mom, sitting down in her original place. Zhenya looked at the showers. From the thick swirling steam, his legs came toward him, then the lower half of his grandmother. She carried her body lightly, the black cocked hat of the squeak, with the edges of a double-sided comb, grabbed one and then the other thigh. Still flowing streams of water furrowed her resinous hairy pussy; when she walked, she moved as if alive, quickly approaching Zhenya’s face, becoming larger, larger and larger. She touched her nose and gently hit her forehead, lips, cheeks!
“Oh!” the grandmother screamed.
“You can’t see anything in such a fog!” she continued.
- Zhenya, did I hurt you?
“No, grandma,” he said affectionately.
- And I was singing and dancing in my soul. He kissed “grandmother’s miracle.”
“Hurray!” Zhenya shouted silently.
*
“Zhenya, Zhenya, son... get up,” my mother sang quietly in her ear.
- It's already morning. Get ready to go to the bathhouse with dad, otherwise you’ve become dirty like piglets,” she added.
- Will you and grandma wash with us? - asked Zhenya.
- No, son, grandma and I will wash separately. And after kissing him on the forehead, mother and grandmother walked out the door.
“That’s great,” Zhenya shouted and got out of bed.
City bathhouse No. 1 was not far from their house, so Zhenya and his father went on foot. They walked along Arsenalnaya, then Komsomolskaya streets, past “Bread Factory No. 3” and came to the intersection of Maxim Gorky and Oktyabrskaya streets. A large steamship, emitting white steam, stood on a hillock, between dilapidated houses, a city bathhouse.
“Finally, I’ll wash with the men,” thought Zhenya, holding his father’s hand and skipping along beside him, trying to keep up.
They went straight to the second floor of the bathhouse. My father was met by an uncle in a white robe. Dad told him:
- Hello Uncle Vanya!
“Hello,” Uncle Vanya answered dryly. His father gave him 20 kopecks for two, it was half the price of the tickets, and Uncle Vanya escorted them to the shower.
“Hurray,” Zhenya shouted, running into a separate shower room. It was clean and cozy there, just him and dad.
Zhenya was washing himself in the shower, and out of the corner of his eye he examined his father’s pussy. It was long and thick, like a large sausage, open and you could see a round head with a hole in the center. Dense black jungle grew around the “sausage”, and on the sides of it dangled, namely, two huge testicles, with sparse hair like springs. Zhenya examined his pussy and thought:
“I wish it would grow up to be as big as my dad’s.” Then I would definitely show it to my mother and grandmother, they would definitely like it.
“Eh-heh-heh,” Zhenya said as he exhaled.
When their mother arrived home, she met them and, smiling, asked Zhenya:
- Have my pink piglets washed themselves?
“Yes!” answered Zhenya.
“Well, then let’s have tea with gingerbread,” she said and went to put the samovar in the kitchen. Zhenya ran after her and, lowering his head, quietly asked: “Mom, why don’t you have a pussy like dad and I?” Mom looked at him, laughed for a long time, and then answered:
- A long, long time ago, when I was a little girl, I also had a pussy. But one summer, it was very hot, I didn’t listen to my mom and didn’t put on panties. So, she was running past large dog, bit off my pussy!
“Really?” Zhenya asked in surprise and fear.
- And grandma’s too?
“And at grandma’s,” my mother repeated, laughing.
“Mom, I will never walk without panties,” Zhenya assured.
“That’s good,” said mom.
And the four of them drank hot, aromatic tea with gingerbread, and Zhenya was very happy that he had such good ones: mom, dad and grandmother.

Being a young grandmother is quite unusual. Often such grandmothers were very young mothers at one time. Let's learn about the young grandmothers of Brazil and who was the youngest grandmother in history.

The youngest grandmother in history

The name of the youngest grandmother in history is Mum-zi. She was born in Nigeria in 1884. At eight years and four months, the girl became a mother, giving birth to a daughter. The same one, also gave birth extremely early. At that time she was eight years and eight months old. Thus, Mum-zi became a grandmother at just seventeen.

This sounds incredible, but it turns out that when Mum-zi’s peers were preparing for prom, she was already raising her grandson.

Young grandmothers of Brazil

Deserve special attention young grandmothers of Brazil. In this country there is a special beauty contest for them. Women who take part in it cannot even be said to be grandmothers. The age of the participants is from forty years. The competition is called "Abuela". It’s amazing how these beautiful women look and how they take care of themselves. They can be a great example of what grandmothers can look like.

Young grandmothers are made by young mothers

To become a young grandmother, you must first become a young mother. Every girl who becomes a mother at a young age can in the future claim the title of a young grandmother, if her child continues the tradition she started. According to the site, the youngest mother in medical history is a native of Peru, Lina Medina. When she gave birth, she was not even 6 years old. There is detailed information on our website.

Young grandmothers often boast of their age. Children of young parents are usually glad that they can communicate with them as with friends, in the same language. Young grandmothers are full of strength and enthusiasm, caring for children is still close in their memory, the problems of a young mother are clear, so such grandmothers often become the first assistants to their children who became parents early.

The opposite situation also happens. Having become a young grandmother, a woman does not think that she should mature age dedicate herself to her grandchildren, she has her own goals. They often motivate this by the fact that they have already put the child on his feet and can now only take care of his own life. Sometimes the word “young” is not emphasized at all, and young grandmothers do not make a problem out of the fact that they are now grandmothers. These women simply proceed from the situation in the family at the time of the birth of their grandson.

Psychologists advise young grandmothers not to worry about the fact that diapers will appear in the family again and so early, worries about small child, I will have to get up at night again. It is important to remember that, first of all, a newborn is not your child, but the child of your daughter or son. After all, children should also succeed, and there is no need to resist this. The task of a young grandmother, according to experts, is to be herself, adore her grandchildren and get a lot of positive emotions from communicating with the little new family member. It is important to remember that it is not a matter of age, the main thing is the state of a young and cheerful soul.

The youngest grandmother in the world

Rifka Stanescu received the title of the youngest grandmother in the world. At the age of eleven, she ran away from home to her lover. The young man was only thirteen years old - this is Ionel Stanescu. They got married. Rifka became pregnant and at twelve already became a mother, giving birth to a girl. She named her daughter Maria. A year later, her son Nikolai was born.

When Maria grew up, she decided to follow the example of her mother. At eleven she became pregnant, at twelve she gave birth to a boy. He was named Ion. Rifka’s daughter did not graduate from school, which is why the young mother was worried, wanting a different fate for her daughter. According to the youngest grandmother, she would like her daughter to achieve something more in life than just motherhood.

Rifka became the grandmother of little Jon at the age of twenty-three. She says she is happy to be a grandmother. The whole family lives in the Roma community. Such early marriages are not uncommon there. The gypsies have such traditions. It is surprising that when Jonah was only two years old, he was betrothed to a girl who was eight years old at that time. If they marry and have a child at a young age, Rifka may well become the youngest great-grandmother.

Rifka said that when she was two years old, she was already engaged, but at eleven she fell in love with her future husband, to whom she ran away, contrary to the engagement and the will of her parents. The girl’s young husband, at thirteen, was already working as a jewelry salesman.

The thing is that in the culture of gypsies, virginity is highly valued. Having spent her first night with Ionel, she, one might say, “put an end to” her engagement to another young man. The parents had to break the agreement and marry their daughter to Stanescu. At first, Rifka's father attacked his future son-in-law with a knife out of indignation. After a while the relationship improved. When Ionel and Rifka's first child was born, the family young man paid the dowry to Rifka's parents in full. Thus the conflict was settled.

It is known that until recently the record belonged to another young grandmother. She is from the UK and became a grandmother at twenty-six. There is a woman in America who became a grandmother at twenty-eight. She became a mother at thirteen, and her daughter gave birth to a child at fourteen.
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Thus, in the course of a study, scientists at the University of Massachusetts found that between the ages of 50 and 65, most women experience a decline in sexual activity or completely cease to be interested in sex. But after 70 years, ladies experience a real rebirth.

ON THE TOPIC

Scientists have found that at this very advanced age, old women stop thinking about knitting and grandchildren and begin to become increasingly interested in intimacy. Thus, during the survey, more than 50% of respondents over the age of 70 admitted that sex is a very significant aspect of their lives.

At the same time, among women whose age is in the range of 55-69 years, only 43% are interested in intimate life. Scientists believe that the increase in libido is explained by the fact that in old age women are no longer burdened with worries about their career or family.

In addition, there is no risk of getting pregnant. Therefore, ladies focus on their own pleasures. After the bold statement of scientists, men will certainly begin to pay closer attention to old women who were previously unfairly ignored.

At the same time, scientists have found that lonely old women are the most active in sex - that is, those who do not have a partner or whose spouse is no longer capable of sexual intercourse due to age.

However, as sexologist Oleg Shevchenko notes, such scientific discoveries may negatively affect a person. "There is a need to meet the standards stated by others. In other words, if everyone around says that they are actively sex life in old age, then a particular person who is not capable of such actions and does not feel the need for them will feel a certain inferiority." - Moskovsky Komsomolets quotes the expert.

The sexologist emphasizes that the age of sexual activity is a very individual concept. Therefore, you should not risk your health and, for the sake of stereotypes, try to increase libido in some unnatural way - for example, with medication.

What is grandmother usually associated with? Hot soup, pies and long skirts to the floor? But this doesn't always happen. There are grandmothers who break these stereotypes...

There is Miss World, or Mrs. World, but did you know that grandmothers also have their own beauty pageant? It's called "Grandma Universe". Every year, a competent jury selects the most beautiful grandmother.

In 2014, the winner was 44-year-old Cynthia Ong from Malaysia. Despite her relatively young age to participate in the competition, she is already “officially a grandmother.” She has four children and one grandson.

In 2013, the winner of the competition was a contestant from Guatemala. Active grandmother and mother. Four children and as many as 5 grandchildren! In addition to her favorite activities, dancing and taking care of the house, my grandmother devotes a lot of time to work - she has her own driving school.

Still very interesting competition takes place in Brazil. The sexiest grannies gather here every year. There are gatherings that would make twenty-year-olds ready to soap up a rope or run to the gym.

Maitre from Brazil is 46 years old, the youngest participant and already a grandmother.

Samantha is 51 and is in no way inferior to her daughters.

Patricia is 54 and one of the hottest contestants.

Grandmothers break stereotypes and say that a grandmother’s age or status is not a problem. A woman can look the way she wants. And if she wants to be herself at 57 beautiful woman in a bikini on the beach, there are no obstacles to this.