When a shy student decides to spend a summer on the Spanish Mediterranean coast, he has no idea of the life-changing adventure that awaits. For years Adam has denied his true yearnings, until a visit to a gay-friendly nudist beach inspires him to act on his naked impulses.//Slowly his mind is coaxed open to a world of new pleasures, in the experienced hands of the uninhibited hunks that frequent the cruising zone beyond the palms-a place where nothing is taboo.
As Adam learns to embrace his sexuality, he develops intense feelings for the enigmatic Javier, a young man with a secret of his own. Infatuated by his friends smouldering allure and striking Latin looks, Adam falls recklessly in love. As passions flare over the course of a long, sultry summer, both men must risk it all, if they are to satisfy their deepest desires.
The moment I turned onto the sandy trail that led to the beach, I felt a heady mixture of trepidation and exhilaration. A frisson of excitement ran through my whole body. I’d never been to a nudist beach before, and had no idea what to expect when I got there. The notion of wandering across golden sands as nature intended, was a long-held dream of mine. Furthermore, I was intrigued by the proposition of being naked in the company of my fellow man. I’d fantasized about what that might be like, since I first discovered that Almeria was home to several clothing-optional beaches.
In truth, the promise of warm weather and sandy beaches played a significant role in my decision to relocate to the tropical coast of Spain. After an acrimonious split with my ex-girlfriend, and being diagnosed as bipolar (the two were not related), I’d felt the need for a long, extended break from my life back in Britain. I’d spotted a note pinned to the student notice board at my college, advertising teaching positions for those willing to teach English as a foreign language. The notion of spending three months in a country with a different culture and language, appealed greatly to my sense of adventure. It was the very definition of a clean break from my old life.
At its end, the tree-lined trail opened out on to the sandy shore, and I caught my first sight of the cool blue Mediterranean Sea. My heart began to beat rapidly in my chest. “Relax, Adam,” I reminded myself. I took a deep breath and steadied my last-minute nerves, then popped the buttons on my short-sleeved shirt and turned onto the beach. I took a brief pause to take in the scene. The long golden beach stretched out over half-a-mile in length, flanked by dunes on one side and the pristine waters of the Mediterranean on the other. Slight wispy clouds stretched across the azure sky above and the sun shone brightly, lending the scene a picture-postcard aspect.
For some reason, perhaps through ignorance, I expected to be greeted by a vast tapestry of flesh. Instead, I noted that the nearest person was at least twenty yards from my position. I carefully folded my shirt and placed it neatly in my knapsack. In the distance, I was able to distinguish naked forms emerging from the azure water. I ignored the sweat bead that ran down my neck and continued toward them with legs a-tremble.
I passed a couple of clothed walkers and experienced fresh doubts as to whether I possessed the resolve required to strip off completely in front of strangers. My pace slowed, considerably.
To my left a middle-aged man lay stretched out on a towel with his fat flaccid member rested at an angle against his left thigh. He lay out unabashed basking in the strong midday sun. The man heard my approach and raised his head to afford me a deliberate appraisal. It felt quite surreal to have a naked man check me out. I felt my face flush and turned my head toward the sea to conceal my crimson cheeks, and moved swiftly along.
My eyes ascertained more nude people lounging on towels, and sitting on deck-chairs under faded parasols. Felling more than a little self-conscious, I walked by and gave them quick surreptitious glances. Most were middle-aged couples, mainly European tourists, with leathery, mahogany tans content to let it all hang out. I noticed how relaxed and confident they appeared and began to feel more at ease.
The heavy feeling in my legs became noticeable and impressed upon my mind the need to rest. Though there was plenty of space nearby, I was not inclined to bare myself in front of couples of a similar age to my parents. Against the wishes of my tired limbs I continued further down the beach, to where there appeared to be an exclusive male patronage. I figured that I would feel more comfortable disrobing, if I was in the company of my own gender.
Judging by the all-over tans on show, and the few quizzical looks my eighteen year-old, pastel form received, one had to assume that I was the only novice there. I glanced around at all the big, brawny bodies on display, and then down at my own smooth chest and waif-like frame. I began to feel slightly self-conscious again, and hastily located a spot that left a comfortable space between me and those nearby. I unfolded the tacky beach towel with the sail-boat motif that I had brought with me from back home and spread it out evenly, before sitting down.
Three metres away, a couple of thirty-something men lay prostrate, no doubt hoping the sallow skin of their buttocks would colour like the rest of their bronzed bodies.
Further to my left, an attractive man with way-ward hair stood by an easel and committed a scene to canvas. He looked over at me and I had a fleeting romantic notion that he might render my form on canvas.
Feeling sufficiently emboldened, I opened the buttons on my three-quarter length fatigues and proceeded to let them fall down my slender thighs and slip over my knees. As I had gone without underwear, all that remained was to kick both fatigues and flip-flops off and I was stark naked. In an instant, I felt overcome by a wave of giddy exhilaration and needed to be seated.
The sublime sensation of the warm sunbeams that kissed my thighs and genitalia was invigorating. To experience the warm air wash over my nude form felt totally liberating. It was a feeling of complete freedom, the like of which I have never experienced before. I gazed out on the blue horizon, as my body acclimatized to the novel sensation. Slowly, I parted my legs, and let the sun’s rays caress my inner thighs. A smile formed on my lips. I felt truly emancipated.
I glanced around to see if my fellow sun worshippers were experiencing a similar sense of wonderment. One of the sun-bathers nearby had been following my movements with interest. He smiled at me, then turned and said something to his partner. The other man raised his head and glanced in my direction. Had they spotted a newbie? Acutely aware of my nudity I clipped my thighs tightly together, which caused both men to smile. Feeling more than a little flustered, I lay back down and stretched out on the towel. I shut my eyes and tried to get comfortable.
The intense noon sun caused sweat droplets to quickly form on most parts of my bare body. My heart beat rapidly in my chest whilst I wallowed in the open sauna. For a few blissful moments I lost all sense of perspective.
It was not long before I regained my senses. The heat was undeniable and it registered that I had not applied any sun-protection in hours. Upon sitting up, sweat beads that had accumulated on my chest raced toward my navel. I savoured the ticklish sensation when they continued on their downward ascent and trickled between the tops of my inner thighs.
When I could endure that exquisite feeling no longer, I stretched across and retrieved a bottle of sun-tan lotion from the bag. I stood up and poured some of the oily fluid onto my palms and began liberally applying the liquid to my chest. I repeated the process on my arms and neck, before I noticed that the well-formed painter had torn his eyes away from his work and was watching my every move with great interest. In a swift motion I spun around and turned my back to him, and took a moment to compose myself.
A certain sense of naughty playfulness took hold. I filled my palms with more lotion, and reached around to the small of my back and massaged the greasy substance into my soft skin. I cocked out my ripe bottom and began to run my palms over my cheeks in a deliberate caressing manner.
I glanced back, half-expecting to find that the painter had returned to his work.
I was stunned to see him stood watching me, with his arms akimbo, and unashamedly sporting an erection. He didn’t seem to care that his thick rod was visible to the few patrons close by. I was unprepared for such a reaction and stood stock still with mouth agape. Even though I was mildly shocked by his manifest enthusiasm, I found it hard to ignore. It was at that point I realised, that we were both leering. I felt a slight stirring in my loins and quickly sat back down so as to avoid any potential embarrassment. Clearly, I had become titillated by my own erotic performance, and the striking effect it had garnered from its target audience.
I lay back down on the towel and reviewed my racy display in my head. I was embarrassed by my sudden bout of uncommonly frisky behaviour. Though I was forced to admit that the whole episode had turned me on. I was quick to attribute my arousal to being the result of the adventurous thrill and no more, though with little conviction. I rolled over onto my stomach and rested my head on my folded arms. The sun kissed my pallid cheeks, whilst my mind continued to assimilate what had just occurred.
The following hour was spent lounging on the beach soaking up the powerful sun and that served to substantially increase my fatigue and I wondered, how long a London boy, unaccustomed to the sun as I was, could take the fierce heat.
I sat up straight, then slowly got to my feet, feeling slightly light-headed from the exertion. I picked up the two-litre plastic water bottle and hurriedly unscrewed the cap. I put the bottle to my lips and drank several large gulps, before emitting a long satisfied sigh. I gave the area a sweeping glance but was unable to see the painter anywhere.
With my thirst sated, I replaced the bottle in the bag. When I glanced up, a glorious vision captured my full attention. An athletic guy in his early twenties strode confidently across the sand like a Greek god. With a foppish fringe that swung with each stride and a chiselled jaw, he possessed a rare beauty that made my heart pound. I allowed my eyes to drift over his lithely tanned, toned physique and glide over his ripped stomach and strong muscular legs. Finally, his forbidden fruit came into sharp focus. It was almost hypnotic to watch his member gently slap against those thick thighs with every step he took. His pubic region was neatly trimmed so as not to deflect any attention from his beautiful organ. A rush of blood shot uncontrollably through my groin, which ensured an automatic state of arousal. I glanced down at my stiff sex in mild surprise. For a brief moment I was unsure what to do.
In a panic, I dropped to my knees and lay flat on my stomach. My erection showed no signs of dissipating and was at this stage, trapped at a painful angle. Raising myself slightly up off the towel, my right hand slid under my body and repositioned my protrusion until it was pressed, pulsating against my stomach. With my head rested at an angle on my folded arms, it was easy to watch the beautiful stranger as he passed, my eyes trailing after him, though it made my desire harder to control. His ass could have been sculpted by Michelangelo himself so perfect was its composition.
It took a couple of minutes and all my will-power to curb my enthusiasm. However, it left me with some heavy thoughts to ponder. I was aware of my gay tendencies, but had never acted on them. I considered myself to be a bi-sexual man who’d never had a homosexual experience. Around my neighbourhood bi-sexuality was not a topic one willingly brought up in conversation down the local pub. Though I had often wondered what it might be like with another man, I was terrified to pursue the matter. An awkward drunken fumble with a close friend was the nearest that I had ever come to being intimate with another member of my own gender.
My mind had always been innately inquisitive and I was intrigued by how strongly I had reacted to the sight of the beach Adonis. With a slight feeling of apprehension, I abandoned the safety of my towel and cut a path between the other naked male sun-bathers. Suddenly, it became patently obvious why there were no women at this end of the strand. I did a double-take when I spotted the small rainbow coloured flag, that billowed above a sign reminding patrons that they had entered a clothing-optional area. The mile-length shore was divided into three distinct beaches and the section of beach I had chosen to sun-bathe on, had been designated as gay-friendly.
I smiled at my naivety. It was so typical of me to be slow on the up-take. Before I had time to ponder the significance of my being at a gay nudist beach, I spotted the striking stranger that had piqued my interest. He sat alone, perched atop of the jagged rocks at the end of the shore, with his smooth glistening body proudly on display. As before, my manhood was not shy about expressing its appreciation, the moment my gaze settled on his beautiful nude body.
The handsome stranger looked my way and a smile crossed his lips, before he returned his gaze to the blue horizon.
Embarrassed that another man had borne witness to my manifestation of lust, I sought refuge in the cold cloaking water of the sea. The sudden exposure to the cool temperature of the water quickly quelled the burning fire in my loins.
I treaded water for a while and let the implications of what had transpired sink in. With a growing sense of confusion, I departed the safety of the Mediterranean and made my way with haste back to my towel. I gathered together my sundries and slung my knapsack over my shoulder. It had been an interesting day and had left me with plenty to ponder.
I looked back over my shoulder and gazed at the beautiful scene behind me. My intuition told me that I’d be back before too long. And who knew, maybe I might finally get to experience that which hitherto I had only ever dared to dream about.
I woke up, got dressed and went downstairs. Señorita Vasquez, the lady of the house, was in the kitchen and had prepared all the ingredients for a traditional Galician stew for the night’s dinner in a large saucepan. She was a short, plump woman with raven-black, tight-cut, curly hair. When she smiled, her whole countenance lit up, and she had a raspy laugh that was infectious. The kindly woman had gone out of her way to make me feel welcome in her home since my arrival three days prior. I had agreed to stay in her home with free room and board for the duration of the summer. In exchange I was to tutor her son, Javier, with his English. He was nineteen and attended a law course at a university in Madrid. He had been expected home the week prior to my arrival but he was forced to re-take a final exam, which had significantly delayed his return home.
“Buenos Dias, Adam.” The lady of the house said with customary cheer. “¿Que tal?”
“Bien graçias, Señorita Vasquez.” I replied in my best Spanish accent. Spanish had been a subject at my comprehensive school and I managed to retain a basic knowledge of the language.
Señorita Vasquez informed me that she was set to leave for the city soon and would not be returning until much later that afternoon. I was encouraged to eat any of the food in the fridge that I so desired, and to treat her house as if it were my own. I thanked her and told her that I was not that hungry, and planned on taking a walk to work up an appetite. When I turned to leave Señorita Vasquez reminded me once again, that her son was due to arrive home sometime late that afternoon. I thanked Señorita Vasquez for her hospitality, and collected the spare key off the kitchen-table.
I decided to make the most of the good weather and partook of a morning stroll around the citrus groves in the adjoining countryside. I loved the beautiful medley of oranges, lemons and limes that hung from the ugly spindly branches. The rural Almerian countryside was a world away from the hustle and bustle of life back in London. Here one could breathe in the fresh clean air, whilst marvelling at the crystal clear azure sky. And of course, being that we were in a Mediterranean climate, the temperature was almost always in the mid-to-high-eighties.
Sufficiently tired-out from a brisk forty-five-minute walk, I returned to Señorita Vasquez’s quaint farm-house, built in the traditional style of a Spanish hacienda. The white-washed villa was more than a hundred years old, complete with a large veranda that the lady of the house had decorated with many potted and hanging plants. The rustic ambience was marred somewhat by the appearance of two sun-bleached, rusted deck-chairs on the porch.
I went inside and made straight for the small, sparsely furnished, immaculately kept guest-room, where I flopped out on the double-bed with it’s hard mattress. The toughness of the mattress did little to detract from the sense of relaxation. A gentle breeze wafted through-out the room and I shut my heavy eyelids, and fell into a light sleep.
§ § §
I awoke shortly after noon, and got out of bed. With a loud, prolonged yawn, I stretched out my arms and quickly removed the cotton tee-shirt that had, by that stage, stuck to my skin. The checked shorts soon joined my shirt in a pile on top of the closed suitcase, in the corner of the bedroom. I stood by the foot of the bed and allowed the fresh breeze from the open window blow over my bare body. The tingling sensations it invoked were delightful. With the wonderful wave of warmth that permeated the room, I could truly appreciate the joy of being naked.
I popped in the ear-phones of my iPod and flicked through the tracks, until I found a Shakira number that I liked. The music started up and I started to dance. I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror and moved in for a closer inspection.
My lithe limbs showed the beginning of what I hoped would blossom into a nice light tan. Maybe it was a result of all that walking in the Spanish heat, but my ass seemed tauter than normal. I turned to the side and ran my hand over the delicate curve of my cheek and pouted at my reflection. A recollection of my impromptu performance for the painter’s benefit entered my mind and I quickly straightened up.
I caught the scent of my musky body odour in my nostrils and made an informed decision to take a shower. Safe in the knowledge that the villa was unoccupied, I saw no reason to bother with the constraints of pants. With the iPod on full volume I shimmied down the hall, lost in the music. The bathroom door was closed over and I absent-mindedly pushed it open and stepped into the tiled room.
I glanced around and was startled to see a young man showering in the bathtub. He had neglected to fully close the plastic, floral painted, shower-curtain and was stood in full view. The young man stopped lathering his chest and looked on with mouth agape, whilst I froze in motion.
A moment passed before my brain became sufficiently calm to process the information it was receiving from my optics. The young man in the shower appeared to be of a similar age to my own, so I had to assume that he was Javier, my designated student. I whipped out the ear-phones by their wires and endeavoured to explain myself.
“I-I am A-dam,” I stuttered. “Su professor. Your teacher.” I felt my cheeks fully flush.
The deeply tanned youth looked at me and smiled nervously.
“Ah, sí. I am Javier.”
He was of a similar height to me, but with a toned physique, and skin of luxurious tan. His muscularity was so well defined that it was obvious that he was a gym enthusiast. For a brief moment, I became bewitched by the jets of water flowing over Javier’s firm flesh. I was still in shock and could scarcely comprehend what had happened. It seemed too surreal to be true. When I regained control of my senses, my right hand complete with I-pod rushed to cover my impropriety.
“I am so sorry about this,” I said weakly. “I thought the house was empty, you see.”
“Is okay. I get early train to come here. I no supposed to come back until later,” Javier replied, with a hint of rouge evident in his cheeks. He shielded himself with a strategically placed portion of the plastic shower-curtain. I glanced into his deep hazel eyes and looked shyly away. I wanted to think about anything else, rather than dwell on the fact that I was stood naked before one of the most beautiful guys I had ever laid eyes on, who for good measure was also au-natural. To do so would surely have complicated matters further.
“I, um, I’m so sorry. I’ll just be going.”
Hastily, and in a flustered manner, I made my exit. With cheeks a darker shade of rouge and both hands screening my groin, I clumsily backed out of the bathroom. I did not turn around until I reached the safety of the corridor. The noise of my bare feet on the tiles echoed through-out the hall as I ran back to the guest-room. I shut the door and stood against it and breathed out slowly. I shook all over. I could not recall a time when I had felt so mortified. In the background I could hear the sound of the shower and wondered what was going through Javier’s mind.
After the inevitable self-recrimination, a mental image of a naked Javier took precedence in my thoughts. He had pretty facial features, with his gloriously high cheekbones and hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle when he smiled, in much the same manner as his mothers. His slender, yet muscular body was intoxicating to behold. He reminded me of a welterweight boxer, though, with the looks of a film-star.
I noticed my erection bloom and went over to the bed to lay down. I placed a pillow over my face and stared into the darkness. So many questions tumbled through my mind, that begged to be answered. I lay perfectly still and heard the noise of the shower cut out, followed by the sounds of Javier exiting the tub.
Another compelling mental image broke into my thoughts and distracted my mind.
I heard the bedroom door open and sat bolt-upright in the bed and pulled the pillow away from my face. Javier stood in the open doorway wearing a short, white, flannel towel wrapped tightly around his waist.
“I come to say, the bathroom, I finish with. You can use now.” Javier said, and flashed a cheeky smile.
I glanced down in horror to my crotch. It came as some relief to find that my hyperactive hard-on had been reduced to a respectable “semi” status. I looked across at Javier and gingerly nodded a thanks. Javier politely returned the nod and left the room. European men appeared to be a lot more comfortable with nudity than their British counterparts, I thought, as the door closed firmly behind him.
I put on a fresh pair of shorts and waited the requisite few minutes, before I left the bedroom and proceeded with caution to the bathroom. I closed the door, finding no means to lock it, and stepped into the bathtub. I turned the tap to the left and waited for the gas to heat the water. When it had reached a tepid temperature, I stepped under the nozzle and felt the water forcefully hit my skin. I closed my eyes and found myself picturing Javier, once more. Predictably, my penis took a strong stance on the matter and was quick to make its presence felt.
I ran my fingers over my chest and my nipples hardened automatically. I bent forward and closed my knees together and felt my trapped sex throb between my thighs. I slid my right hand down and parted my legs. I softly traced around my engorged member. It jumped a little. Despite being pricked by a sharp pang of guilt for succumbing so readily to my lust, I took a firm grip on my upright manhood.
A recollection of Javier took residence in my mind’s eye, with his smooth, toned brown body. I pictured him standing in the corner, slowly undoing his bath-towel. Watching. I desired nothing more than to run my fingers all over that well-sculpted physique and to feel his naked embrace. A moan escaped my lips at the thought.
My feverish imagination worked itself into a frenzy and I was overrun by a feral lust. I put my free hand against the tiled wall to steady myself. Another sharp moan passed my wet lips. A storm began to brew internally. My body quivered and my knees buckled and I climaxed fiercely onto the ceramic tub. Spasms of delight shook my system and I bathed in the after-glow of the orgasm.
It took a few blissful moments before my breathing returned to normal and I found the ability to stand up straight. I showered myself off, and washed residue of my lust from the bathtub with the nozzle of the shower-head. When I was certain that all traces of my indiscretion had been removed, I got out of the tub and towelled myself dry. I wrapped the wet towel around my waist and tip-toed back to the bedroom. Once inside, I got onto the bed and lay down.
I stared up at the stipple ceiling and sighed aloud. The pleasantness had passed and I was left to deal with a heavy dose of discomfiture. I cringed at the thought of what I had done, and the prospect of having to look Javier in the eye when next we met. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished that a black hole would open and suck me in. Yet beneath the waves of embarrassment that flooded my mind, there was an undercurrent of positivity, for I was set to spend the next three months of my life in close quarters with one of the most attractive guys I had ever encountered. Who knew where that might lead to? When my shame subsided, I dared to dream, anew.