Date: Tue, 8 Jan 2013 08:35:37 -0800 (PST)
From: Anthony Palazzo <apalazzo198@yahoo.com>
Subject: vintage thrills:  41. Sur Le Plage

41.  SUR LE PLAGE

St. Martin Clothes Optional Beach

I find nude beaches exciting.  Stimulating and fun.  When I took a vacation
in St Maarten/St Martin some years ago, I checked out the Orient Club which
is a nudist community on the French side of the island.

I find it exciting and even a bit shocking to abruptly stumble upon public
nudity.  When we arrived at the Orient Club, I parked the car and almost
immediately came upon a young woman, totally naked, breast feeding her
child on the outdoor porch of the first cabin we walked past on the way to
the beach. Within a few more steps we saw small groups of nudists walking
down to the beach from their rented cabins.  Most were young and ordinary
looking, but all ages and types were represented.  There were some older
folks, and there were some outstanding bodies of both genders on view.

Soon after settling onto a blanket on the beach, I stripped to the buff and
took a walk along the shoreline.  Walking toward me was a magnificent male
and female couple, tall and blonde and lithe, strolling hand and hand. I
didn't want to stare, but I could hardly contain myself.  Their beauty was
remarkable.  They appeared to be speaking a Scandinavian language.  As they
passed by, I could not help but turn to steal a glance at their perfect
backsides. As I continued walking I noticed a large mixed gender group,
swimming and frolicking in the water.  The scene was so appealing, that I
dove in and joined them.  It was great fun and a wonderful sensual
experience to swim among these joyful nude friends. They spoke English with
an American accent, and obviously knew each other.  There were perhaps a
dozen or so of them; they may have been a nudist group from the States.  I
watched round rumps rolling in the water. There was a small floating dock,
and some of the group swam to it and were sunning themselves. On my return
walk I saw them again, this time lined up on the sand, taking a group
picture.  There was much laughter and horsing around, with one guy covering
a woman's tits with his hands as he stood behind her for the photo.
Despite the firm bodies and suggestive poses, it was not really a sexual
situation.  The group seemed too relaxed; there was an absence of
noticeable sexual tension in the air.  But it was undeniably sensual for
me.

When I reached the outside border of the nudist colony, I noticed a group
of dressed tourists gathered on a cantilevered deck near a parking lot.
Visitors who did not choose to undress or mingle in the nudist colony
itself, were restricted to a certain small area near the parking lot.  Many
of them had cameras, and I laughed to see several of them focusing on my
middle aged body. I sauntered along the shore and allowed them to take
pictures of my imperfect form.  I would have loved to hear their
descriptions to their friends back home as they showed the "naughty shots"
they took on their daring visit to a nudist colony.  To think that I, the
penultimate voyeur, was the source of exhibitionist photos is a hoot.

When I returned from my walk, my wife (who remained in a bathing suit
throughout our visit) suggested that we go to the snack bar for
lunch. There was a small restaurant/bar on the beach.  As I walked along I
noticed that about about 80% of the sunbathers were completely nude, and
the rest had some form of cover-up.  Some people put on a bit of clothing
to go to the restaurant.  Others stood around naked drinking beer or a
tropical drink.  My wife noticed it all, and commented to me later that a
few of the men in the bar seemed to be quite under-endowed.  She wondered
why they would go to a nudist colony and take it all off, when they had
such small penises. She thought that it might have something to do with
getting over the shame of being underendowed by flaunting their perceived
inadequacy publicly.  I have no idea if she was accurate about this, but
didn't argue with her.  After lunch, we walked back to our spot on the sand
and I paused to watch a masseur who had set up a little business along the
shoreline.  He was an unusually handsome young guy, tanned and muscular.
He wore a tiny g string as he slathered oils on his clients.  The client at
the moment was an older man lying on his stomach on a massage table, naked
with his eyes closed.  Back at our blanket we listened to a nearby group
complain about the perverts who had been there the previous week; gawking,
camera-toting tourists, who stared at the residents as though they were
animals in a zoo.  My neighbors appointed themselves to shoo away such
creeps, and they spoke about how they had effectively shamed them into
leaving.  My wife and I must have appeared blasé enough to be accepted;
although I admit to being quite titillated internally to much of what I was
experiencing.

Later I took a tour of the facilities, and listened to a sales pitch about
condos that were for sale.  We were a small group of about eight people,
all totally naked, as was the saleswoman.  In retrospect, remembering this
scene seems more funny than sensual to me.  I saw no overt sexual activity
during my brief visit, but I left with a warm glow.  All those pretty naked
bodies warmed me, and has provided several retrospective reveries since.