NUDE BEACH MEMORIES – Star Observer
“Lordy, Miss Molly, just look at all those poor boys who can’t afford swimsuits.”
Some thirty years ago, our mini-entourage of four arrived at the isolated gay nude beach.
Sexually Satisfying Day Or At Least Obtain Landline Phone Number
We had checked the tide charts, packed the spumante and the plastic drinking glasses into the DJs and Harrods plastic bags, along with towels, beach mat, zinc cream, the latest coconut-infused Hawaiian suntan lotion, condoms and lube.
We had sarongs from Bali, straw hats, sandals, thongs, the latest in tortoise-shell framed sunglasses. And we had wide-eyed optimism that one – or all of us – would have a sexually satisfying day or at least obtain a landline phone number or two to follow up post-sunburn relief.
We did not travel lightly, even though the beach was a half-hour trek from the carpark. Downstairs to the beach, past the family groups, the straight nudists and finally to the outer sanctum of seemingly nowhere.
Historically the price of privacy for gay men has been finding sexual locations at the most extreme points on the compass. In this case, it was like trudging the endless sands of Tattooine. When the naked old men of the sun-dried leathery-skin clan, standing sentry, were sighted, we knew that our destination was close.
We lobbed near the tree line, before us, the expansive beach sparsely populated with naked men and empty towels, and behind us, the tracks through the tea tree where incessant cruising happened.
Community Location That Seemingly Existed Just For Gay Men
Conversations, voyeuring, spreading suntan lotion, drinking, laughter, camaraderie with fellow sun-seekers, comparing dick sizes, cruising for sex, having sex – all in an isolated communal world where like-minded naked men found companionship and sexual fun times.
It was organic in that this meeting place had evolved over the decades. No one ran it, owned it, or exploited it – truly a community location that seemingly existed just for gay men. No cameras, mobile phones, no stealing of anything unattended, no violence. And how often I helped search the sand for lost car keys.
The area was an open secret to the gay community, a place of degradation for the few straight do-gooders who knew of our activities. It was a space where gay men of a naked persuasion could share intimacy, community and laughter. And where we lived our lives without excuses, lies or fear.
Those illegal nude beaches of the 1990s had a wonderful, if rare distinction, of being a safe space for many of us. So sadly missed today!