That Shameless Redhead on the Nudist Beach

I walk barefoot along the shore, with the redhead half a meter ahead of me, letting the waves lap at our ankles. We’re both naked, like everyone else in this cove. He has very pale skin and copper hair gleaming in the midday sun; I’m bigger, hairier, twenty kilos and fifteen years older.

We move slowly, knowing we’re being watched. In the shade still cast by the northern cliff, there’s a small community of regulars, five or six guys who arrived separately but know one another from other summers. I’ve seen them say good morning, share a cigarette, laugh and comment on who was coming down the path that day. Now they’re watching us with that mixture of desire and envy that clings to the skin.

“You know all those guys hate me right now, don’t you, big guy?” the redhead says, turning his head over his shoulder.

“And why’s that?” I reply, though I can guess.

“Come on, don’t play modest. They’re eating you up with their eyes. I just happened to be lucky enough to sit next to you first.”

“What I’ve noticed is the way you look at me,” I shoot back, because I like throwing him off balance.

He smiles, his eyes narrowed against the sun.

“Fuck, you’d have to be blind, man. Tall, broad, with that back that looks like it came straight out of a museum. The only thing wrong with you is your dick.”

“What’s wrong with my dick?” I ask, knowing no reproach is coming.

“Nothing. It’s just that museums don’t have dicks that size,” he clarifies, spreading his hands apart with exaggerated emphasis. “The Romans didn’t sculpt them like that.”

I laugh at the joke, puffed up with pride. He keeps talking a mile a minute as he makes his way toward the rocks at the southern end, and I’m grateful for his chattiness because I find it hard to fill silences. He says something about how, in ancient Rome, sculptures were depicted with discreet members because big dicks were a barbarian thing, and that he’s convinced there must have been guys in the legions with huge cocks who fucked the tribunes in their tents. I nod, barely listening, distracted by the sight of his ass.

It’s a small, white, pert ass. Every time he bends down to step on a rock, his cheeks part a finger’s width and let me see his pink asshole. His pubes are shaved, his balls tight in the sun, and his cock, though not fully hard, swings between his thighs with every step. He moves like a cat among the rocks, wearing the neoprene shoes I’m missing; the rock digs into the soles of my feet, so I go slowly, cursing under my breath.

“Careful, big guy,” he warns me when I slip. “If you crack your head open, I’ll be left without dessert.”

I like him. Very much. He doesn’t put on a tough-guy act or act cocky, he doesn’t pretend anything, and he doesn’t even bother hiding some slightly effeminate gestures that I find endearing. I wish I could take off this heavy armor so easily.

And then something strange happens. I start to feel tenderness. I see myself reflected in him, in the guy in his twenties I was fifteen years ago, obsessed with fucking and too tense to enjoy it. Now the roles are reversed, and that forces me to behave, to give him one of those fucks people remember for years. The responsibility throws me off, because for a long time sex with strangers has revolved around me alone.

“You don’t talk much,” he declares after my long silence.

“No,” I answer.

“What a mysterious guy you are,” he says with that smile that judges without condemning.

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know. It’s fucking sexy, that’s for sure.”

We reach the lookout point from which the three linked coves are visible. Each one has a few isolated bathers, pale silhouettes against the sand. The redhead acts as my guide, pointing out where to go down, and I nod, pretending it’s my first time setting foot here. Then, suddenly, he makes as if to leave.

“Well, I’ll leave you here so you can be more comfortable,” he says with a crooked mouth.

“What are you talking about?” I reply, turning around sharply.

“You asked me to show you a quiet place. Well, here it is. Enjoy it.”

“You’re going to make me ask you to come with me, aren’t you?” I throw at him.

He gives me a sly look, confirming my theory with one raised eyebrow.

“Come with me,” I ask, holding out my hand.

He smiles victoriously and takes it. I pull hard until his torso is pressed against mine and slide my free hand between his legs. I grab his balls and shaft at once, weighing them, and feel his cock beginning to swell against my palm.

“I thought you liked tough guys,” I whisper without letting go. “But if you prefer, I can be gentler.”

I lean in and devour his mouth. Our tongues seek each other outside, rubbing together fiercely, then fight to get farther inside. I grip the back of his neck with one hand and keep working his cock with the other; within seconds it’s already hard and throbbing. He grabs my ass with both hands, as though his stability depended on it.

“Do you like me better like this?” I ask, pulling away a finger’s width.

“Much better, big guy,” he says with a satisfied nod. “You can relax with me.”

“Don’t I seem relaxed?”

“Yes. But you still haven’t completely let go.”

His hands descend to my cock, which isn’t fully hard yet but makes its intentions clear. He strokes my tip with his thumb, squeezing gently, and softly pulls back my foreskin. His is still just as hard, already forming a right angle with his belly.

I have my back to the sea, shielding with my body the hand that’s jerking me off. Even so, I turn my head over my shoulder for a second to see who’s watching us. One of the bathers from the first cove is staring fixedly at us from the shore, his half-hard cock between his legs.

“Do you like what I’ve got?” I ask the redhead, watching his hand work me.

“You’ve got a huge, big, thick cock,” he describes, looking at me hungrily and biting his lip. “I bet some guys have come just from seeing it.”

“That guy over there has been watching us for a while,” I point out with my chin.

“That’s what you get in this cove,” he answers without stopping his slow stroking. “Anyone who comes here knows what they might find. Does it bother you to be watched?”

I shake my head, though I’m not entirely sure. He notices.

“If you want, we can try over there,” he suggests, nodding toward the cliff in the distance. “Past the last cove there’s an area of flat rocks, not as narrow as these. We can talk there, sunbathe, swim…” He pronounces the last item with a look that needs no words.

I grab him by the arm and pull. We climb down over the rocks with our cocks swinging in front of us, laughing like kids, and when we reach the sand he takes my hand. I tense for a tenth of a second.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, puzzled. “I can grab your dick but not your hand? Relax.”

I relax. This kid isn’t a threat; I don’t have to compete with him to see who’s the alpha male. We cross the second cove pretending to be in love for a while, as if we cared about each other, as if we shared something more than the urge to fuck each other senseless, as if we even knew what the hell one another’s names were.

“I’m starting to like you, redhead.”

“I bet you’re going to like me even more.”

He suddenly drops to his knees in the wet sand, planting himself in front of me with his eyes fixed on mine, as if he were about to propose marriage. But I quickly understand that his plan is much more immediate. He grips my cock firmly.

“Can I?” he asks with false innocence, and doesn’t wait for an answer.

I quickly look around. Barely a hundred meters away, a guy is walking along the shore in our direction. In the water, another man is bathing about thirty meters away. Before I have time to react, I feel the hot wetness of his mouth enveloping my cock. I look down and find him swallowing it halfway, masturbating my shaft with his right hand, coordinating fist and mouth with a precise rhythm, as if my dick had come with factory instructions.

I try to stop him. I can’t. I put my hands on his head and stroke his copper hair, and he looks up without taking it out of his mouth. That image is burned into me: his wide-open blue eyes, his nearly invisible eyebrows arched high, his jaw hanging open, and my cock passing through his pink lips. A beautiful postcard.

I push his head against my belly, setting the pace, encouraging him to swallow me whole. My cock swells monstrously inside his mouth and I close my eyes. He doesn’t stop. He presses his lips with just the right pressure against the shaft and lowers them to the base, stopping when the head meets his throat, then slowly rises to the lower edge of the glans, where I’m most sensitive, and there he increases the suction and sends me to heaven.

I come out of the trance for a second. The bather has sat down on the sand and is enjoying the show with his half-hard cock between his legs. The man from the path is ten steps away, moving slowly. I turn over my shoulder and see that the two regulars from the first cove are watching us too. But I’m incapable of asking him to stop. The mixture of testosterone, adrenaline, and saliva has me chained.

Without taking my cock from his mouth, he now grabs my balls with one hand and starts searching between my buttocks with the other until he finds my asshole. The tip of his finger rubs it, first with the saliva dripping down his chin, then pressing a little harder, and that sensation brings me fully back to the beach. I look at him. He seeks my approval from below. I nod, caressing his cheeks, and give him the go-ahead.

The walker passes beside us without stopping, barely giving us a sidelong glance as if avoiding a puddle, and continues on his way. The other man, the one in the water, stays sitting for a while with his cock in his hand, enjoying himself.

I take the redhead under the armpits and lift him up. At the last moment he turns around and gives me his back. I embrace him tightly from behind, my chin on his shoulder, my cock sliding between the cleft of his buttocks.

“You’re crazy,” I tell him in his ear.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t like it.”

“You got me really worked up.”

“That’s what I wanted, big guy,” he confesses, rising onto his toes to rub his ass against my groin. “Don’t you want to try this little ass?”

And then the words come out without thinking, as if my deepest self had decided to speak on its own.

“And you? Are you going to fuck me too with this?” I grab his cock from behind and jerk it hard.

The sentence hangs in the air. For one second that feels like a year, I think the whole magic is going to shatter, that he’ll look at me strangely and I’ll be left completely naked, without the alpha-male disguise I’ve been dragging around since I was fifteen. Admitting that I also want to be desired from the other side means exposing myself.

He twists around to face me. I look at him, waiting for the grimace that will give me an excuse to retreat behind my armor. But what I see in his eyes isn’t disbelief or mockery. It’s curiosity and hunger. He bursts out laughing.

“Of course, big guy!” he exclaims, arching an eyebrow with a smile that lights up his face. “That’s exactly what I meant when I told you to let go. I’m into taking turns. I think it’s fucking great.”

I breathe. One part of me is dying of embarrassment; another is blazing like a bonfire.

“I thought you liked things more structured,” he adds with a little smile. “But you’re full of surprises. And that turns me on.”

Without warning, he takes off running toward the last cove, the one shaped like a cathedral. I follow him. We cross the sand, climb the cliff at the far end, and disappear along its edge until we reach a platform of flat rocks that no one below can see.

There he catches me. He pushes me against the sun-warmed rock, spreads my legs with a knee, and kneels in front of me again, but this time more calmly. He runs his tongue from my balls to the tip of my cock, takes the whole thing in at once, sucks eagerly two, three, four times, until my uvula rattles, and then stands up.

“Turn around, big guy.”

For the first time in years, I obey. I brace my hands against the stone, stick my ass out behind me, and feel a moan escape him at my back. I hear him spit. Then I feel his hot tongue on my asshole, moving in circles, pushing inside without fear, eating me whole. I don’t know how long he keeps me there, licking, slicking me up, working one finger in to the knuckle, then two, slowly twisting them until he makes me open up. My cock is dripping pre-cum onto the rock. Every time he strokes my prostate with his fingertip, my knees tremble.

“You’re ready, aren’t you?” he whispers as he gets up.

“Fuck me,” I answer, not recognizing my own voice.

I hear him spit into his hand and spread it over his cock. Then he rubs it against my asshole, making gentle circles, searching for the center. When he finally pushes, he enters slowly, an inch, two, and I forget to breathe.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmurs against my nape.

He sinks his entire cock into me with one slow, firm thrust, until I feel his balls against mine. He stays still for a second, letting me absorb the fullness. It’s thicker than it looked. I burn inside, but it also drives me crazy with pleasure—that good pain only those who’ve tried it know.

He starts to move. He pulls almost all the way out and goes back in to the hilt, setting a steady rhythm that makes me moan against the rock. He grips my hips with both hands and pumps, faster and faster, his groin smacking against my buttocks. His cock drives into the same spot again and again, and I’m about to come without touching myself.

“Like that, redhead,” I beg him. “Harder. More.”

And he responds. He pounds me with all the strength his body can hold, every blow tearing a grunt from my guts. With one hand he grabs my hair and pulls my head slightly back; with the other he reaches my cock and milks it in the same rhythm as he fucks me.

“I’m going to come,” he warns me, panting.

“Inside,” I beg him. “Fuck this ass. Don’t pull out.”

I feel him swell inside me, feel his fingers tighten around my hips until they bruise me, and hear him let out a hoarse roar as he comes in jets inside me, thrusting more and more slowly until he stops. I come a second later, with his cock still inside me and his hand milking mine, emptying myself against the rock in four, five spurts that sweep fifteen years of armor away.

He collapses onto my back, panting, his cock still inside me and his mouth pressed to my nape. We stay like that for a long while, breathing, as the sun burns our shoulders and sweat makes our skin stick together.

“Now it’s your turn, big guy,” he whispers in my ear, slowly pulling out of me. “And I’m not leaving this cove until you’ve wrecked me.”

I laugh softly. I’m still trembling.

“Deal, redhead.”