A Beach in Guadaloupe

It's hard to be nonchalant when you're surrounded by beautiful women, all of them nude. But that's what is expected of you on a nude beach, on the lovely French island of Guadaloupe. Topless bathing among French women is the norm, and nude bathing in the quiet, isolated parts of a beach is not uncommon. So here I was, a normally shy American, lying naked on that beach, acting like nothing unusual was going on. Far from the truth.

I had come here by myself, to a Club Med - that beacon of fraternization, of throwing people together with the silent hint (expectation?) that hormones would triumph among strangers. But I was very aware of how conspicuous I was. Not because I lay there naked - everyone was. But because at the midpoint of my otherwise sun tanned body was my pure white abdomen, thighs and buttocks, evidence that I normally sunbathed with a bathing suit. The French people surrounding me were bronzed throughout.

No one paid overt attention to the other, but we all out of the corner of our eyes admired the shapely features on display. One fellow jogged back and forth on the narrow strip of beach, his testicles and penis bobbing as he ran. As was his intent. Clearly an exhibitionist, plying his trade. The women watched him, some with sly smiles on their faces. We all knew what he was doing. How gauche.

A woman walked toward the far end of the island where we were and joined the group. A beauty. Tall, with auburn hair, beautiful skin and lovely shaped breasts. She wore a thin sundress over a bikini. She laid down a blanket not far from me, and removed the sundress. And then the bikini. She was beautiful, with a soft mound of pubic hair covering her womanhood. She was nude except for a single strand of a gold chain around her waist. That simple ornamentation on her beautiful body electrified me. Perhaps it was because that adornment was only meant to be seen when she was exposed, without clothes. Meant for us. Meant for me.

I soaked in her beauty. I looked around, and felt that everyone was watching her too. Almost without my realizing, there was a stirring in my groin. It took longer than you'd think, because I was so focused on my surroundings, but I suddenly realized that there was a visible manifestation of my interest. Embarrassed, I rolled over onto my stomach, hoping no one would see. The hot sand however only served to inflame that sensitive organ, and I felt a full hard erection. I knew I couldn't move. I lay there, trapped. I was unable to see my beautiful woman (she already was mine, in my fevered imagination) but after a while that lack of stimulation caused that other stimulation to subside. I turned back over and watched her. She lay on her back, giving me a full view on her front. Lovely firm breasts, not too large, not too small. Her ass, viewed from the side, was shapely and well proportioned to the body. And that lovely mound of pubic hair at the end of a flat, firm stomach. I had to meet her. But how? Yes, she was alone, but my French from high school would be completely inadequate to a casual introduction. And what would I say? "Do you come here often, to sunbathe nude?" So I was silent.

I regretted having to do it, but I needed to leave the intense sun before I burned myself to a crisp. So I dressed and walked back to the hotel, leaving Miss X (was she a Brigitte, a Camille, a Genevieve?) to the gaze of the other men. All the while berating myself for my cowardice. I couldn't muster the courage to say Bonjour to her, much less discuss my passion or our future. I vowed that if I encountered her again, somehow I would not waste the opportunity.

A few days went by, and although I glimpsed her from afar occasionally, there never was a time we were together. But, thank you Club Med, there are always co-ed sporting activities going on. I signed up for a volleyball session and my breath was taken away when I saw Miss X on the volleyball court. We were on opposite teams, so I could observe her across the net in her bikini, jumping and stretching her arms to hit the ball. She was athletic and it was a pleasure to watch her move. After a while, the organizers mixed up the teams, and Miss X and I were on the same side. As luck or destiny would have it, a ball came between us and we both jumped for it. I should have pulled up, seeing her near, but I did not. We collided and I knocked her to the ground.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry" I muttered.

I helped her up and she answered.

"I'm ok, I should have seen you there." In perfect English!

But she really wasn't ok. She had a bruise on her shoulder from where she hit the ground. When the game ended, I was quick to approach her again with new apologies. And an insistence that she let me buy her a drink to make up for my carelessness. She observed me carefully, and asked if we had not met before? I with some awkwardness mentioned that I had been on the isolated part of the beach a few days ago and had seen her there. She laughed and said now she remembered. I was the fellow with the white skin around the middle.

"You also had a small problem. Actually, not so small." She said with a smile, although it was a kind smile. "You Americans are very modest."

So she had looked at me. I felt naked all over again. I'm an average fellow, not overly muscular. Doesn't a girl like her only date men with chiseled builds?

"I am Amelie" she said, extending her hand. "And yes, you do owe me a drink."

We walked back toward the main part of the hotel, and had a little "getting to know you" talk about who we were and how we came to be on this island. I, a lawyer from New York, and she working on a degree in biology from a French university. She had come to Guadaloupe for vacation, to treat herself after final exams. Her girlfriend was supposed to accompany her, but had backed out at the last minute because of some illness in her family. Amelie decided to go by herself.

When we arrived at the hotel, we sat at the bar and drank several specialty cocktails the bar staff had devised. Delicious and intoxicating. We talked easily, and she laughed at my jokes. She made me comfortable and my natural shyness never reared its ugly head.

It was approaching dinner time, and Amelie was receptive to our dining together.

"But first" she said, "I have to return to my room to shower and change."

After playing volleyball for an hour, we both were in need of a good bar of soap. I said I'd pick her up at her room in an hour.

"I have a better idea", she said. "Why don't you get a change of clothes and meet me at my room in 10 minutes."

I felt a tightness in my groin. I am a lawyer, after all, and taught to analyze situations. Although this one wasn't difficult. I knew the implication of her suggestion.

"Sounds good to me. I'll be there in 5 minutes."

When she opened the door to her room, she was wrapped in a towel. I could see her bikini drying out on her balcony. She led me to the bathroom, and helped me off with my volleyball clothes. She turned on the shower and dropped the towel. We both entered the shower. First I lathered her up and helped wash all the curves of her body. She moaned softly as I massaged her back and caressed her. Then it was my turn. She washed me, and made sure my male parts were especially clean. We dried each other and walked to the bed. I clung to her beautiful body, that body I had seen in its spectacular nakedness before but only dreamt of touching. Now it was reality. We fell onto the bed, and I traced the curve of her back, her hips, her breasts and her stomach. And then that lovely mound. She was an appreciative lover, moaning at my touch, opening herself up to me. She touched me, gently then more firmly, stroking my erection, cupping the testicles. I knew I couldn't last much longer, so I rolled her over and entered her. Slowly at first, thrusting deep inside. Then harder, faster. I felt her clench as she climaxed, then I allowed myself to climax too. It was so satisfying to feel her warmth as I shuddered with the paroxysms of my own release. We both lay silently together, allowing the moment to wash over us. It was wonderful.

We made love many times after that. Even once at dusk on the nude beach, where it all began, when the beach was empty. Amelie and I returned to our separate countries. We exchanged emails for a time, but life moves on. She got her degree and a job in Southern France. And a husband. I am in New York, trying so far in vain to find someone who will excite me as she did. The memory of her still fills me with pleasure. I wouldn't trade it for the world.