A couple accidentally discover a nudist beach
One summer before Covid, my wife Gemma and I rented a beautiful farmhouse for a weeks holiday. It came with a hot tub, but more importantly, it was close to the sea. I have not given the location for reasons that will become obvious.
Despite it being June, before all the kids broke up for their school summer holidays, the weather wasn’t great. It was in the late teens Celsius with thick clouds roaming the skies. If it wasn’t raining it was constantly threatening to.
Undeterred from enjoying ourselves, we settled in and immediately took advantage of the hot tub. The farmhouse was stunning, and it catered for all our humble needs. But it wasn’t as stunning as watching my wife slipping into a bikini. Even better when we were in the hot tub and she took it off again.
The first few days of holiday we fucked like rabbits in the hot tub, ate in the local pubs, cafes and restaurants, and took in some of the beautiful sites and local attractions.
We had arrived on a Friday, by Wednesday the sun started to show it still existed, but the temperature only crept into the low twenties. Frustrated we hadn’t yet visited the beaches, my wife insisted we go out for lunch and then walk along one of them.
If the weather on the beach was warm enough, we said we’d stop for a couple of hours in the sun. If not, then we’d just explore the beach with a nice, casual, long walk.
Gemma wore a two-piece bikini underneath her summer dress, and packed a few things like beach towels, sun lotion etc into a bag. I just wore a pair of shorts and a polo shirt, with sunglasses and a baseball cap.
There were so many beaches to choose from, we literally picked one out on the map and headed in that direction. Close to the road which lead to the beach, we stopped off at a village pub for some lunch. A part from a few locals having a lunch time pint, everywhere was reasonably quiet.
After lunch, we left the car parked in the village and took a scenic stroll downhill towards the beach. We approached a causeway and crossed a marsh, beginning to think we’d gone wrong somewhere, before heading to the dunes in the distance in front of us.
There was no distinct, worn, beaten track or path to follow, so we just looked around for signs of life. No path, no signs of life, we carried on walking in a southernly direction of the beach, away from the dunes. The views were captivating.
On the horizon we started to see signs of life. A few people on the beach and a few surfers out in the bay. Holding hands, enjoying the freedom, my wife and I continued on our trek.
Then suddenly, we approached a sign in the sand. It had clearly been put there professionally, and it was designed to remain there indefinitely.
“Am I reading that right?” Gemma laughed.
“Is that sign meant to be a joke?” I chuckled, before my wife read it out loud.
“Naturists please dress before passing this point.” Gemma looked confused and then turned back around to look at the direction we just came from. “Did we just walk through a nudist beach?”