Cobbler's beach, one of several Sydney nude beaches. Just outside Mosman, past a veranda covered gracious restaurant offering a meal after the sun, clothing required. Continue past the parking onto a dirt and rock path, the Harbour beckoning through the dappled gum shadows.
It's a self selected group so any embarrassment gets left with the tea cakes and cutlery. With my recently acquired swinger gent, we were heading for lunch on a boat. A few are usually anchored just off shore. Together with the ice cream boat's cheerful bell, it makes for a friendly scene. One where standard social behaviour could be shed along with the swimming togs. Unlike regular beaches, conversation on the nude beach is more common, but never aggressive.
We climbed aboard, I believe I wore only a pearl necklace. Four couples, all middle aged. The food and drinks were passed around. Usual polite small talk, risque comments accepted with smiles. Soon the post-prandials the true desert were being dispensed with more knowing smiles. Soon I was being fucked below decks by one of the guys. As it happens I've since been a guest for dinner and spent the night with him and his wife a few times since. Our skipper looked on and passed a hand over my leg with a smile. That was his only gesture of interest. Call him Bill.
A few weeks later Bill invited me to dinner in Canberra, where I was living and he went regularly as a consultant. I agreed and met him at his hotel. How long ago everything pre-covid seems! A polite, unimposing man, more attuned than most to listen rather than tell. Not easy to reveal one's life to a stranger while attempting to maintain a veneer of proper behaviour. After all, we met at a swinger's party. The cards were on the table. No sense pretending I'm shy.
