Opinion
3 min

How to say ‘nudist beach’ in Spanish (Part 1)

The growers and showers and everything in between

“ . . . casual nudism made me a little nervous. It’s not only because I’m a “grower,” but, rightly or wrongly, I also equate nudity with sex . . . and I can’t help but become erect.” Credit: Jamo Best

Playa De Las Balmins is one of three gay beaches in Sitges, Spain — and it’s clothing optional, too. I never really thought of myself as a nudist. I don’t have a problem being naked in public — in a sexual context, at least — but casual nudism made me a little nervous. It’s not only because I’m a “grower,” but, rightly or wrongly, I also equate nudity with sex . . . and I can’t help but become erect. But, being in Spain, I decided that it was time for me to get over these fears and just get naked — I have nothing left to hide.

I found the online descriptions of Playa De Las Balmins’ location to be confusing. One site said to walk “past the church,” “pass a strip of beach,” “climb a hill,” then “past a cemetery.” This description couldn’t be more vague. It took some wandering to figure out exactly where the beach was. It’s in the east end of town along the shore, past the church, Parròquia de Sant Bartomeu i Santa Tecla, and Platja de Sant Sebastià. You go uphill from there, and you begin to see the beach nestled among some small cliffs.

I turned off the path along the shore and scaled down a small cliff to the beach on the left. It was about noon when I arrived, and the beach was packed. I was a little nervous about getting naked with so many people around, and, of course, the nervousness made my penis retreat that much more, which wasn’t good.

As I tried to find a spot, I began admiring all the different types penises in the sand: there were thick ones, veiny ones, shriveled and uncut ones; there was the entire spectrum of cocks, and the men out there were casual and comfortable with what God gave them. This made me more relaxed and somewhat turned on even. 

Above the beltline, it was a much older and furry crowd on that particular beach — more daddies and bears for sure, but there were some younger nudists, hippies and lesbians too, with the occasional straight couple thrown in for good measure. It was a good mix, and though it wasn’t as social as the other gay beach in town, there was a good energy.

I continued to circle around the sand until I finally settled on a small patch directly in front of a daddy on a chair with his legs spread. He was allowing his “grower” to quietly settle between his legs, semi-flaccid in the sun. There were two naked lesbians to my right, on their stomachs, and a bear on his own to my left, reading a newspaper and sipping a beer.

I dropped my bag, pulled out my beach blanket and threw it out onto the sand. I then evened out the corners, ever so slowly, delaying my nakedness. I then got out my sunscreen, my bottle of water and my book. Then off with my shirt. I rubbed my chest a few times and looked around. Put my sunglasses on, then off, then on again. And finally, quickly, off with my bathing suit.

There I was, naked.

I looked over at the daddy, who was looking down at my penis. I looked down too: it was a good size by that point, balls hanging low. Not bad, I thought. I shook it around between my fingers and it grew even more, but not enough that it was embarrassing. Great, this isn’t horrible. I looked over at the daddy again with a smile: yes, this is who I am.

There was something liberating about it all, I have to admit. I felt more myself. It also helped that I didn’t know anybody at the beach. But then I heard my name: “Mike? Hey, Mike.” I couldn’t recognize his voice, but he had a German accent. A group of guys approached, all naked . . .