It was Sunday afternoon and I wanted to be alone and just meditate and think. And one of the places I do my best thinking is at the beach.
So I hopped in my tiny red, rented Mazda 2 and headed for Haulover Beach, one of the most famous nude beaches in the world.
I had never gone to the nude beach. Would I be too shy to strip? Would the experience be weird? Would I chicken out?
I paid $6 to enter the park, parked my car, and went through a tunnel and down a path to the beach. This obviously gay black guy walked in front of me.
“Which side is the gay side?” I asked him.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve come here a few times but I didn’t know there was a gay part.”
I didn’t believe him but I smiled and said thank you anyway. Then I hooked right and headed to the South part of the Beach.
There were people of all races, shapes and sizes walking around nude. Women with beautiful perky breasts and women with big, sagging bajongas. Guys with beer bellies and guys with six-pack abs. Women with big hips and women with haunches as narrow as a boy’s. And dicks of all shapes and sizes.
And it was so…normal.
I went to a more isolated part of the beach and sat between two straight couples. I sat on the sand awhile on my towel and then said to myself, “Immanuel, you are almost 50 years old. You strip in front of guys and have sex all the time. So what’s the big deal about being nude on a beach.”
So I stood up and pulled off my tank top and then pulled off my shorts and underwear in one swoop. And let my dick swing in the air.
It felt so — free. I noticed a few men and women looking at me but in an appreciative, camaraderie type of way.
I sat down. The sun warmed my back. The wind blew in off the ocean. The waves lapped gently in front of me.
In a few minutes I got up and jumped into the surf. The blue water was surprisingly warm, almost like bath water. It was very salty.
I’m a pretty good swimmer so I went out a little way and rolled on my back and floated, my soft dick and thick pubes exposed to the world. Seagulls flew overhead and the clouds were wispy in the blue sky. The salty water stung my eyes.
And it felt wonderful.
Later I came ashore and sat and looked at the waves and meditated, the cool breeze kissing my face.
My thoughts were jumbled. I thought about all I had been through in the past few years — leaving a marriage, my children, entering the gay world, my first serious gay relationship beginning and ending, and a new start in Baltimore.
I didn’t really get as calm as I wanted but I was able to plan what I wanted to do in months ahead. Improving relations with my kids somehow, getting better at my job, and pursuing a graduate degree.
Earlier that day Randall had sat down and talked to me. He is kinda new agey and follows both Christianity and some traditional African traditions, such as reverence of our ancestors. Each night he would light candles in front of a glass of clear water in order to bring positive spirits I think.
I confessed to him I was feeling jaded and out of sorts lately but he put me back on track.
“Immanuel, you are handsome and intelligent brother and you have a positive aura. You have a lot of love to give — don’t stop doing that,” he said “And when you find the right guy again you will know it.”