There were four of us on the Great Nude Beach Expedition. My good friend Tony - a newly-graduated mechanical engineer - who at twenty-one was just a year younger than I; his two work colleagues, Peter and Gary, both diesel mechanics and both in their early twenties; and, of course, me.
Only Tony and I had much in common - he and I were fanatical tennis players and water skiers. The other guys were not really inclined towards much besides drinking, playing pool and - very grudgingly - turning up for work each day. The one characteristic common to all of us was that we lived and worked in a remote mining community in the far north-west of the State.
Living in such a place - where the single males outnumbered available females in a ratio of around 300:1 - condemned the four of us to a non-existent sex life. We rarely even talked about sex. What was the point of torturing oneself by doing so? We did, however, talk about girls; about their non-availability and about the remote likelihood that some gorgeous, single girl would arrive to fill the next mine vacancy. But, mostly, we just gritted our teeth and made the best of things - after all, the pay was excellent and this was to be just the start of a glorious career for each one of us.
We had all heard about this fabulous beach at a tropical tourist town some 200 kilometres to our south-east. The town was named Broome and - allegedly - there was a section of its famous Cable Beach where one could cavort naked. Somehow, the four of us hit upon a collective notion - we would take advantage of the coming Easter break to travel down to Broome and feast our eyes on all the naked beauties there. I'm sure that we each had much the same private notion as well - that sex would somehow eventuate with an insatiable girl - but this was never discussed and not one of us had any idea of how fantasy might be translated into reality. It was sufficient that we might glimpse body-parts one could only drool over in the tattered and much-used porn magazines that went the rounds of our remote townsite.
So we flew to the mainland, rented a car, and drove to Broome for a three-day tit-fest. To some degree we were prepared for this expedition. We had visited the Medical Centre and stocked up on condoms; we had accommodation booked for two of our three nights (and some vacancy was sure to eventuate for the other night); and we each toted a hastily-packed bag filled with swimwear (that we hoped might go largely unworn), towels and a few toiletries. Our only other clothes were the ones we were wearing as we drove down.
Our first disappointment came almost immediately upon arrival. We could find no accommodation for the first night. But we were not about to let such a trivial matter lessen our enthusiasm. We would sleep at Cable Beach itself and thus be bright and early when the naked girls began arriving in the morning.
Anyone who has actually attempted to sleep in a sand-dune or on the grass leading to it will know that it can be bloody uncomfortable. Grass and sand may seem very soft at first, but eventually your skin and your bones start to feel every leaf and tuft, every fine white granule, especially if you're in that thin and bony phase many guys go through.
For some obscure reason we did have one inflatable air-bed between the four of us. It belonged to Tony. It was really the sort of thing one used for lounging around in a swimming pool. It was perhaps thirty inches wide and about five feet long. It was made of some rubbery synthetic which smelled vile and made for a very sweaty bed. Nonetheless - back-to-back, clad only in our speedos and with skin stuck to each other and the to the air-bed - Tony and I managed to survive that first night in relative comfort while Gary and Peter toughed it out on the ground.
When dawn broke, we hit the waves to wash away the sand and the sweat. We wore our swimsuits as none of us was yet game to go naked in a public place and in front of each other. Rumour had it that the nude section of the beach lay to our right and beyond a rocky outcrop. Having caught some good waves and generally been silly and boyish for an hour or so, the time came when we had to face the inevitable. We trekked towards the nude area and - sure enough - there were naked swimmers and sunbathers there! There were probably more guys than women, but even one naked woman was at least a start to our respective fantasies.
Of course we then realised we were over-dressed. In an embarrassed and almost reluctant way, we shed our swimwear with our eyes fixed resolutely upon anything other than the other guys' genitals and with furtive glances to ensure nobody else was close enough to check us out either. This shyness was understandable. We had reached a part of this adventure to which we'd given little prior thought. Our plans had all been focused on checking out chicks. The requirement to be naked ourselves was one our minds had quickly skimmed over.
So we sat on the sand, with legs bent self-consciously in order to mask our junk from view. We talked nonsense and tried to convince ourselves we were having a great time, but we were still reluctant to stand, walk or swim; still reluctant to expose ourselves to any form of scrutiny. If we sat there long enough - looking as manly and as sexy as four gangly boys can - then surely the naked girls would eventually flock to us like moths to a flame. Surely, we had no need to actively prowl around with our bits flapping.
The adventure was becoming tedious and confronting. Finally, Tony and I stood up and announced an intention to go for a swim. This gave the other two some Dutch courage and we all sprinted for the merciful concealment of the water. We stayed there a long time. The only female who came anywhere near us turned out to be our General Manager's secretary - a very nasty and dominating woman who did not believe in using soap or deodorants and who thought it liberating to leave her legs and armpits unshaven. She was not a pretty sight. Nor was her hippy husband. We didn't say anything but I'm sure we were each in awe of his exceedingly hairy but low-hanging balls - ours had retreated to escape the cool seawater - and his very relaxed schlong. But our chief concern was to escape recognition. We turned our backs until they were mere specks in the distance and then we emerged from the sea, donned our speedos and headed to the "normal" part of the beach to body-surf and actually enjoy ourselves.
So the Naked Beach Adventure was over. We were not grief-stricken. At least we'd given it a go and now we could get on with eating, drinking and hanging out together. Hell, we even had real beds for the next two nights.
On that second night, having eaten Chinese food and consumed far too much alcohol, we returned to our hotel to crash. Tony and I shared one room, Peter and Gary another. When I thought Tony had fallen asleep in his single bed a few feet away, I decided I needed to have my ritual nightly jerk-off. After a few minutes I was dismayed when Tony's voice suddenly penetrated the darkness.
"Are you having a wank?"
I stopped all movement. I felt embarrassed. He switched on his bedside lamp and pulled himself up into a sitting position. He flung back his sheet and began to fondle his cock. I sat up and switched my lamp on too and slowly recommenced my jerk-off. There was nothing between us in the way of sexual attraction. We just pulled at our own dicks while studying each other's movements.
I saw my friend's erect cock for the first time. He was cut like me but his dick was not as big as mine. His balls seemed to hang lower though. With our legs sprawled apart, his balls still rested on the bed while mine were already elevated. It was fascinating to observe another guy's technique. Tony's thumb and forefinger encircled his cock and he slid his grip along the shaft rather than actually pulling at it. At times he tugged at his balls. At times he paused and swirled his finger through the pre-cum that oozed from his piss-slit. And all the while his eyes were on what I was doing; and all the while I watched his hand and dick just as closely. It was hypnotic and exciting and it felt perfectly safe and normal.
"Are you getting close?" he eventually asked.
I grunted assent and he started moving his hand faster while I did my best to keep myself on hold. Soon I could tell he was very close to blowing his load and so I jerked at my own cock with increased vigour. We came almost simultaneously. I watched as his cum jetted out and splattered his chest and thighs and Tony watched as the same thing happened on my side of the room.
He got up and fetched two hand-towels from the bathroom. He wiped the cum from his body and tossed a towel to me.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I knew what he meant. I nodded and we smiled conspiratorially and without guilt. The lights were switched off and we went to sleep.
Next morning - early; before the other two knocked on our door - I awakened to the sight of Tony jerking off again. Almost automatically, I sat up and did the same. Again we repeated the synchronised wanking of the night before. It felt perfectly normal and it meant absolutely nothing. Two young guys engaged in some form of bonding, some kind of reality check - "So this is how other guys jerk off?" It seemed like a validation - what we were doing was just what guys do occasionally.
And that was the closest our Great Nude Beach Expedition came to sex.
Only Tony and I had much in common - he and I were fanatical tennis players and water skiers. The other guys were not really inclined towards much besides drinking, playing pool and - very grudgingly - turning up for work each day. The one characteristic common to all of us was that we lived and worked in a remote mining community in the far north-west of the State.
Living in such a place - where the single males outnumbered available females in a ratio of around 300:1 - condemned the four of us to a non-existent sex life. We rarely even talked about sex. What was the point of torturing oneself by doing so? We did, however, talk about girls; about their non-availability and about the remote likelihood that some gorgeous, single girl would arrive to fill the next mine vacancy. But, mostly, we just gritted our teeth and made the best of things - after all, the pay was excellent and this was to be just the start of a glorious career for each one of us.
We had all heard about this fabulous beach at a tropical tourist town some 200 kilometres to our south-east. The town was named Broome and - allegedly - there was a section of its famous Cable Beach where one could cavort naked. Somehow, the four of us hit upon a collective notion - we would take advantage of the coming Easter break to travel down to Broome and feast our eyes on all the naked beauties there. I'm sure that we each had much the same private notion as well - that sex would somehow eventuate with an insatiable girl - but this was never discussed and not one of us had any idea of how fantasy might be translated into reality. It was sufficient that we might glimpse body-parts one could only drool over in the tattered and much-used porn magazines that went the rounds of our remote townsite.
So we flew to the mainland, rented a car, and drove to Broome for a three-day tit-fest. To some degree we were prepared for this expedition. We had visited the Medical Centre and stocked up on condoms; we had accommodation booked for two of our three nights (and some vacancy was sure to eventuate for the other night); and we each toted a hastily-packed bag filled with swimwear (that we hoped might go largely unworn), towels and a few toiletries. Our only other clothes were the ones we were wearing as we drove down.
Our first disappointment came almost immediately upon arrival. We could find no accommodation for the first night. But we were not about to let such a trivial matter lessen our enthusiasm. We would sleep at Cable Beach itself and thus be bright and early when the naked girls began arriving in the morning.
Anyone who has actually attempted to sleep in a sand-dune or on the grass leading to it will know that it can be bloody uncomfortable. Grass and sand may seem very soft at first, but eventually your skin and your bones start to feel every leaf and tuft, every fine white granule, especially if you're in that thin and bony phase many guys go through.
For some obscure reason we did have one inflatable air-bed between the four of us. It belonged to Tony. It was really the sort of thing one used for lounging around in a swimming pool. It was perhaps thirty inches wide and about five feet long. It was made of some rubbery synthetic which smelled vile and made for a very sweaty bed. Nonetheless - back-to-back, clad only in our speedos and with skin stuck to each other and the to the air-bed - Tony and I managed to survive that first night in relative comfort while Gary and Peter toughed it out on the ground.
When dawn broke, we hit the waves to wash away the sand and the sweat. We wore our swimsuits as none of us was yet game to go naked in a public place and in front of each other. Rumour had it that the nude section of the beach lay to our right and beyond a rocky outcrop. Having caught some good waves and generally been silly and boyish for an hour or so, the time came when we had to face the inevitable. We trekked towards the nude area and - sure enough - there were naked swimmers and sunbathers there! There were probably more guys than women, but even one naked woman was at least a start to our respective fantasies.
Of course we then realised we were over-dressed. In an embarrassed and almost reluctant way, we shed our swimwear with our eyes fixed resolutely upon anything other than the other guys' genitals and with furtive glances to ensure nobody else was close enough to check us out either. This shyness was understandable. We had reached a part of this adventure to which we'd given little prior thought. Our plans had all been focused on checking out chicks. The requirement to be naked ourselves was one our minds had quickly skimmed over.
So we sat on the sand, with legs bent self-consciously in order to mask our junk from view. We talked nonsense and tried to convince ourselves we were having a great time, but we were still reluctant to stand, walk or swim; still reluctant to expose ourselves to any form of scrutiny. If we sat there long enough - looking as manly and as sexy as four gangly boys can - then surely the naked girls would eventually flock to us like moths to a flame. Surely, we had no need to actively prowl around with our bits flapping.
The adventure was becoming tedious and confronting. Finally, Tony and I stood up and announced an intention to go for a swim. This gave the other two some Dutch courage and we all sprinted for the merciful concealment of the water. We stayed there a long time. The only female who came anywhere near us turned out to be our General Manager's secretary - a very nasty and dominating woman who did not believe in using soap or deodorants and who thought it liberating to leave her legs and armpits unshaven. She was not a pretty sight. Nor was her hippy husband. We didn't say anything but I'm sure we were each in awe of his exceedingly hairy but low-hanging balls - ours had retreated to escape the cool seawater - and his very relaxed schlong. But our chief concern was to escape recognition. We turned our backs until they were mere specks in the distance and then we emerged from the sea, donned our speedos and headed to the "normal" part of the beach to body-surf and actually enjoy ourselves.
So the Naked Beach Adventure was over. We were not grief-stricken. At least we'd given it a go and now we could get on with eating, drinking and hanging out together. Hell, we even had real beds for the next two nights.
On that second night, having eaten Chinese food and consumed far too much alcohol, we returned to our hotel to crash. Tony and I shared one room, Peter and Gary another. When I thought Tony had fallen asleep in his single bed a few feet away, I decided I needed to have my ritual nightly jerk-off. After a few minutes I was dismayed when Tony's voice suddenly penetrated the darkness.
"Are you having a wank?"
I stopped all movement. I felt embarrassed. He switched on his bedside lamp and pulled himself up into a sitting position. He flung back his sheet and began to fondle his cock. I sat up and switched my lamp on too and slowly recommenced my jerk-off. There was nothing between us in the way of sexual attraction. We just pulled at our own dicks while studying each other's movements.
I saw my friend's erect cock for the first time. He was cut like me but his dick was not as big as mine. His balls seemed to hang lower though. With our legs sprawled apart, his balls still rested on the bed while mine were already elevated. It was fascinating to observe another guy's technique. Tony's thumb and forefinger encircled his cock and he slid his grip along the shaft rather than actually pulling at it. At times he tugged at his balls. At times he paused and swirled his finger through the pre-cum that oozed from his piss-slit. And all the while his eyes were on what I was doing; and all the while I watched his hand and dick just as closely. It was hypnotic and exciting and it felt perfectly safe and normal.
"Are you getting close?" he eventually asked.
I grunted assent and he started moving his hand faster while I did my best to keep myself on hold. Soon I could tell he was very close to blowing his load and so I jerked at my own cock with increased vigour. We came almost simultaneously. I watched as his cum jetted out and splattered his chest and thighs and Tony watched as the same thing happened on my side of the room.
He got up and fetched two hand-towels from the bathroom. He wiped the cum from his body and tossed a towel to me.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
I knew what he meant. I nodded and we smiled conspiratorially and without guilt. The lights were switched off and we went to sleep.
Next morning - early; before the other two knocked on our door - I awakened to the sight of Tony jerking off again. Almost automatically, I sat up and did the same. Again we repeated the synchronised wanking of the night before. It felt perfectly normal and it meant absolutely nothing. Two young guys engaged in some form of bonding, some kind of reality check - "So this is how other guys jerk off?" It seemed like a validation - what we were doing was just what guys do occasionally.
And that was the closest our Great Nude Beach Expedition came to sex.
