Imaginary to Reality

From Imaginary to Reality

Some men make their fantasies come true.

I first saw her standing naked at the water's edge looking out to sea at a sailboat anchored in the cove. The contrast was lovely, the image was remarkable, and the art was obvious. She simply was breathtaking, and I couldn't take my eyes off of her. She had blond hair that hung just below her shoulders and had a body to die for. She had dimples on her lower back and a tight bottom that held my attention like a painting at the Louvre.

She had two little blond kids with her, a girl about nine and a boy I'd guess who was around four. They walked the beach holding hands, the mother in the middle, a child on each side, and I watched them stroll along the shoreline enjoying the day, looking positively sublime.

A mother at the nude beach with her two kids. They looked like a marvelous picture of a loving family strolling on the beach without a care in the world. The only difference was that this family was nude.

She was probably close to five three, and she walked with a slight sway that held your attention like a dancer moving off the stage. I simply couldn't take my eyes off of her. She greeted other beach goers with a smile and a nod and men followed her with their eyes from behind dark glasses like mine. I watched her come up from the water and walk to her site. She sat on the towel and squeezed some sunscreen in her palm, then she spread it on her shoulders and breasts, across her stomach and down each leg.

Finally, she picked up a book and turned over on her stomach, that wonderful bottom curving up from her back and holding my attention. It was round and tight and lovely, and I watched it as she read. My pulse increased as I appraised that amazing rear. All day I watched her. I wanted to know her name, where she lived, what she liked, where she worked, why she came to the nude beach, and when she'd come again. I knew I would come many times to see her again, just to be able to watch her, to be able to enjoy her, maybe meet her and chat.

Maybe we would sit together. I'd play frisbee with her kids. Perhaps I'd put lotion on her back, catching furtive glances at that luscious rear. I'd tell her my name and talk about the weather, the news, maybe a common friend. We'd read together and I would glance at her throughout the day, savoring the sight of her loveliness.

Perhaps I'd offer them a ride, which at first she would politely refuse, then perhaps the next day she would accept. She'd give directions, which I wouldn't need because I had studied the map, figured out where she lives, had even driven by her house and admired the lawn, the flowers under the front window, even the color of her front door.

After a week of taking them to the beach, I imagined I'd ask her to dinner, and I see her blush, smile, then politely accept. I'd ask if she has a favorite restaurant and she probably says she likes most places. I suggest seafood and she most likely nods. We make a date and I imagine her getting out of the car and getting her kids out of the backseat. As I drive away I watch in the rearview mirror as she walks her kids to the door.

As I sit on my towel watching her, I think about the dinner date. I picture myself picking her up and thinking how lovely she looks in her short dress but remembering how good she looked out of it at the beach. I go to the door and she is ready quickly, giving the babysitter last minute instructions, kissing her kids, then coming to the car.

As I watch her read, I think about driving to Morro Bay for our dinner imaginary date. It is a seafood restaurant but she orders a salad, but I can't resist the calamari. We chat, eat, and I look at her, thinking how beautiful I believe she is. She eats her salad and I watch her take leisurely bites and wipe her mouth with her napkin, the mouth I love to watch as she speaks, and I watch her eyes that seem to gleam and shine with energy as she looks at me.

I watch her as she talks to her children, laughing with them about something I cannot hear. Eventually, she starts to read again but this time she stays on her back and lifts one leg slightly, bending it casually at the knee, leaving the other outstretched on the towel. I like the pose and gaze at her over the top of my own book.

I think about our imagined date, the drive home, a period of parking on the bluff overlooking the ocean, chatting casually, comfortably. She talks of work, her job teaching, and her kids. I have heard her called Barbara and I think how much I like the name, how much it fits her, how good it sounds, how much I am glad to know it.

I watch her walk to the water and test the temperature, putting one foot out as the wave washes around her ankle. As she stands at the water's edge, I think back to the imagined date, the drive home, the time in front of her house. I envision a kiss, soft and warm, a hesitation and then a second one.

I picture us on a second date at a movie theater, eating popcorn, then driving to her house and having coffee at her kitchen table, after the babysitter's gone home and the kids are asleep. I suppose we would talk about the beach, and I may ask her how long she has been going to the nude beach. I guess she'd say a year, after living, perhaps, in Spain, or France or San Francisco.

I figure I would leave after an hour or so, and I probably would kiss her at the door. I would drive away and look back in my rearview mirror and watch her standing at the door as I drove away. We wold have told one another we see each other at the beach. I probably would drive away slowly, because I'd want to keep her house in sight.

The next day at the beach I would ask if she minded me sitting close and I imagine her inviting me to sit with her, even though, in reality we are not sitting very close. She sat maybe twenty yards from me, although I had a very good view of her.

The wind began to blow much harder and it blew her son's beach ball away. I jumped up and chased after it and after fifty yards or so I caught up to it and brought it back to her. She thanked me and asked me to bring my towel and sit next to her.

"My name is Barbara," she said, putting out her hand. I took it, told her my name was David, and I put my towel down next to hers. "I have seen you here for a while," she said. "You live in the area?" she asked.

I told her where I lived and it was close to where she lived, in the same town. She introduced me to her children, London and Keith. I had guessed right. She was a teacher, in the elementary grades. She had come to the nude beach because "she thought it was a good way to raise children."

I said I liked her daughter's name. "My husband's idea," she said.

"So you are married," I said.

"Not anymore," she said giving no details. I didn't ask for any, I was just relieved there was no husband. I offered to pick them up on my way to the beach, but unlike my fantasy she politely declined, thanked me for the kind offer but said it would work out better for her to drive herself. I let it drop and chatted and read, did our own things, and spent the day as just beach neighbors. I played frisbee with her kids and frolicked with them in the surf.

For the next ten days it went pretty much like it had before. Usually, I would get to the beach first, find the 'spot' and when she'd arrive they would spread her towels next to mine and we'd respond to one another like old friends. It was comfortable and I was happy things were working like I had imagined.

A week later, as comfortable as it had become, I asked her if she would enjoy dinner sometime in the next few weeks. Like I had hoped, she smiled, thanked me, and said she'd like that. I didn't mention the children and I could see she assumed it was more in the line of a real date.

"Sunday night?" I asked, "around six? I will pick you up at your place," I said. She asked if I needed directions, and she didn't say anything about me already knowing where she lived. I asked if she likes seafood.

"Love it," she said.

"Morro Bay?" I said.

"Sounds wonderful," she said.

I picked her up on Sunday afternoon. She was at the door when I drove up. The children were at the baby sitter's and she had her purse in her hand. We rode and chatted casually and comfortably and passed the time easily. We talked about the beach, the weather, and some items from the news.

"Are you married?" she asked directly.

"Not anymore," I said with a smile.

At the restaurant I ordered Calamari, but unlike my daydream she ordered the salmon. I felt very comfortable with her, feeling easy talking to her, not intimated by the beauty that had attracted me. She was beautiful, easy to

look at, but she was also easy to be with and to talk to.

She explained she had grown up in a military family, had traveled and moved a great deal, gone to many different schools, and graduated from high school in New Jersey. She had gone to school in Puerto Rico, England, Mississippi, and Nebraska. She had married in college, but it had ended and she'd gone into teaching.

Her family had no history in nudism, but the idea appealed to her for her children and she began going to the nude beach. I said I was glad she had and told her I had seen her there two months before. "I am glad you did," she said. I told her I had first seen her looking out at the sailboat in the cove.

"I remember that day," she said with a smile. I didn't tell her I had taken a picture of her that afternoon, although I knew it had gone beyond what I should have done without her permission, but she looked so beautiful I just couldn't resist.

Again we sat together and afterwards I walked them to their car. I saw them everyday for the next week, then I asked her if she like to see the new Barbra' Streisand movie. She brightened and smiled, then accepted.

We went to the movie and afterward, like my fantasy, we sat in her kitchen and drank coffee. Her kids were home, the babysitter was gone, and the kids were asleep. We talked about the movie, Streisand, and our favorite singers. We both thought she was a great singer, both liked musicals, and liked the theater.

Our next time together was for a play at the local college. After the play we parked and talked. I finally put my arm around her and she leaned into me. We kissed and afterwards she asked to go back to her place. Her children were gone and we could "be alone." Being alone with her is all I wanted.

When we got there, without much hesitation she undressed, then put her arms around me. It was better than any daydream I had ever had. She helped me undress and we stretched out on the bed and I rolled on top of her. Without even realizing I was in the right position, I slid right in. It was absolutely heavenly, and I began to move slowly in and out of her, holding her tight, afraid it was still my imagination.

It was not my imagination and after we both came we relaxed and cuddled leisurely, not talking, just enjoying the togetherness, the warmth of our two bodies, the afterglow of our coupling.

It was the first, but it certainly was not our last time making love. For the next fifty years we have been a couple, and I still have the picture I took of her that day as she stood naked looking out at the sailboat in Pirates Cover just south of Avila in San Luis Obispo County, California.

She still is beautiful and still the person I chose to spend my life with everyday of every year and every second, and the person I love to focus my eyes upon as often as possible for as long as possible. She is no longer shy and retiring. She is intelligent and confident, decisive and informed, and she certainly is her own person, but I love her like I have for fifty years, and I am so very thankful I chose that stretch of beach on that particular day and watched that one naked woman looking out at a sailboat anchored in the cove. It was a pivotable moment in my life and we have had the same address for forty-five years, and I have been grateful for every second of it.