This is the last in the series of stories about the adventures of the man who couldn't say "no." Undoubtedly, he has many more stories that could be told, but there comes a time when the author needs to move on to other characters and other situations. This chapter contains a brief epilogue to tie up a few loose ends.
I was puttering about in the kitchen of my Walnut creek home on a Sunday afternoon, preparing dinner for my mother and her friend Lisa. As you may recall after my Dad passed my mother had moved out of my childhood home in Walnut Creek and informally turned it over to me while she lived with her lover, Lisa, in Lisa's big house in North Berkeley. In the summer of 1969 Mom, Lisa, and a woman I knew much later as Mrs. E were lovers who shared the North Berkeley house. Oh and my father was there too. I was born 9 months later. After 1969, my father and mother married, and the rest of the group went on to lead separate lives, although it has never been clear to me just how often they may have had "reunions" of the summer of 69 group. The other detail is that when I was 18 I had love affairs with each of Mrs. E (then our next door neighbor) and Lisa. It's complicated (and no, I never did it with my Mom—only her lovers).
But now I live in the Walnut Creek house, and Mom and Lisa are coming to dinner. They don't believe I can cook. The flank steak has been soaking up the marinade for several hours and the ratatouille is bubbling nicely on the stove. Lisa is bringing the wine, and Mom is bringing the pie (that's what Moms do, isn't it?). Right now it's time to retreat to the back porch with a glass of Scotch and savor the smell of the hickory chips on the grill while I await my guests.
When I spoke to Lisa recently she mentioned that she and Mom had been up in Marin a few days ago at a clothing optional beach they both enjoy (even 70 year-olds can enjoy being naked on the beach when the weather is warm). As I sat sipping my Scotch I remembered the beach Lisa was telling me about and an experience I had there in my mid-30s when I was between wives one and two:
My first wife was a fan of nude sunbathing, especially on a public beach, so this particular beach in Marin was one of our favorite getaways when the weather was good. I had become comfortable with nudity and, even though the marriage was gone, I decided to take a few days off during a lovely, warm October to spend a few days up in Marin at my favorite nude beach. I took a couple of beach towels, sun block, a good book, and a few beers in a cooler—all the things you need for a trip to the beach except a swim suit. Since I planned to be there for a few days, I made arrangements to use my ex-brother-in-law's cottage in Bodega. He and I were on remarkably good terms given our status as ex-brothers-in-law, so there was no problem in getting his cottage for a few days.
There were quite a few people on the beach, it being a Sunday afternoon, and since the beach was clothing optional, people were sunbathing and strolling the beach in just about every level of dress or undress physically possible. The only thing missing was some Richard Nixon type in a dark blue suit and freshly shined oxfords.
I was lying (clothed only in dark glasses as was my custom at this beach) propped up against a log, ostensibly reading a book, but mostly watching people stroll by, while I listened to the lulling drone of the surf. There was a an off-shore breeze and it was warm enough so that it was comfortable to be naked. I was well past the trauma of my recent divorce (the first one is the hardest, trust me). To sum it up, I was feeling pretty good about life at the moment. I was even managing to ignore the fact that I was going to have to fly to Minnesota the following week where they were already test driving winter.
I watched a pair of ladies in their mid-thirties, as best I could guess, amble by. They were wearing shorts and loose t-shirts, not exactly beach wear and plenty of coverage, at least for this beach. But what the hell, the rule here is
clothing optional
, and that means you can wear clothes, or not, as you choose.
Now one of the things you need to understand about Northern California beaches is that just because the beach is warm enough to sunbathe nude on, doesn't mean the water is warm. The water on the Northern California coast is brought to you by something called the California Current which is delivering water directly from the depths of the North Pacific. It is cold. All the time.
Apparently these two ladies were unaware of just how cold the surf at this beach could be. As they got a bit farther down the beach, I could see them starting to horse around. The blonde pushed the brunette into the surf with a predictable screech as she hit the cold water. She got to her feet (actually twice because she was decked by a wave the first time) and went after her friend, eventually dragging her into the surf with more screaming about the cold water. It also took her friend two tries to get up. The surf can be rough here.
They were laughing good naturedly as they came walking back toward me, but both were staying well away from the surf, having had enough of the cold water, and perhaps not quite trusting each other. As they walked up to me I could see that the wind was chilling both of them.
"Surf a little cold?" I asked.
The dishwater blonde looked over at me and smiled and said, "Yeah, we didn't quite expect that. We're from South Carolina."
"Here's an extra towel. It'll help if you dry off."
They took turns toweling down, and then draped my towel on the log. I could tell the wind was still biting as it blew through their soggy clothes.
"If you want you can huddle down here behind this log. It's better if you can get out of the wind. Spread the towel out on the sand next to me here."
"But it will get all covered with sand," the brunette said. She and her friend had the most delightful southern drawl. It sounds so nice to me when it comes from a woman. When it comes from a man it puts me on guard. What is it this guy wants with all this soft talk? Irrational, I know.
"Not a problem I'll drape it over a rail at my brother-in-law's place in Bodega tonight, and in the morning, I'll just shake it off."
They looked at each other. The blonde nodded, and they spread out the towel and sat down.
"Care for a beer?" I asked.
"Oh we can't take your beer," the brunette said.
"I'm not going to drink it all this afternoon, so it'll just get warm. Besides, I have more back at the beach house in Bodega."
They each took a beer and introduced themselves as Cindy (the blonde) and Karen (the brunette).
"Do you live here," Cindy asked.
"No not here. I live in Palo Alto, when I'm not on an airplane. The beach house in Bodega belongs to my brother-in-law, or ex-brother-in-law I should say."
"And you still get along?" Cindy asked.
"Sure. It's my ex-wife that was the problem." I paused for a moment, "Well, she might say I was the problem."
The women laughed at my honesty.
"Cindy is my ex-sister-in-law," Karen said. "We're great friends. It was her brother that was the problem."
Cindy shrugged—kind of a "What can I say shrug." She was quiet for a moment and then said, "Yeah, he was an asshole."
"Still is," Karen said.
Cindy nodded in agreement.
"Are you girls warming up," I asked.
"Brrrrr. Not really,"
"Don't take this the wrong way," I said "but if you took those wet clothes off and put them on the log to dry, you will actually get warm quicker."
Karen gave me a look, that said, "What kind of right way is there to take a suggestion that we take our clothes off?"
Cindy, on the other hand, said, "What the hell. It's a nude beach. He might be right."
She stood up and peeled all her clothes off and spread them out on the top of the log to dry. Then she dropped back down on to the beach towel. She started to cuddle up to Karen but then said, "Oh burr, you're all wet. Get those soggy clothes off."
"Cindy," Karen said, "You're naked. How can you do that?"
"It's a nude beach," Cindy shrugged.
"She has a point," I said. "And you would be warmer without those soggy clothes on."
Karen looked at me with her pervert look again, but this time I noticed her momentary distraction when her vision paused on my prick. I wasn't aroused—well maybe just a little more than I had been when they walked by the first time. There was a naked girl sitting next to me now. What would you expect? And even when I'm not aroused, I still have a pretty good sized prick. She looked quickly away when she realized I had caught her ogling my goods.
