It was day three of our holiday in France. I awoke at 5:30, my wife snoring next to me and our two delightful children also sound asleep. I wanted, with all fibres of my being to get out of the glamping tent. It's not easy to explain, I guess just put it down as too close a proximity to well everyone and everything. I needed to go for a run. I donned my trainers, shorts and T-shirt. Heard my wife mummer with her eyes closed.
"Going for a jog, back in a bit."
This was met with a roll and more snoring. I grabbed my phone and picked a 10 km run to a small lake. The rep had pointed this out on our arrival at the camp site and said it was popular with nudists. I figured it would be quiet at this time and I would be spared the sight of an old French couple, marinated in Brie and Chardonnay baring their hairy regions.
I hit the path, kept my heart rate steady and crunched the km. Each stride aimed at dissolving my tension. Work tension, bickering children tension, spousal arguments tension and cold shoulder tension. I had been on similar holidays when I was young, thinking of the silent arguments my parents had when travelling and trying to be on holiday. We had even been to campsites identical to this, but everything has changed. Now it's me and my wife with the silent arguments and our children tip toeing around us. Even the beach is different, I remembered beaches full of topless girls. Wonderful perky tits everywhere. Now I see more bitch tits than actual tits. The run isn't working. I'm stewing rather than releasing. Before I know it I'm at the lake and done my best 10 km in a long time. I looked around the lake, a pristine site surrounded by trees framed by a rocky outcrop and no one around just the sound of hungry wildlife. I'm not sure when I had decided to do this, I think it was on the run as I thought about the nudist beach and lake. I had decided to add a swim to my morning escapade. I stripped my running shorts and shirt off and waded in. A shiver rippled across me as the cool water hit my bare scrotum. I surface dived and felt my skin tingle with the electricity of cold water. I held my body underwater feeling the weight of the water pushing on me in all directions. But it's not quiet and calming, It's oppressive and stifling. I surface. The cold air creates goose pimples over my skin. I'm still stressed. I'm still bubbling with anger and comebacks I'd thought of three hours later. My hand strokes my cock and I figure maybe a wank will ease off the stress. I float on the surface and let my hand do the work. Getting me hard. I think about hot pussy. I think about perky tits. I hear a cough... a cough!
I sink my body below the surface and spin round. A splash appears behind me and a bubble of blonde hair crests through the water. I recognize her as a mum on the same camp site.
"Bonjour" I call.
"Bonjour".
I look around, "the water feels very fresh".
She smiles at me.
"Parlez vous Anglais?" (do you speak English?)
"Non, Parlez vous FranΓ§ais?" (No, do you speak French?)
"Non, sprechen sie Deutsch? (No, do you speak German?)
"Ja ich bin Deutscher" (yes, I am German)
The conversation continues in German.
"Are you staying at the camp?"
"Yes"
"Me too, I'm here with my wife and children. You?
"Same here, husband and children.
"I have two, Chester eight and Naomi five".
"I have three boys".