Bastille Day Ch. 01

I have had a lot of fun writing this story, which will have many chapters. I read somewhere that a novel should have good beginning, a mild climax in the middle, and a major climax at the end. This story has a lot more climaxes, that is, the characters do. I like stories here to have three pages, but this first chapter will be longer to include a first climax - his - and the promise of hers.

Why is the story so long? I started it almost a year ago as an idea for the Nude Day Competition, intending for it to end on Bastille Day in Paris this year, following a "warm-up" with a group trip to a French nudist beach last year. Then I discovered that on Bastille Day, 2012, the Tour de France ended that day at the nudist beach resort. The characters have a lot of fun after watching on TV the parade in Paris and before going to watch the finish of the bike race.

The group wants to watch the tour again this year, choosing a nudist resort near the finish line on Bastille Day 2013. With prescience, I know what happens, also the following week.

*

Early in 2012 on Literotica someone started a new forum:

"Who wants to come with me to a naturist beach in France?"

After three pages of replies along the line: "I'll come with you anywhere;" "Me too, either gender, anywhere, hehe!" "Why France? We could just do it here;" "Yeah, or at Paradise Lakes in FL; I have a rental;" "Why naturist? Why wait till summer?"

The originator, who called himself Naturebuff, replied several times, playing along with the latest comments, but always indicating that the question was really about getting a group of web acquaintances to go to France. After the flurry of such comments, some of those posters left; some of them showed interest in the original proposal, and new names signed on with interest to go to France.

By then, Naturebuff was being shortened to NB or Buffy, and he - yes, a man - replied using both nicknames. Sex-oriented comments still popped up, but they just added a little prickle to the forum, and no one complained. Why should they, how could they? Not on Literotica. Besides, by then serious suggestions of where the group might go were appearing. One person apparently had a copy of the New York Times bestseller 'The World Guide to Nude Beaches and Resorts', and others either agreed or suggested other places.

Others then googled and discovered that those suggestions were all ones that mentioned that sexual activity was condoned - well, winked at. A couple of others complained that that wasn't what they were looking for, but someone else then claimed that wasn't a problem on the greater areas of the beaches. He was kicked for calling it a "problem."

For a couple of days, there were no comments, and then several came back to confirm what he had said, not without snickers about where they had gotten their information, apparently supplemented by avid viewing on a well-known free porn website. By the next day, it seemed that everyone had this or her own second hand impression of the beaches. When someone with an obviously female user name complained that the videos mainly showed women, but also complained that there were too many fat old men, someone immediately asked tactfully if she was worried about the competition or more interested in seeing well-built younger men. She responded with a verbal sheepish smile.

A few French and German members of Literotica had shown interest in the project. A French one seemed to have hands-on - pants-off - experience and helped the group to reach a consensus to go to Cap D'Agde on the Mediterranean. When he learned that the trend was towards a vacation in August, he explained that they wouldn't have a chance, since all France would be on vacation, urging them to agree to go in July, and also to book as soon as possible. A couple of persons couldn't go in July and bowed out.

The Frenchman, who called himself "Sans-culotte," offered to help make reservations. That brought the planning forward: agreeing on dates, his input on prices, etc. It was too expensive for another couple of people, but Sans-culotte recruited a retired friend, and someone else, who had been following the forum, signed on when he or she saw that the trip would materialize. Sans-culotte managed to book rooms for the group, all double rooms, which left a bed empty. Buffy managed to recruit one of the earlier drop-outs, so that no one had to pay the higher price for a single vs half for a double room. Everyone booked his or her flight and reported that the show could go on.

But then: there were two or three couples in the group, but the rest were singles who only knew each other from Literotica, including a couple of writers, whose work they all had seen by then. Some had revealed their gender, but not all.

Then someone raised the question about sharing rooms. The flurry of postings, however, revealed that it had occurred to everyone, at least after the first comment: "Room sharing?! I guess I can share with anyone here." The following postings were more or less in the same vein. Only one person made the slip of saying he or she would "sleep" with anyone. It passed without comment. When someone mentioned gender and age, Buffy suggested that we [Whoops! I wasn't going to admit that I had signed up.] exchange email addresses, moving the discussion off the forum.

A day later, everyone had been contacted by all the others. There was a very interesting exchange of personal information. Genders both ways came as surprises, also ages. Sans-culotte mailed that he would be sharing a room with his friend, but that he needed a real name for each room, saying that when we [did it again] arrived, it wouldn't matter whether the person actually slept in that room. Everyone gave him his/her name, and he reported back the ones he had used.

We chuckled by email that it then wasn't so important to settle for the whole two weeks who would sleep with whom, no one remarking that by then we all were talking about sleeping instead of room sharing. Initially, there may have been some individual emails, but then everyone copied everything to everyone else, I guess to keep pairings from seeming too personal. Early on, two men agreed that they would share a room. Since one had surprised us as being a male, I think everyone tacitly assumed that they were gay and had found each other. We all congratulated them as the first room sharers.

The rest of us bantered about the alternatives. Two women in their forties paired off. Then the oldest two persons, a man and woman whose ages had surprised us, agreed to share, cheerfully telling that they didn't want anyone to have to draw straws to sleep with either of them, "and besides, we're past getting any ideas." When we congratulated them, she replied: "but my breasts don't hang too much" with a winking smiley. He came back, remarking: "But what I have does." We all laughed in response, and returned to finding a roommate.

When the whole exchange of information started, someone suggested adding photos, but a couple of others immediately pointed out that it would only complicate things, become a beauty contest, and other agreed, stifling the idea. What did complicate thing was that there were three women and five men still to be paired, the women all under thirty-five. We men ranged from twenty-seven to fifty-six. The older couple were both in their sixties. Were we five men curious how the three women looked? Of course, but, also, of course, didn't ask. The exchange of personal information move to a higher level: education, profession, religion.

Since she says she's a Roman Catholic, is she real uptight about the idea of sharing a room with a strange man? If she says she's an agnostic, is she more open to the idea, maybe even more open to other ideas?? Oh, is maybe one of them - one of us - an Afro-American? That question may have occurred to the man who mentioned that his family was now only Jewish in name. I allowed that both my parents were immigrants from northern Europe: "in case you didn't assume that from my name." They had. Then the one with a Harvard BA and MBA replied: "Surprise maybe, I'm a fourth generation 'Yankee Negro', maybe not quite Old Boston stock."

The exchanges weren't, of course, always so immediate, but it was late one evening, and the last eight of us were all at our keyboards, waiting for each other to post.

"Older than the Kennedy family, someone replied, and we all agreed with verbal chuckles. Then the woman with a very Irish first and last name - the Catholic one, of course, and with just a high school education - replied:

"Oooh, if you can stand my South Boston accent, I'll never get closer to a Harvard man."

"I can, but what's a nice girl like you doing here?" he replied.

"Three Hail Marys and an Our Father, only my parents still think I'm 'nice'."

"Hm-hmm. Just for that, lots of practice confessing?"

"Oh yes."

"We'll just be sharing a room, don't have to confess that, ... unless you have flaming red hair. I mean, not for the hair, for sharing the room."

"I don't think so. And if I have flaming red hair?

"I'll take my chances."

"Me too, thanks. I'll dye it by then."

The rest of us congratulated them with grinning smileys or a ;D.

Then it seemed as though the other two women had been communicating privately; both of them posted emails with almost the same text:

"If the redhead can, we girls don't want to share a room together. You men figure it out. Remember, last two have to sleep with each other, not literally."

We let them enjoy our exchange, discussing all the possible ways we could choose, finally agreeing that the two younger men had to share a room, and telling the women that we chose them by age, the two oldest and the other two. Everyone but the youngsters seem satisfied, but then someone who hadn't been involved, pointed out that they had all the girls on the beach, to which one of the last women replied:

"And just don't assume that because we're sleeping with someone, it means we're sleeping with him."

Her choice of words was so obviously intentional, that we all rejoined, a flood of incoming emails. The next day someone suggested again photos, but that was again immediately squelched, and Buffy suggested name-tags when we arrived in France.

In the following weeks, there was more common communication, but also individual emails between the roommates, all apparently wanting to make the best of the selection process. We were all from Literotica; potential sexual involvement had to be lurking in our minds, and planning a nudist holiday together only underlined that. No one could be surprised if things got a little intimate. Do nudists wear a bathrobe or put on pajamas to go to bed?

Sans-culotte had assured us that the rooms all had twin beds, but someone reported that in Europe twin beds are often pushed together: "almost as good as a double bed." Sans-culotte suggested that we work on our over-all tans in order not to stand out as Americans, and with a verbal chuckle recommended that anyone who had never been nude in public try to get some experience. I had a little, but needed to work on my tan, and did. The comments about how and where to go naked in public in America were entertaining.

This story wasn't supposed to be personal, but since it has slipped out that I was in the group, I will admit that as the fifty-six year-old, I was delighted with the prospect of sharing a room with the thirty-five year-old woman, and one who seemed to be a little witty and also wanted to make the best of our room sharing. Of course, we didn't say anything directly or even obliquely about doing anything with each other, but we exchanged emails regularly and told about ourselves, putting our best foot forward.

I guess our exchanges about our pasts could have been a little suggestive: that I was divorced, that she had broken up months ago, that everything we told about our present life did not include a partner. I didn't tell her that I had started trying to get fit, swimming regularly and doing a little calisthenics in the morning: sit-ups and push-ups. Soon able again to do thirty push-ups, I wondered if anyone still did it missionary style, not so often on the websites I looked at. But maybe that was my choice of videos, wondering if all women her age now liked to suck cocks - all the way. My ex-wife hadn't.

As the date of departure approached, I had misgivings. What if she was overweight, seriously overweight? She had mentioned that she played tennis, once been pretty good, after I had bragged about my college sport. But she could still be overweight; I had seen quite hefty women playing tennis. Expect the worst, then you won't be disappointed.

I knew where she lived, but would she be on the plane I took, or would it be more convenient for her to go to another major airport. But we all were going to arrive in Paris. Then with our name-tags, or first at the end of our connecting flight? Name-tag: real name or user name, or both?

Both, to remind the others of my Literotica identity. Packing for a nudist vacation was easy.

I arrived in Paris and found my way to the gate for the connecting flight, quite a walk. In the waiting area, I saw that a couple of people had their name tags on and were chatting together. The handsome, light brown man was obviously the Harvard graduate, but it didn't look like the young woman from South Boston had introduced herself. Trying to be discrete, I wandered around. Not seeing the name of my roommate, I didn't introduce myself, then wondering if I was subconsciously hoping our - what? compatibility? - would be stronger than that to the rest of the group.

Don't fool yourself, kid - old man. But maybe she felt the same and was one of the other women in the boarding area, also without her name-tag? Which one? Not the statuesque blond, hopefully: maybe the right age, but taller than me and too attractive. How homely could she be and still be attractive? This one, that one? Another one? She was nicer, but reading a German newspaper. Weren't the two Germans a couple? Mine - mine? - was an American. That one was reading "Le Monde" but looked more American. She had the largest size carry-on bag; didn't need to check any luggage, since we're all going naked? Damn! I forgot to pack beach towels.

All the time, of course, I was trying to maintain a pleasant but disinterested expression. Was the slender gentleman with short gray hair perhaps Sans-culotte? He had said that he would be taking the same flight, and he was accompanied by a man his age, who had a more "comfortable" figure. Yes, he immediately introduced himself to those wearing name-tags, also his companion. Both seemed to speak very fluent English. He looked too distinguished to wear a tag with his user name, or with his real name. Hadn't he said that he was an ENI graduate, maybe too well known to want to show his name in public?

As flight time approached, no more tag-wearers appeared, so I kept mine in my pocket and continued to wonder who the other still anonymous members of the group were. Most of the other passengers looked like they were also starting vacation. How many were also nudists?

We boarded the plane and a couple of hours later were landing in sunny southern France. By the time we had disembarked, we all were wearing our name-tags, except for Sans-culotte. I and the others joined the group, all of us looking a little sheepish about having delayed revealing that we belonged. We all shook hands, first with our roommates and then with the others, most smiling a little wryly, apparently feeling a bit funny about meeting for the first time people they were planning to spend a nude vacation with, especially with their roommates. I certainly did, having envisioned that being nude on the beach was one thing, but that sharing a room with a younger woman, both of us probably still nude, could feel a little different.

After the first round of introductions, we went to wait for the luggage of those who had checked their bags, pairing off, again with smiles. She was not overweight, and was not homely, and I tried to keep my stomach drawn in, not that I was overweight, but not as fit-looking as Sans-culotte, who appeared to be older than me.

"Marge," as she had immediately introduced herself, now smiling at me as she removed her name tag: "Margaret Faustsgretchen." She had been the one reading a German newspaper. As I removed mine: "Thomas ..., ...", I said:

"Tom, or Tommy. People who have known me for years still call me Tommy, but it seems a little juvenile at my age."

"Makes you seem younger. Oh, you do."

She smiled apologetically, and I chuckled, replying:

"I'd like to think so."

"Tommy, Marge," and she offered me her hand again, both of us smiling as we held them just that instant longer than necessary. Then she smirked very slightly and whispered:

"I suddenly - yesterday - thought: what if he's fat?! You aren't."

"You aren't either, and I had been worrying about that much longer."

"Thanks, my bikini diet for not wearing one."

"I tried to do something about it too," and I drew in my stomach again."

She grinned and chuckled, and I added, still sucking it in:

"But I can't breath," and relaxed with a gasp.

We both chuckled, smiling, and she said:

"Still all right; I had visions of something hang over the belt."

"Could have told me that a few weeks ago and saved me some effort."

We smiled again and then chatted softly about the other couples: the possible redhead wasn't; the oldest couple seemed quite happy with each other. It looked like the two men were gay, and the two younger chaps were chatting and chuckling, we agreeing softly that they could be anticipating looking for female company on the beach. That was as close as we got to suggesting that anything might happen, and it only seemed fair to think that the two young men could enjoy themselves.

Then we were all on the mini-bus that took us to our hotel on the beach, sitting, of course, with our respective roommates. Marge glanced over and asked:

"Have you done this before?"

"A couple of times, visiting my sister and brother-in-law in Florida."

"You were the one who suggested Paradise Lakes?"

"But don't really have a rental there, just wanted to join the bantering."

"But you were there, going nude?"

"Of course, no problem, if that's what you mean, ... at least with them and their friends."

"And seeing younger people?"

"Nice, but still no problem, but we weren't together with them."

She smiled with a nod, and I asked:

"And you?"

"Not really. Oh, in Germany, everyone is nude in the sauna and afterwards, but by then it seems just natural."

"Too hot, and then too cold."

"Something like that. And I guess all the men have a lot more experience with it, no big deal."

"And your tan?"

"Hmm! You'll see."

"You too."

We both smirked slightly and were comfortably silent for the rest of the drive to our hotel. The receptionist called the names used by Sans-culotte to reserve the rooms, and they signed for the rooms and got their keys. On the way to the elevator, a couple of the keys were given to the actual roommates. We agreed to meet again for a drink before dinner and went to our rooms.

Marge and I both snorted softly at the sight of two queen-sized beds, but only asked if the other had a preference, the only factors being: closer to the window or to the bathroom. In a flash of intuition, I said that I preferred the window, thinking that it was polite to let her not have to walk past my bed to go to the bathroom. We dropped our bags on our beds, and began to unpack. When I mentioned that I had forgotten beach towels, she immediately offered me one of hers, telling that she had packed three. I said that I could buy one in the hotel shop, but she insisted with a smile, tossing it to me across her bed. I replied that I would still buy one, turning back to my bed.