Lena & Carlos go for a swim
It was a dry afternoon in the garden. Grasshoppers pinged off the screen door of the studio as Carlos tied the last bundle of hyssop to hang from a beam. A drop of sweat ran down his cheek — it was a day to be in the river. Lena had already ridden her bike to the beach after lunch, leaving Carlos to finish his chores. Retrieving a towel from the back of the armchair by the windows, he left the studio and mounted his bike at the end of the driveway.
At Heather Beach, the usual weekday afternoon crowd was spread out quietly on the grass and sand, and Carlos could see figures swimming in the shimmering water. People talked in low voices (as if the heat required it), and cicadas buzzed loudly from the trees. He found Lena’s bike and leaned his against it. Her towel and clothes were laying in the shade of a nearby willow.
Out in the river, Lena was swimming comfortably against the gentle current. Cool water caressed the length of her naked body, carrying away the day’s sweat and dust. She worked her long arms and legs to stay in place relative to shore, where she saw Carlos standing next to her things. She waved, he waved back and began to undress. First sandals, then t-shirt and cutoff shorts, then underwear. Lena admired her husband’s body — his broad shoulders and shapely arms highlighted by a farmer’s tan, his hairy chest, narrow hips and strong legs, his good looking dick. He waded out into the current and dove in.
“Well hello there,” she said as he swam up, leaning in to kiss him on the lips.
“The water feels amazing.”
They swam together in the current, enjoying the coolness and quiet, the sensuality of shared movement. Carlos swam an easy crawl for a stretch, and Lena a smooth backstroke, clear water streaming over and between her breasts. Just out of breath, they stopped to let the river carry them down the beach a little ways before swimming to shore. They stood up in the shallows and waded in, Lena’s arm around Carlos’ waist. Their skin dried in the sun as they wove among the other nude beachgoers back to their willow.
Lena lay back on the blanket and shaded her eyes with her sun hat. Carlos sat up beside her, ankles crossed in the hot sand. People passed along the beach, mostly naked but for a shawl here, a thong there, the odd speedo. He recognized some of them as regulars, others from around town, but many were perfect strangers. Their skin ranged from fair to dark brown, from tanned to untanned, and their bodies showed a beautiful array of shapes and sizes. This is what drew Carlos to nudism in the first place — the celebration of the diverse human form in its everyday beauty. He felt part of the crowd, related to them in shared nakedness.
He looked over at Lena reclined in the dappled sun. Her long legs were crossed, hiding all but a small patch of her trimmed pubic hair; her butt was just visible pressing against the ground, her stomach graceful and soft, breasts spread to show their relatively pale undersides. The last few drops of river water evaporated from her softening nipples. She looked lovely and distant to him — but she was far from distant. Just that morning, before the sun had begun to bake the garden, the two of them had made love in bed with the windows open, their bodies as close as two can be. Carlos smiled at the memory and looked up at the sky through the willow. A long thin cloud stretched overhead, looking almost like the contrails he remembered being so commonplace once. Beyond the strolling people, who for all he knew had also made love this morning, the river slipped quietly past.