No, I don't do those things!

I've held this posting for a couple of days, both to give time for people to read the previous post and to give time to myself to come to terms with the events described below. Don't worry, I didn't do anything really bad, or anything that the president of the united states must have to do sometimes (which doesn't really mean anything good, but whatever).
In the past, my propensity for going along with the flow and listening to people has led to interesting stories, both good and bad. I'm never afraid to test my boundaries, you could say, and I do it all for your entertainment. So, I'd tell you to try to withhold judgment on this one, but I didn't really do anything wrong. As a warning, graphic elements are suggested, though not depicted. And I wouldn't recommend trying this at home. Or anywhere else. Unless you're into that sort of thing.
As an added point, I'd like to say that one of my fellow new teachers here says that the first time she saw me, she thought, "Que fofo!", which means "What a cutie!" in Portuguese. So my charms are broad and still directed at the right targets.

Things started innocently enough; it was a nice Sunday, so I went to the beach. I didn't feel like dealing with the lifeguards and their restrictions, so I headed north. I had done a little bit of exploring up there, where the shores get rockier and the populations sparser, but nothing in depth. I figured a nice quiet beach where I could swim as much as I wanted would be perfect.

As I drifted below the ruins of Apollonia, the shores took on hiking terrain. I had to weave my way through huge rocks and chunks of stone that once belonged to the wall of a fortress. I very rarely call something unbelievable, but this walk along the sea was unbelievable. Walking amongst these ancient ruins, the sea, and the occasional sunbather or fisherman was a transportative experience.

Which may have been why I didn't blink too much when I saw the old, nude dude. He had a hat on, but otherwise was bare-assed and face down on a rock. I had been warned that there was a nudist beach up these parts, and that it was, like most nudist beaches, populated by those who would best serve society by remaining nude on their own terms.

Now, I've in recent times more and more become a private nudist. Hippie-dippy thoughts about how we're more natural that way pervade in my thinking, and so I act on it, occasionally, when nobody's around. On the other hand, I was getting really tired of looking in the mirror and seeing a tan torso and paper white thighs. And just about nobody was around (there was some other dude in the water). And it was Sunday, so surely nobody else would show up. Right? So why not?

Anyway, things started out fine. I started off on my belly, resting up a little bit; it was a long hike, after all. Then, for fear of burning my back and other rear areas, I turned around. I pulled out my...book and started reading. I was in the middle of a very long chapter, and after reading and sweating for a little bit, I decided I'd try to finish the chapter, then go for a swim, then dry off, dress, and go home.

Things were fine, and with applications and reapplications of sun tan lotion, I felt fine. I was still working on Norwegian Wood, which has its spicier moments, but I managed to control myself well while reading.

As I was there, a guy walked by me. He had sunglasses and a backpack, and was dressed in a black t-shirt and black shorts. He walked by me from north to south, and then again from south to north. I paid him little mind, but what little mind I paid him told me that he had paid me more mind. But whatever, I wasn't going to worry about it, I was just doing my thing, nose in a book and nothing in anything else.

Then with about five pages left in my chapter, I looked up to find him asking me something in Hebrew. He was a tall guy with spiky black hair and sunglasses. He asked me whatever he asked me, and my first response, mumbled slightly, was to say "Я не гомик", or roughly translated, I'm not gay. Then, when I realized he didn't understand me, I said "anglit o russit." And in English, he asked me what time it was.

Satisfied with my response (it was 3:55), he sat down next to me. He was from Tel Aviv, worked in marketing, and really liked the water at this beach. And the fact that it was a nude beach. And he was really surprised so few people were there. "It's Sunday," I said.
"Yes, but it's August, everyone is on vacation," he responded.

Despite all this, I didn't completely freak out or figure him out. After all, there's that homoerotic but still heterosexual European and Middle Eastern quality of manhood that affords frank discussion and camaraderie without any sexual tones. For example, a judoist might offer to wrestle me in his boxer briefs, or two friends in Morocco might walk down the street hand in hand, or two Georgian men might kiss on the cheek when they greet each other. No problems there. Also, I didn't want to jump to conclusions. And I didn't want to be overly rude, and to tell the truth, he didn't bother me that much. In fact, mostly, he annoyed me because this was time alone for me to read and relax, and now I had to talk to someone.

But whatever. We talked a little bit, I finished my chapter, and then went in the water. And he joined me, leading the way, actually. Or rather, I kept him in front of me, for peace of mind.

The water where we were had plenty of rocks in it, so it was tricky walking to get to sand deep enough to submerge even the lower half of one's body. There was the added complication that I wanted to keep my distance from this guy, just in case he tried anything. He swam a little bit more vigorously and said a few times how nice the water was, but other than that, no particulars.

Still, I was uncomfortable with the whole thing, and after five unsatisfying minutes, I walked out. He followed me out, and we went to our respective backpacks. The difference was that he then came back over to mine, where he found me putting on my spandex.

"Oh, I thought you were staying," he said. "You don't do those things?"

"No," I answered. "It was nice meeting you, though." And I threw my beach towel and book into my backpack and walked away with a final wave. He exited stage right, I stage left, and that was it.

The old dude with the hat was still there, tanning. I meanwhile laughed to myself, trying to deal with how shook up I felt over the whole thing. A lesson lived, a lesson learned, I hope. Maybe tanning salons aren't so bad...