Sun, Sand, and Secrets: My Summer ‘Beach Deal’ with a Charming English Gentleman; Part 1

November 16, 2025

Hi my dear friends of the group,

As you know, my idea behind “this group”, our cozy secret space, is twofold: first, to have a space where you can share your own works of artistic and erotic female nude photography or painting, which is the main purpose, but also to give me a place to publish some of my own experiences as a nude model for art and photography. Most of those sessions had not only artistic aspects, but also sexual ones.

Of course, in my public blog, My Intimate Diaries: Lust, Passion, and a Life Lived Fully, I write about my sexual adventures, but mostly about those that are more “conventional”, not directly related to the ‘details’ of my work as a model. Still, there I sometimes slip in a few hints about that “secondary job” of mine, usually in the image captions, which I tend to write quite long and detailed, often becoming a “post within the post”, with their own narrative value. I know that few people read image captions, so I am bolder there than in the main text.

What I prefer to avoid in the main blog are posts dealing with experiences that could be easily misunderstood, especially those that began as modeling jobs and ended in sexual encounters with the artist; What I mean is that, in my blog posts, I try not to put words like “hire” and “sex” together in the same sentence… if you get my drift.

Within the small circle of semi-professional, or wannabe, models in northern Spain from the late ’70s to the late ’90s, I was reasonably sought after. It was fairly well known that I was rather easy to persuade into having ‘intimacy’ with the artist who hired me… provided, of course, that I found the guy personally attractive… “doable”, to be more precise. Let me be even clearer: I’ve had sex, usually full, though a few times just light (handjobs or blowjobs), with every artist or photographer, professional or amateur, for whom I ever posed nude, whether under a written contract or a verbal agreement.

It’s true that I posed nude for a famous painter, very well-known in Spain, who wasn’t particularly handsome to say it politely, but I did it for two main reasons: first, because my lover at the time, José Manuel (see Summary 8 in Post No. 2 of my blog), asked me as a favor since the painter was his friend; and second, because posing for such a renowned artist greatly increased my value as a model.

In fact, in my ‘modeling portfolio’: a sort of “résumé” that models (or ‘supposedly’ models as was my case) show when applying for professional work, I included a handwritten letter of recommendation praising my skills as a model and my beauty, signed by that famous painter confirming that I had been his model in a painting project, along with photos of two of the paintings in which I had posed for him, and some photos of myself posing nude in his studio.

I first posed for this famous artist when I was 22: for three full weeks, eight hours a day, including weekends, and then again about ten years later, for a little over two weeks, posing three hours every weekday afternoon after leaving my main job, plus the entire mornings of both weekends.

At 22, I was single, and we had some light sexual contact a couple of times, although I did offer him full sex. He refused out of loyalty to his wife. I wasn't entirely to blame for losing control, become horny and ask him to fuck me, as I had thick pubic hair, but ‘as it seems’ his painting project required a model with a shaved pubic area, so he personally shaved my pubic hair completely and "very meticulously" -perhaps too meticulously- with warm water, shaving cream, and a new razor; then he thoroughly applied cream to soothe the irritation and afterwards put makeup on my pubic area, which was left with whiter skin than the rest… in other words, it was practically as if he had masturbated me, although he didn't want to finish the job but asked me to finish it myself with the handle of a hairbrush… anyway…

But when I was 33: already married and a mother of two, things with the famous painter went soon ‘a step further’… I’d rather not go into details, out of respect for his memory, as he passed away a few years ago, and because he made me promise him that “this never happened”. He wasn’t physically appealing, but he was kind, witty, fun, creative, and truly fascinating. Rest in peace, my friend.

This same thing: having my pubic hair shaved personally, was first done by the first photographer, Carlos (summary 3 in Post No. 2), for whom I posed nude under a verbal agreement after a brief negotiation. It was the first time in my life that I ever haggled over a deal involving sex. It happened in Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela, several years before I first posed for the painter mentioned above. But the difference was that after shaving me, we were both so horny that after a couple of photos, I begged him to forget the photos and fuck me right then and there, as I did with the painter, but Carlos did it… twice. It was on that occasion with Carlos that I realized how exciting the combination of posing nude including mutual "relaxation" model-artist could be, all in the same package, and I've done it that way for the rest of my life, quite successfully, I might add.

I also used to do this quite often: while flirting with strangers I wanted to take to bed, I would casually mention that I’d been or was a sort of semi-professional nude model. That was usually enough for the man to suggest that I “pose” for him… which was nothing more than an excuse or a convenient pretext to take me to his hotel room or, sometimes, even to his home, undress me… and more than once the guy completely forgot we were supposedly meeting for photos and went straight to the “real purpose”.

In other words, it’s socially far more acceptable, and much easier for a man, to suggest to hire a woman to pose nude than to have sex, to put it plainly. For me, working as a model turned out to be useful and convenient in both ways: the artistic and the sexual. Sometimes the photographer’s main interest was the first one, with the second merely a ‘bonus’; other times it was the other way around. Either way, even in that second scenario, the fact that I allowed someone I’d just met to photograph me naked was always an advantage compared with most other women: who might accept having sex with a guy they’d just hooked up with, yet would flatly refuse to be photographed nude by a stranger under any circumstances. But well… they didn’t claim to be models, and I did.

Let me insist on something important that I’ve already mentioned in other posts: in my life, I’ve had “full” sex with exactly eighty different men so far (see Short Post No. 39: June Nights in the Hospital Wing, Or How I Reached Number Eighty), and non-penetrative or “light” sex with many more. Now, the vast majority of those encounters happened spontaneously and naturally, the way they tend to happen for a hypersexual and easygoing girl like me, with no contract, arrangement, or ulterior motive involved: just fun and lust. But I’ve never hidden the fact that, on some occasions, I’ve also done it in the other way: that is, with additional interests beyond the sexual one. And I say “interests” because it hasn’t always been about ‘direct material benefits’; but sometimes it was to gain advantages at work, or as an alternative way of paying for certain home repairs, or simply as a way of returning favors. Since sex is not something transcendent to me, nor related with moral aspects, nor even necessarily connected to love, I’ve used it throughout my life both to enjoy pleasure, I mean for lust, and to obtain other kinds of benefits.

Now that the stage is set, let’s get to the heart of my adventure as a ‘nude photography model’, an adventure I’m about to share with you, which happened when I was 24, and which was far more… exciting and transgressive than it might seem at first glance.

As you know, I married the man I call Dan in the blog (see Summary 10 in Post No. 3) when I was 23, with a prior agreement that allowed me to have sex with any man I wished, on the sole condition that I would later tell my husband what I had done. I’ve written extensively about this peculiarity and about my long and happy marriage, now spanning forty years, both on the blog and here in the group, so I won’t dwell on it today. Instead, I want to share an experience I had at 24 with an English tourist I met on the beach during my summer holidays in a town on the Costa Blanca called Calpe (southeast Spain).

Click to View Show Anyway

[[ Image 1. This photo was taken by Francis (summary 11 in Post No. 3 and the final paragraphs of Post No. 4), for whom I was the official art and photography model, and lover, and who also happens to be my husband’s best friend. He took it right after our summer holidays that same year, when I was 24. As you can see, I was very tanned: I had spent the entire month of July on the beach, morning and afternoon. It had been barely three weeks since my “affair” with Tom, the man I begin telling you about in today’s post.
The only difference from how I looked when I was with Tom is that, after that encounter, my husband trimmed my pubic hair quite a bit, as you can tell in the picture, because I had started wearing bikini bottoms even smaller than the ones I wore during the first half of the summer. During those summer months, between June and September, I had full sex with six different men, including my husband, Francis, and Tom. ]]

Regarding my holiday affairs: something I’ve always loved, even after being married, I strongly recommend reading Short Post 3: Chronicle of a Summer Beach Fling at Age 27., which also includes several photos you’ll find interesting. In that post, I recount a typical ‘beach affair’ I had at 27; and over the course of my life, I’ve had quite a few very similar encounters to that and to the one I’m about to tell you about today.

I was born at the end of December, and I married Dan at the end of May, when I was 23. That same summer, we spent a whole month in a rented apartment in a nice classy coastal town on the Costa Blanca called Altea, not far from the town where the adventure I’m about to tell you took place.

In Altea, there’s a traditional (that is, non-nude) beach, which isn’t particularly good, being very rocky, and we hardly ever went there. There are also a couple of nudist coves, which my husband and I visited quite frequently. While the sandy areas were decent, entering the water was a true ordeal, especially at a cove called Mascarat, full of pebbles that the waves would batter against your ankles, making it difficult to get in. The other nudist beach, partly sandy, is called La Solsida, and it’s somewhat better. I recommend taking a look on Google, although sadly, over time these beaches have suffered from massive apartment developments around, and I’m not even sure they’re nudist anymore.

Still, my husband and I often chose Mascarat, because it felt more intimate, more “cozy.” And yes, I hooked up with quite a few of men there, even with my husband around, though mostly when he went off on his long cycling trips and I visited Mascarat alone. Over the years, I had there sexual encounters with several men: some in the water in secluded side areas, some “on dry land”, hidden among the rocks, and even one in a camper van parked nearby. Curiously, most of them were foreign tourists traveling alone: mainly Germans and Englishmen, the perfect candidates for a little “beach affair”.

Spaniards tended to go in groups of friends, although on occasion, at 28, I joined one of these groups and had my own beach trysts… and beyond the beach, even spending a couple of nights together, with a handsome Spaniard with an outstanding sexual capacity, a beautiful uncut cock whose foreskin I loved to roll back with my mouth, and incredible stamina that only a hypersexual, insatiable and lustful young slut as I was is able to take full advantage of.

Every night we spent together he fucked me five times filling me to the brim, at least one impaling my ass also raw using coconut oil as lube, wonderfully. Besides more than once, being in the beach, we fucked in the water not far from the shore along the afternoon while the rest of the group of friends, boys and girls, watched us from the beach, only 20 meters far, knowing perfectly well what we were doing not floating but standing with our feet in the sand… well, in my case my legs rolled around him to allow a deeper penetration… yes, I was bold, a reckless slut when my lust made me lost all control.

A few of my experiences on the beaches with strangers were more or less connected to my secondary work as a model; the Spaniard I just summarized, however, was not one of them. That encounter might even become a full post on my blog, as it had nothing to do with remuneration or professional arrangements; it was a classic beach fling: hot, uninhibited, daring, and even a little reckless, considering I had unprotected sex dangerously close to my fertile period (though it wasn’t the first time I’d taken such risks with strangers). He only took a couple or three photos of me nude, just as a memento.

With a few foreign men I met on the beach, however, photography became the starting point of the sexual part of the adventure. In a couple of cases, I posed under a verbal agreement, though not a legal contract, sometimes even bargaining a bit and tacitly including in the deal that the photos would be followed by sex. This is exactly the kind of encounter I’ll be sharing with you in today’s post.

The thing is, during those first summer holidays on the Costa Blanca, at 23, my husband and I discovered a non-nude beach called La Fossa in a neighboring town called Calpe. The sand there is soft, both on the beach and under the crystal-clear water. Back then, and I’m talking about the early 80s, the beach was relatively quiet; nowadays, unfortunately, it’s overcrowded, and almost everyone was European and very tolerant of nudity.

In other words, although it wasn’t a nudist beach, no one minded if a young girl like me wore bikinis that were practically microbikinis. And of course, I’ve always gone topless on all beaches in Spain, even today, on the few occasions I visit the beach nowadays. At La Fossa, nobody was scandalized if a girl lay nude in the sand catching the last rays of the sun when the beach was nearly empty in the late afternoon, or if she changed out of a wet swimsuit directly on the sand, remaining naked for a few seconds while putting on a dry one. It was, in short, a non-nude beach that was extremely tolerant of discreet nudity.

Even now, though the beach is crowded, topless remains common, and a couple of years ago I noticed quite a few girls changing swimsuits without hesitation, completely naturally, with nobody saying a word. For the moment, at least,… since I fear that soon some of the “guests”, not quite welcome for all of us and poorly integrated, coming from the south, who want to impose their medieval, backward religious rules on women instead of adapting to local customs, might start complaining.

But that’s another, very unpleasant matter, connected to the decadence and surrender of Europe, which sold its soul for a handful of coins to the greedy, demonic global investment groups. But back in 1985, when the beach adventure I’m about to tell you happened, there was no reason to expect anything like that could occur. At the time, the perspective was that individual freedoms, sexual included, would continue expanding year by year, rather than disappearing at the accelerated pace they have been since 2001.

To give you some more context: I had started working as a senior technician, with a very good salary for the time, at the largest electric utility company in Spain in October, when I was 22, having just earned my MSc in a branch of science and technology.

A few days before my twenty-third birthday, I met Dan (summary 10 in Post No. 3), and we started dating almost immediately. He is three years older than me, and by then he was already a PhD, an assistant professor at the university in subjects related to “solid-state physics”. Despite his young age, he was preparing for competitive exams to secure a ‘tenured university chair’, and he also collaborated on research projects with companies, giving him a good salary only slightly lower than mine. In other words, even at such a young age, we were both in a very comfortable financial position.

However, we lived modestly, in a rented apartment in a working-class neighborhood on the industrial outskirts of a large northern city in Spain, because we were saving ‘everything we could’ to buy our own place: larger and in a more upscale area, with a better quality of life.

For that reason, my occasional income from my secondary work as a model: specializing in nude posing… and a little more than just modeling, came in very handy in helping us reach our goal of owning a property together as quickly as possible. On his side, my husband took on additional work with companies alongside his university position, while I sought jobs with photographers and painters as a model, discreetly suggesting that “complementary services” might be included in the deal.

I started my, let's say, 'career as a nude and erotic photography model' eight years before I got married, when I was still living in the Guayana region of Venezuela, and my parents sent me to a boarding school run by nuns in Puerto La Cruz, in order to separate me from a sweetheart with whom I had sex almost daily and from whom my parents, especially my mother, wanted to keep me away so that I would not get pregnant at such an early age.

In that dreadful boarding school, I didn’t adapt or become a more chaste girl… quite the opposite. And considering that the nuns who ran the place were Carmelites, that irony wasn’t lost on me, because it was there that I somehow became a kind of ‘wannabe nude model’, and also a devoted servant of the Order of Mary Magdalene (let those who wish to understand, understand). Always freelance as a nude model… and ‘the other thing’.

Since returning to Spain a little more than six years before meeting my husband, I’d had numerous experiences connected, in one way or another, to my work as a model; experiences that I summarize in my blog in summaries 5 to 9 of Post No. 2 (Post No. 2: A Brief Chronicle of the Twenty-Five Most Influential Men in My Life: Part 1.). I also think it’s worth recalling that, before I met my husband, I had already surpassed the number of twenty different men with whom I’d had full sex.

During my first summer on the Costa Blanca, my husband and I went several times to the “Levante Beach” in Benidorm: "The Las Vegas" of Spain (I recommend a Google search), and while shopping alone at a department store after leaving the beach, wearing only a semi-transparent shawl and completely naked underneath, I was attended to by the owner, Paco (summary 12 in Post No. 3), a mature man who took a liking to me. That day I allowed him to see me naked in the fitting rooms and grope me more than necessary under the pretext of helping me try on clothes: some shorts and a blouse… I got a big discount, along with a ‘VIP card’ giving me 25% off all products, without exception and for life, which is still valid today, and I make frequent use of it when I am in Costa Blanca.

He proposed hiring me informally, that is without a legal contract, for a nude photoshoot in his department store the next Saturday after closing time, and that Saturday apart from the photos we had some really extreme “edge-play”, that is, on the “edge” and a little bit of the other side, although not full sex… by a cat’s whisker, and that day we reached a “mutually beneficial agreement” by which I would provide him with sex whenever he wanted during my month of summer vacation on the Costa Blanca, that is to say, for him I would be a kind of private call-girl… more or less private because we never talked about a clause of exclusivity. That agreement lasted successfully for both parts until the summer of 2023; now we are very good friends and date often, but we no longer have sex.

That first year, when I was 23, he didn't want to have full sex with me out of fidelity to his wife: a religious nutcase for whom non-reproductive sex was the worst sin in the universe, although apparently for her husband, photographing a naked young woman, fondling and licking her from head to toe, signing a verbal agreement for sex services, and rewarding her for her work as a 'model', didn't count as cheating on his wife... but anyway, to each their own.

I was also the official art and photography model of my husband’s best friend, Francis (see summary 11 in Post No. 3 and the final paragraphs of Post No. 4), but I never charged him a single penny for the thousands of hours I posed for him. He was my friend and my lover, in a ménage à trois with my husband that lasted twenty wonderful years.

The following summer, at 24, as soon as I got back from vacation on the Costa Blanca, I called Paco and we arranged to meet the next day at a nearly empty apartment he owned, just a few meters from his department store. This time, he didn't hold back. As a sort of holiday kickoff, he took advantage of our mutually beneficial agreement and fucked me bareback right there on all my fours, without further ado and barely even speaking… I also came, I always do when I am fucked good or bad, and he did it pretty good. Then he unceremoniously handed me the agreed in one of his shop’s envelopes, added a parting gesture meant to be playful, and sent me off. It became perfectly clear that, in his eyes, I was just a provider of pleasure: a means, a thing, not a friend.

However, Paco gradually became fond of photographing me nude: both Polaroids and slides, which he had developed by a friend who ran a photo lab. His wife had never allowed him to take even a single nude picture of her. And after hearing some of my stories about my “adventures” with other men on both nudist and regular beaches, he got the urge to photograph me outdoors, especially on the beach. But the beaches in Benidorm, the ones closest to his department store, were already overcrowded back then and very family-oriented. Topless sunbathing was and is common, but full nudity wasn’t well accepted and could easily cause trouble or arguments.

So, Paco decided to date me a few days late in the afternoon on La Fossa beach in Calpe and take nude photos of me there, besides swimming together and doing some sexual mischief in the water… that is, fucking while holding onto one of the big buoys that are about fifty meters from the shore and mark the area where yachts and other boats are prohibited from entering.

Obviously, Paco could have taken me to a nudist beach to photograph me, but two things prevented that. First, at that time, cameras weren’t really welcome on nudist beaches. Even though people there were open-minded, they were very protective of their privacy. For instance, a high-ranking European banker on vacation probably wouldn’t have appreciated accidentally appearing naked in photos taken by a stranger. The second reason is that Paco loved showing off in public that he had a young, attractive girl as his “little friend”, so he preferred a beach like La Fossa for photographing me rather than a secluded, solitary cove along the rocky coast.

Furthermore, Paco was very well known in Benidorm, but hardly at all in Calpe, so there was less risk of someone telling his wife that he was doing naughty things on the beach with a nearly naked young and gorgeous girl who was well known for all the regulars as ‘the slut of the beach’.

In my twenties, I think I was not only gorgeous but also a true exhibitionist and really easy, and yes: also the slut of the beach, because I would agree to play cheeky water games with handsome strangers, like riding piggyback on their shoulders, submerging together while hugging and then kissing and touching each other under the water, fighting taking off one to each other the panties of the swimsuits and then throwing them far away, swimming naked while the boy chased me and when he caught me I would let him grope me all over while pretending to resist amid nervous laughter and playful shouts, and moans, etc.

Along the time, I grabbed and jerked off many cocks in the water, and a few times I voluptuously ate the small 'fish of cum' floating in the water looking to the guy in the eyes; a promise of a posterior swallowing blowjob in a better and drier place. Of course, I have been fingered to orgasm quite a few times by strangers in the water.
Yes, I have been scandalous and very provocative many times, even reckless, a true and typical beach slut, but with a certain class… and a limp. However, my slight limp at the time went almost unnoticed on the beach, since everyone walks unevenly on the sand, especially when it’s scorching hot. What I avoided at all costs was running, which would have made my limp impossible to hide; though I did run while playing in the water, if that even counts.

As for my husband, he’s not much of a beach person, so during our holidays in the first years of our marriage, he often went on long cycling trips, sometimes covering more than 200 kilometers in a day, which meant I spent almost the whole morning and afternoon on my own in the beach. I usually had lunch alone, just some “tapas” or a sandwich, always with a good glass of cold white wine, or two, at a small beach bar where, over time, I became friends with the owners: a friendly middle-aged couple. After lunch, I’d sunbathe for a while takin a nap and then take a refreshing swim.

Then, if I was in La Fossa beach, I would spend the rest of the afternoon strolling along the shoreline, occasionally taking a swim to cool off, topless and wearing my tiny bikini bottoms that didn’t quite cover all my pubic hair. Those early afternoon walks were usually when I met strangers who would come over to chat and flirt, join me for a while, or swim together with me. Interestingly, when I was at a nudist beach and a guy approached me to flirt, it usually happened while I was sitting on the sand rather than walking alongside him. When he was seated, he could hide his “half-erection” from the other bathers as our conversation turned more personal. Standing up, however, it would have been obvious to everyone else… since erections aren’t exactly socially accepted on nudist beaches.

Then my husband would come back from his bike ride, and we'd chat for a while, sharing stories about the day, and of course, I'd tell him about my erotic or sexual adventures, if I'd had any. Later, since it was getting late and the beach was half empty, often he'd take some nude photos of me at sunset, and then we'd go for a swim and a few times make love in the water, holding onto the aforementioned buoy… the same one I'd probably been fucking or groping with another guy a few hours earlier.

The other man who sometimes photographed me nude on the beach at sunset was the aforementioned Paco.

There were very few people who stayed on the beach after 6:30 in the evening, as most were foreigners who had the habit of dining at 7 or 7:30. As a result, the beach was practically deserted from that time until around 9 or 9:30, when darkness finally fell, even in July, daylight lasted quite late.

Among the handful of people who lingered till late in the beach, there was a man of about forty whom I had noticed vaguely, his name is Tom. Although I usually preferred older men, a more than sixteen-year age difference seemed a bit much, especially with so many young, fit, and attractive men around to choose. Still, I noticed he looked at me with particular interest, though, not to boast, he wasn’t the only older man whose gaze lingered on me.

Click to View Show Anyway

[[ Image 2. Here’s a photo Paco took of me that summer, nude in the water at La Fossa beach one afternoon, really the early afternoon, under the pretext of rinsing the sand off my swimsuit and t-shirt. Notice the mature man looking at me… obviously with delight, from about ten meters away. In the background, you can see the floating platform of the beach, and the buoy I mentioned earlier is at the same distance from the shore, further to the right out of the photo. ]]

Tom was handsome, tall, with light brown hair streaked with gray, a carefully maintained three-day beard, deeply tanned, and in good shape, swimming long distances regularly in the sea. That’s about all I can tell you. He was always alone, sunbathing, swimming, or reading a novel: probably that summer’s bestseller, sitting in a low beach chair under an umbrella about twenty meters from where I usually set up. His name was Tom, the true one in this case.

Yes, yes, my friends: by now, I can almost hear some dear of you thinking: Oh, come on, Aura: how lucky you are that every man you’re with happens to be handsome and fit! Well, the answer is quite simple: when there are good-looking men around to choose from, why on earth would I pick one I don’t find attractive?

To be honest, I’m not into overweight men, or those with neglected teeth, unkempt hair, or poorly trimmed body hair. Unless a man’s personality makes up for it: which has happened, but rarely, I don’t have sex with someone I don’t find appealing. Not even during my so-called “Mary Magdalene escapades”, no matter what his offer was. In other words, I rarely have sex with a man I don’t find attractive enough.

Of course, far more men have turned me down than the other way around. Some politely, some not so much… and yes, my limp has been often a factor of being rejected. A few even reacted rudely, which hurt me for a moment... but soon enough I’d dust myself off and go hunting for the next handsome guy 😄

Well, the thing is, Tom had been watching me for days. He’d seen me chatting and flirting with quite a few guys, posing nude or at least topless in sexy poses now and then for a couple guys about my age and for my husband, though he had no idea who he was, and also posing for Paco, who was about Tom’s age and clearly had some kind of “special arrangement” with me, which would have been obvious to anyone who noticed our age difference and the way we behaved together.

It was obvious that Paco was neither my husband nor a close friend, and we weren’t even stable lovers. His behavior toward me was rather distant, yet it was clear that I was playing my part, following his instructions as part of some mutually beneficial arrangement. I wanted to be affectionate with Paco, as it is in my nature, but he insisted on not getting involved with me emotionally or sentimentally, treating me purely as a sexual object both in private and in public.

Tom had also seen me playing in the water with different guys and had probably figured out what was really going on during those little seaside escapades… the ones that somehow always lasted ten or fifteen minutes, me ‘glued’ to a guy by the buoy. By then, Tom had drawn his own conclusions, not entirely wrong by the way, that I was a cheerful, sociable ‘beach girl’ who didn’t mind blending a bit of fun and pleasure with a touch of… material benefit now and then.

One afternoon during the second week of July, I was alone on the beach; my husband off on one of his classic “cycling marathons”. After my usual little nap in the sand in the towel, followed by a quick swim and a stroll along the shoreline, I returned to my spot on the sand to dry off and lay face down to continue sunbathing.

Then I noticed a shadow over me. For a moment, I thought my husband had returned early from his ride: maybe a flat tire, or perhaps he missed me. I turned over with a smile, greeting him with a cheerful, seductive “Hola” in Spanish.

But it wasn’t my husband: standing there confidently in the backlight was the tall Englishman, Tom.
To be continued soon here in our secret club, I mean group 😊
Sweet kisses
Aura