Chapter 1
El Portus Campground – Cartegena Spain
“I’ll check in darling,” the man said, trotting off to the admission’s building.
The summer breeze off the Mediterranean was warm, like hot breath, the wind rustling the long locks of caramel colored hair. The woman, ageing and in her early fifties, though not altogether worn by the ravages of time, still moved with a timeless grace. Not regal nor predatorily, yet purposefully and still sensually despite her years.
A Spaniard, her skin a tanned olive complexion with a slender frame. Some might consider her a tall woman, certainly at five-ten she might be taller than the average. She flopped the passenger seat forward, wrapping the leash around her wrist, the puppy bounded out of the back seat.
A wide smile graced Xiomara Garcia’s lips, her eyes sparkled with a youthful energy, she nodded to her man.
She looked forward to this camping trip with her new partner. Her man had finished his academic studies, and had become a newly minted Lieutenant, or as they said in Spanish, Teniente, serving in the nation’s elite group.
Xiomara had wanted to tent camp since she had been a child – alas life always seems to interfere with desires. There had been her late husband and young son to raise, two jobs to make ends meet – with scarcely enough time or money to afford to take time off, it had been her sacrifice. Then she had met her man, at half her age, an odd one to be sure, and certainly not a traditional man.
Xiomara and her mate, Manszya or simply Mani to her, had visited resorts. However, since she used to tent camp as a child, she had yearned to return to the primitive camping.
The jingling of a bicycle’s bell chimed announcing the cyclists on the path, “Hola!” “Hola!” the riders called cheerfully as they passed.
“Hola!” Xiomara chirped.
She snickered to herself at the sight of naked riders on bicycles.
At her feet the puppy, a golden hued cocker spaniel tugged against its leash. Soft fur filled the space between her fingers, she studied the campground. A red paved brick area sprawled before the admissions building. Buildings built with tan colored clay bricks and red clay shingles with exposed wooden trusses jutted out from under awnings, the main building offered a full restaurant. It was one of the few places clothes were required – albeit micro-kini’s counted as clothing here. There was for those who wished a small food shack closer to the beach serving grilled and fried fare.
Clothing was optional throughout most of the campground, but specifically prohibited in the water features of the pools, fountains, and hot tubs. The main reception building, with hotel accommodations and restaurant, sat squarely between a rugged cove of the mountains of Cartagena. She could see the Mediterranean from the admissions building.
Bicycle trails wound leisurely throughout the campground from the lower beachfront to the upper ridgeline on a nearby rugged hill. Cars slowly rolled past. The grounds offered day trippers a chance to enjoy the sun or the pool naked with only the price of a day pass.
Her man trotted out from the reception facility with a wide grin on his face, while peeling off his shirt. “Okay darling, we’re checked in for site eighteen,” he began while undressing. “It’s a primitive site like you wanted, and it’s on the cove side of the campground.”
“You don’t want to wait till we get the tent up?” she probed, her eyes roved over his mocha colored flesh. Blue tribal print braided along his forearm, glowing silver brands shimmered in his chest. She swallowed.
“Why?” Manszya cocked his head. “I waited till I checked in, but you can if you’d prefer,” he quipped opening the door for her.
Nodding, Xiomara sent the dog to the back seat once more. “I most certainly would prefer to leave my clothes in the tent rather than the back seat with Rojas,” she chirped sliding into the car.
“That’s fine darling. You know they’ve got crazy prices for singles?” he prompted sliding into the driver’s seat.
Xiomara shrugged. “Gotta keep out the gawkers somehow I suppose. I wouldn’t want some perverts staring at me when I’m trying to enjoy being natural.”
With a sly grin, Manszya handed her the map. “People are always gawking at me, I can’t say as I mind either,” he purred. On the map, their site had been circled, setting the car into motion, they rolled slowly past naked pedestrians.
“Yes, darling,” Xiomara began. “But you look like an Indian demigod, me…,” she said pausing. She inhaled. “I used to be Miss Madrid when I was young, now look at me. Before you, I never would have been secure enough with myself to become a nudist.”
Resting a hand on hers, he cast a quick glance. “See…, it isn’t about being sexy, it’s about being comfortable in your own skin, being yourself and not afraid to hide behind clothes. I mean…, I didn’t even have clothes the first five years of my life, those were some of the best years too,” he remarked, a wistful smile across his lips.
Xiomara nodded, she watched the wildflowers and wild natural orange trees. Blue-tinted lilacs filled the air with a sweet lavender aroma. Dogs barked near the beach, their own dog pressed its head near Xiomara’s window, barking in reply.
Manszya rolled his eyes. “Why’d you get a dog again?”
Xiomara’s hand rubbed the dog’s muzzle. “Cause you keep leaving and I need someone with me in the flat. I’ve got an empty nest and no one there, what more do you need to know darling?” she grumbled.
Manszya nodded solemnly.
Pulling around to the seaward side of the campground, Manszya backed the Renault into the site numbered eighteen.
Xiomara inhaled sharply, her gaze scanned the cove, the sea green water of the Mediterranean rolled gently over the beach. It was like all beaches – sans clothing. Children dug in the sand, parents watched their children, others swam in the water.
“It’s gorgeous,” she began as a smile crept into her eyes. “I can’t wait to get near the surf and lounge on those big muscles of yours, while I enjoy this new book.”
Manszya snickered. “I’m actually quite fond of being your body pillow.” He cocked his head. “Why don’t you take Rojas for his walk while I get the tent up?”
Xiomara shrugged, peeling out of her clothes, leaving only tennis shoes, and taking a roll of dog baggies, she set off with her four legged companion.
Manszya raised an eyebrow at the sight of her slender frame, her hips drifting with each stride. Three inches taller than himself, yet like a flower succumbing to the immutable laws of gravity, so too was her flesh. Despite the effects of the years, Xiomara was still fetching, but not the mother of his own son. He sucked his teeth, and set about his own task. The tent bag landed with a heavy thud on the soft sandy soil.
The mallet wasn’t needed, the soil so soft the thin stakes pressed into the dirt with only his palm. The collapsible tent frame swished as he fed it through the canvas loops. Fifteen minutes, and with a small pop, the tent was up. For a finish, he tied the rain fly to the top of the tent.
He tossed their suitcase into the tent, and then the bedding, flinging their clothes into the tent, he zipped the tent shut as she returned having discarded the dog’s offering.
Xiomara’s slender fingers fluffed her hair, her eyes sparkled. “I know you want to eat, darling kitty, but let’s go biking first. I need to work up an appetite.”
“I can always eat, darling,” Manszya shrugged. “But sure, we can hit the trails.”
Inside the club-house people rented canoes or bicycles. It was almost like any other campground – almost. The cocker spaniel shackled with a body harness into Xiomara’s front basket of their rented bikes.
Hitting the trails, riders chimed their bells, skin glistened with layers of sweat, dimples, scars, tattoos, and the evidence of life sewn into the tapestry of flesh of each guest. A wide smile over Xiomara’s face, delight dancing in her eyes, feeling the wind in her hair. The smooth ribbon of asphalt biking trails wound along the cove, past the pool area, across the paved road cars travelled.
The soft thud of a tennis ball hitting a racket, back and forth, a couples match, each wearing only shoes. Xiomara leaned into the hill, she shifted gears, pedaling up the incline. From the ridge, the blue green sea of the Mediterranean filled their gaze.
She paused only long enough to take a photo of the cove on her phone, then dropping it back into the dog’s basket, and a nod to Manszya she resumed their trek. Setting the pace, she followed the winding path lined with trees, ferns and lilacs, and other wildflowers, her bell chimed meeting other nude cyclists coming the other direction. Descending from the winding hill trail looping back to the main grounds, the grunting of the tennis players was louder on this side.
A crack of a racket, followed by a man’s voice. “Look out!”
The bright yellow ball sailed high hitting a mud encrusted hive the size of a volleyball. Xiomara shrieked as it crashed just before her. Rushing past, the swarm of hornets hadn’t had a chance to give chase to her.
Manszya wasn’t allergic to bees, nor wasps, nor hornets, or nearly anything other than silver – and that only taken internally. He didn’t however like being stung or bitten by the angry pests. The horde was fully mobilized as he blasted through.
His mocha hand smacked a few against his flesh, they continued their meager assault. He grimaced. “Meet up at reception, I’ll lead em away!” he barked, while smacking another biting pest.
Biking swiftly, Xiomara peddled faster, she veered with the trail leading back to the main building. She glanced over her shoulder, Manszya sailed onward down their original path.
Manszya’s hand cracked over another biting pest, he was at full bore, the path wound, his gears shifted into max. He wasn’t watching as he smacked a remaining flying insect. His eyes flew open. “Shit!” he grunted as the front wheel crashed into the front passenger quarter panel of an incoming vehicle.
Manszya was rocketing through the air over handlebars and the hood of a white Volkswagen Jetta. Instinctively, he tucked and rolled out of the landing. The bike’s front yolk bent with the force of the impact, upending onto the hood of the car.
The occupants poured out of the small car, the driver, a man in his thirties shook his head. “Are you okay, Señor?”
“I’m fine, Señor,” Manszya shrugged. But I apologize for your car.”
A look of disappointment subdued with machismo flooded the man’s face. “I’m Emerens, we’re the Fournier’s, he announced extending a hand.
Manszya chortled. “Bueno-bueno. I’m Manszya. Since I got hit with a swarm of hornets, I imagine park insurance would cover your maintenance bills. I’m heading to reception now to meet my woman. She’s probably already speaking with management regarding this issue,” he offered.
The man’s wife blushed, she blinked. “I’m Giada. This is Caidon and Nicole,” she rattled off nervously shaking his hand.
Manszya shook hands. “Nice to meet you. I’ll see you at reception, no?”
Giada smiled. “Yes, um…, bueno.”
With a smile, Manszya grabbed the bike with a bent front yolk, slinging it over his shoulder as if it were simply a garment bag, he trudged off toward the main office.
Arriving after the Jetta with a caved in quarter panel, he trundled inside still carrying the bike. “Hola amigo!”
Xiomara was before three clothed employees. “No it was not our fault the hornet nest fell. We stayed on the path!”
Manszya dropped the bike. “And I hit this man’s car with your bike.”
Xiomara blinked. “I won’t ask if you’re okay, I know better, but are you okay, my manito?”
“Only my dignity took a bruising, darling,” he said playfully. He pulled the remains of a few smashed hornets from his mocha colored flesh. “For you, amigo’s,” he said, dropping the crushed insects on the counter.
Emerens shook his head. “Señor Mancha, like man from la Mancha?” he probed.
“Sí, yes…, Don Quixote was my mother’s favorite story before she learned to spell, or…, or even read,” Manszya chirped.
Emerens stood with his family, Giada elbowed her daughter of twelve. Nicole blinked, she stared at the floor, her ears red, her cheeks flushed. Emerens shook his head. “We’d also like to check in,” he announced.
The woman nodded. “Oh yes. Of course, Señor Fournier,” she replied.
Xiomara signed the complaint form, Manszya signed a damage form, the Fournier’s filled out their own forms.
The clerk passed Emerens his map and permit. “Señor, you are in site twelve.”
Xiomara cocked her head. “Really? We’re on the back side, we’re eighteen.”
Giada smiled. “That’s nice, we’d like to have you over for some grilling later.”
Nicole smiled, she nodded. “Yes, wanna come,” she said looking at Manszya, her eyes still wide.
Giada blinked. “Nicole it’s not polite to stare, you know this,” she hissed.
Manszya chortled.
“Giada, it was nice to meet you, see you soon,” Xiomara chirped.
Giada nodded. “We’ll be right there.”
Xiomara pulled Manszya away from the prodding eyes of the twelve year old and her mother. She shook her head. “Santa Maria! How do you always have that effect on everyone?”
“I have that effect on women and small furry forest creatures,” he said smiling wide.
They trundled back toward their campsite, the dog straining against the leash. “Take this please, darling,” Xiomara grunted passing the leash to Manszya.
“As you wish, darling.”
The white Volkswagen backed into the space behind theirs, the family began setting their small campsite. With a nod, Xiomara smiled warmly. “We’re going to grab something to eat at the small food shack, care to join us when your tent is up?”
“We’d love to Xiomara,” Giada replied with a smile.
“Oh no, please call me Xio.”
“Fantastic! I was concerned when we got moved down here that Spaniards would be unfriendly, we’re from France and what with the border security situation…,” she said, letting her voice fade.
“Uh, Dad, we don’t have the tent poles,” Caidon announced.
With the family undressed, and in the middle of setting out their campsite, a look of shock splashed over Emerens’ face, “What do you mean we don’t have the poles? Didn’t you put them back when you cleaned it out last time?”
“Oh…, that’s no bueno amigo,” Manszya began. “Don’t worry, the camp has a supply store. I saw tent equipment for sale, or rent even.”
“Great…,” Emerens began with a sigh. “At least we don’t have to leave the grounds,” he replied. Exhaling, he shook his head. “I don’t want to hold you up, why don’t you go ahead, we still gotta get a new tent or at least poles.”
Xiomara smiled. “See you around.”
With the dog in tow, Manszya and Xiomara meandered through the campground to the burger shack. Fried or grilled were the only two options on the menu. Manszya ordered eight large burgers, while Xiomara ordered a single burger. Having finished her own lunch, while Manszya still had three sandwiches to go when the family arrived.
Manszya swallowed. “What brings you to Spain, amigo’s?”
Ordering and paying for their meals, Emerens shrugged. “Work. I’m in sales. I’m really hoping to get a job more toward Alicante.”
Xiomara cocked her head. “Really? We live in Alicante. The city has a great naturist resort we sometimes go to. But our apartment is very naturist friendly.”
Giada cocked her head. “You actually live in Alicante?”
“Sí, my unit’s based there,” Manszya offered with a shrug.
“Here’s my number if you do get located in Alicante,” Xiomara said, pulling up digital contact cards.
Giada smiled cheerfully, exchanging numbers, and hugs, Manszya and Xiomara drifted away leaving the other family to themselves. She shook her head. “They seem nice.”
Manszya raised an eyebrow.
Xiomara shook her head. “Stop thinking like that, you beastly kitty. I don’t want you ruining some young person with your deviancy.”
Manszya held up his hands. “Hey-hey darling, I never ruin young people, they’re already ruined when they hit on me, but I’m trying to quit, my darling.”
Xiomara rolled her eyes, she exhaled. “I know you are my darling manito. I just wish I didn’t love my queer ones.”
Manszya stopped, pulling her slender frame against his thickly muscled one, he clamped his mouth over hers, surfacing for air he swallowed. “I know I’m not the most suitable mate, but I cherish our time together, despite my…, challenges…,” he said, letting his words fade.
Xiomara smiled faintly, she nodded. “Come, let me use you as a body pillow.”
“That sounds terrific, a nice nap in the afternoon is just a perfect way to spend the day.”
Returning to their site, she lashed her dog to the car under the shade of the tree, and naturally setting out water and kibble for the four legged friend, she trotted happily to the sunlit beach. Manszya flicked a large beach towel onto the sand, returning for the cooler of water, he pulled out his tablet for reading.
Xiomara’s book under her arm, she plopped onto the large towel. Reclining over Manszya’s large branded and body sculpted barrel chest, she cracked her book while he read from his tablet.
Manszya’s hand drifted through her caramel locks. The minutes rolled into hours, of reading and napping. Manszya had always enjoyed long nude naps in the warm sun. So complete was their dozing, they didn’t even notice the darkening sky.
They were roused from their peaceful slumber when Rojas’s shrill bark pierced the whipping breeze. Xiomara sat up, just in time to see the dog charging off south along the rocky shoreline, it’s leash bouncing behind.
“Rojas!” she barked rising from the snoring man of a body pillow. Xiomara set off on a jogging cantor, “Rojas!” she called to no avail.
She ran, her shoes sliding in the soft sand. She followed the paw prints, and the trail left behind by the leash. The path curved inland, up rocky and craggy shoreline. She jogged, “Rojas!” she called growing more terse with each passing yard.
Past the sandy beach, over the rocky path covered with small shrubs, she ascended the small hill. Trees blocked her view, only the dog’s bark in the distance was her guide. The loose pebbles over the hillside shifted. “Shit!” she grunted, her traction giving way, she felt the stones in her bare flesh.
“Rojas! Damn dog!” she barked, pushing her frame off the sloping hillside. She hobbled through brush, she froze. Before her the residential township sprawled, cars passed, people stood blinking at her.
Xiomara felt her ears flush, she shook her head. “Stupid dog,” she grumbled to herself. “I’m so stupid, never chase dogs or men,” she growled to herself. She wheeled and limped back through the brush.
Limping on a swelling ankle, with minor lacerations on her aging backside, and growing welts along her flesh from the stinging nettles, mixed with wounded pride, she huffed as she trundled over rocky hillside. The first few droplets announcing the oncoming shower. She looked over Mediterranean, the dark cloud rolled swiftly on the wind. Her eyes wide, she saw the sheet of rain in the distance. She hobbled faster.
Running along the soft sandy beach she saw their campsite ahead, she trotted as fast as she could go, her shoes pressing into the sand under her stride. Manszya was just closing the car door. “Hurry darling!” he called unzipping the tent.
Manszya glanced over his shoulder, he blinked, his eyes scanned her stride. Exhaling, he bolted. His muscled frame pounded the loose sand like a warrior. Without waiting, he swept her into his arms, as if she were a broomstick. He bounded back as the first sheet of rain opened from above.
He stepped through the tent’s zippered door. Setting her on the bed roll, he looked over her torn flesh.
Xiomara shook her head. “Damn dog,” she grumbled. “I followed Rojas as far as I could. I popped out at Cartagena over the ridge. I felt so stupid.”
Manszya snickered. “They don’t know you, but your timeless beauty will be remembered for the rest of their years.”
The wind pummeled the tent. Sheets of water poured off the canvas.
Manszya pulled her shoe off, a black and blue swollen ankle looked like a chunk of marbled cake. He picked stones from her minor wounds on her fleshy cheeks. “I’ll get the aid kit from the car,” he said softly.
“It serves me right chasing a dog,” Xiomara said as she blew a raspberry. “My ma always said never chase dogs or men,” she chirped, casting Manszya a sideways smirk.
The wind increased, the rain hammered the tent, and the canvas flapped. Manszya unzipped the tent a crack, sliding out, cold raindrops pelted his mocha-colored flesh. He trotted to the car, the door didn’t open, his eyes wide. He peered through the windows, “Shit!” he growled.
He trotted back to the tent, sliding in, shaking his head, a scowl on his face. “I locked the keys in the car.”
“Of course you did,” she groaned.
The rain poured with heavy gusts pummeling the canvas. Xiomara blinked, “Darling, why are we leaking?”
Manszya scanned the roof of the tent. “Just a couple drops darling,” he offered wiping the droplets on his hand.
Xiomara shook her head. “No darling, from there,” she nodded to the ground level.
“Sun, moon and stars!” he grumbled. Water seeped in through the seam at the tent’s base and walls.
Xiomara resigned to sitting on the bedding while water filled the entire floor. She shook her head. “I take it back manito…,” she grumbled.
Manszya cocked his head. “What do you want to do darling?”
Xiomara shook her head, sitting in the water, she shivered. “Let’s go home. When…, when I was a young child with my parents and my siblings, I used to love camping. We’d walk and pick wildflowers, and play childish games. Now I think I am too old, I…, I think now that I hate tent camping.”
A low chuckle escaped Manszya’s lips, growing into riotous laughter. When he settled himself he nodded. “Bueno my darling, Bueno. We cannot return to our pasts no matter how much we loved them,” he replied.
Xiomara shook her head, “Resorts, or places with full accommodations from now on. I wouldn’t mind trying a yurt though I suppose.”
