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Vice Blog

CROATIA - NUDE POLITICS

Old people are different from young people, and not just because they tell their friends you work in a "nightclub," when clearly you're working on a "club night." They also look shit naked and spend their private lives fantasising about touching a set of tits that don't feel like balls. Or so I thought until I was ostricised on a Croatian nudist beach for being too young and hot. Their stupid inverse snobbery forced me to watch them like a geriophile pervert from a vantage point atop a rock, while my boyfriend slathered SPF 50 sunscreen on my reflective white buttocks.

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On holiday in Croatia last month, we grew bored of the industrially organized beach experience of towel-to-towel sunbathers and clusters of screaming children at the main beach on the island of Rab, so we headed for a rocky nudist beach called Sahara. As we approached it, all the clichés were quickly validated: nudists are all 40-plus, overweight, and over-exposed. When they stretched out their leathery brown bodies, the crescent of white flesh under their moobs glistened.

As we made our way down to the beach we received a few hostile sidelong looks from the naked group whose territory we were encroaching. Naturists, I learned, disapprove of "textiles" – their name for the clothed public – and discourage them from invading their beaches. We felt if we didn't get naked quick there was going to some sort of X-rated

Lord of the Flies

situation.

I'm not one of those girls who gets her tits out in the bar for cheap exhibitionist kicks. But I like being naked. I especially like swimming naked. Being naked makes a lot of sense in serious heat, and really, what is the point of three carefully placed triangles of material? But there was something uncomfortable about this. We were the unspoken fear of public erections. And it wasn't an unfounded fear.

As we clambered over some rocks we noticed a white-haired man in a white flat cap and white socks hidden inside a bush following us with his eyes. Unhindered, we pressed on until we spotted a haven. It was hidden from public view behind a big boulder, and had a fabulous view of the deep blue Adriatic. I hopped over the boulder only to be confronted with the only other young couple on the beach. Her head was buried between his legs sucking his balls as he sunned his erection.

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Walking away in search of a new spot I moaned about their blatant transgression of nudist beach etiquette. Basically, I was just jealous. I wanted to be having an orgasm staring out at an Adriatic bay full of dolphins who could play the flute with their blowholes or something.

As we went in search of our own spot to rival the ball-sucking couple we kept noticing a creepy white-haired man a few steps behind us, or waiting suspiciously behind a tuft of trees and then pretending to nonchalantly pass us by. Ignoring him, we settled on a small rocky shelf by the water that was protected from the main beach by rocks on either side.

It was only after we were actually doing the dirty that we saw his wrinkled body scrambling down the rocks into our hideaway. Despite catching us completely

in flagrante

, he carefully picked his way across the boulders with his funny little potbelly brushing his orange penis and gave us a long, hard stare as he stepped over our naked bodies.

Clearly I don't know the unwritten rules of the naturist world. Maybe they're so laid-back that stepping over a couple fucking is no different than shaking hands with your grandfather on his birthday. We're narcs though, so we stared him out until he shuffled off in his socks and sandals.

After we began again, my boyfriend pointed out the boat of tourists slowly cruising by on an island tour apparently looking our way. I felt a bit guilty–I was giving nudists a bad name, so we finished as quickly as possible, trying not to let the incoming traffic determine our time of arrival.

With the queasy combination of semen, sunblock, and salt water in my mouth we headed back to "textile" civilization feeling sluttish and gross. Clearly the older nudes were right to be suspicious of us–we just weren't mature enough for nudist beaches.

CAMERON KING