The trek to the gay nude beach in Sitges, not only challenged my hiking skills, weak ankles and treacherous rocks ready to sweep me off the trail. Even though it was a secret gay resort, the beach was hidden. After an hour, my legs were crying. Using the walking stick to stop slip sliding away was of little help. When we found two guys with only a tie string bathing suit and we asked, “How much further?” They laughed and said 15 or 30 minutes-depending on which paths—one by the train tracks and the other through the dangerous cliffs. I asked Neal, “Should we keep going?” We chose the quick hazardous lane. Upon our entrance, we treated ourselves to a short nap after the satisfaction of conquering the precarious elements. When I removed my clothes, Neal laughed at my paleness. I was proud of my undamaged skin that my dermatologist said, “You have the skin of a baby.” I was only embarrassed by my lack of muscles compared to the sea of Adonises baking in the sun or frolicking in the ocean

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