For me, gay beach has long been something beyond reality. Not in the sense of a prohibition, but rather in the sense of an internal "it's not about me." I have known for a long time that there is a nudist gay place by the lake in St. Petersburg. I knew it and never went there. Not because he was afraid, but because he did not want to. It seemed that there was a line that I did not cross.
When I moved to Spain a year ago, that border began to shift on its own.
I was very surprised at how much people here are bodily exposed. For the Spaniards, being completely naked on the beach is the norm. It doesn't matter if it's gay or straight. The body is not read as a call or manifest. It just is. And at some point, I found myself on a gay nudist beach in the summer, where it was completely normal not only to sunbathe and swim, but also to fuck each other.
At first, it felt unusual. I'm far from being athletic, and at first I felt uncomfortable just being among these bodies – relaxed, confident, not hiding. But even more discomfort arose when I remained in my clothes, and all the other men were without them. At this moment, you feel not protected, but on the contrary – exposed. Like a black sheep. As if it is the clothes that make you more noticeable.
After the first time, I suddenly realized that it was really more comfortable for me to sunbathe and swim without clothes. Not because of sexuality, but because of the lack of tension. When the body ceases to be an object of demonstration and becomes just a body.
Gay beach is often referred to as a place of freedom. And there is truth in this. But this is a freedom of a special kind. Here no one forces you to undress – but you very quickly begin to feel the hierarchy of views. Who is in the spotlight. Who is lying on the aisle. Who seems to dissolve at the edges. These rules are not written anywhere, but they are read instantly.
At some point, you catch yourself looking at yourself through their eyes. You don't think about the sea, but about how you look. Not about the sun, but about comparison. And freedom imperceptibly turns into an internal dialogue: "Am I here enough...".
Yes, I participated in group sex several times. It was strange — and that's what I remember. Do this not in a closed dark space, but during the day, in the light of the sun, on the beach, where a train with tourists passes nearby, and you are only partially hidden by stones. There was no romanticization in this. Rather, there is a feeling that the usual division into "private" and "public" is disappearing.
After that, I just watched for a long time. The way people converge and diverge. Like someone leaves together, and someone is left lying alone. How some bodies become points of attraction, and others become part of the background. There was too much repetition in these movements to be considered accidental.
And here the main question arose for me: is it about freedom or about the market?
Probably, both. The market is because bodies are evaluated quickly and silently. A mirror because it is here that you can see what you bring with you even before you undress: fears, expectations, the need to be noticed.
The most vulnerable moment is when you start waiting for a look. Not a specific person, but a confirmation: I am here for a reason. I exist in this space. And then freedom suddenly begins to depend on someone else's attention.
But there were other days. When I was just lying there, listening to the sea, I suddenly realized: I'm not here to be liked. I'm here because I can be. With this body. With this age. With these doubts.
The gay beach doesn't cure anything and doesn't promise anything. It does not automatically make you more confident and does not exempt you from comparisons. But this is his honesty. Here, no one pretends that desire is something neat and safe.
Over the past summer, I realized that for me this place is not about the ideal and not about escaping from myself. This is the space where I return not for confirmation, but for the feeling of living contact – with the body, with others, with my own reactions. Yes, there is a market of looks and bodies, but there is also freedom to choose how to participate in it and from what distance to look.
I am not looking for answers here and I am not waiting for healing. Presence itself is important to me. And, probably, that's why I know: this summer I will come there again.
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