All I can say is thank god we went from the end of June to mid-July. I (and my partner) very much pride ourselves on being open-minded and libertarian and have shed a lot of social programming. However, we were one hundred percent shown up by these European maga libertarians. I lost track of the number of cocks I saw: big, cocks, micro, and same with the women, big saggy boobs, small boobs, bushes, and shaven. We at least got a week to ease ourselves into this other world backward society, so by mid-July, when the number of people increased by fifty percent, we weren’t phased.
The village has two grocery stores, a handful of hotels, a quite large campground, numerous restaurants and bars/clubs, and a large beach that stretches about three to four football fields on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. One of the things we thought was the funniest was the number of clothing stores there were in this naturist village. There were at least two on every corner. The beach was also fully nude and brilliantly sectioned off by the beach clubs. At the far south end was the family beach (yes, there were families with their kids nude at the beach), then there was a beach club, then the nude sunbathing beach. After the next beach club was the – no joke – sucky fucky beach.
We finally realized that you could be naked pretty much anywhere during the day, but as the evening came, so did the clothing. Men were expected to cover their lower half at a minimum at dinner, and most women wore something to respectfully separate their skin from the public chairs at the restaurants. After dinner, it was time to frolic and boogie, which was when the fashion came out. To enter a bar or club, men had to wear pants/shirts, something on top, and even nice close-toe shoes. Women just had to look put together, and boy, did they. We saw everything from cocktail/party dresses to lingerie, corsets, and see-through gowns, but the outfits themselves weren’t my favorite part. The best part of the fashion there was that no one gave a fuck what age they were or what size they were. I saw women in their fifties and sixties, even a handful of crossdressers, wearing clubbing dresses or skimpy lingerie. I even saw a woman who had to be in her seventies in just a bra and a schoolgirl skirt. I loved it.
Cap d’Agde is officially a naturalist village; however, with all that nudity and loose restrictions on public sex, the swingers, lifestylers, exhibitionists, and voyeurs came flocking. To be sexual in the daytime, you really had two choices, you could go to the sucky fucky beach, or you could go to one of the handful of day clubs/pool parties (Glamour is a big one).
If you decide to have some playtime at the beach, you better get off on exhibitionism because the voyeurs will not take long to spot you. The town is full of single men who want to get off or get their johnson wet. Some can be vultures. A couple will start fucking on their towel, and then out of nowhere, one comes over, then three, and soon there is a massive cluster of men surrounding the couple. They are practically on top of the couple, stroking themselves, hoping to be chosen and asked to join in.
Before actually stepping foot on the sand, I was determined to check off fucking on the beach in Cap d’Agde, until I witnessed the intensity of the voyeur mash pit. One day my husband and I were determined to try, but as soon as we laid down on our towel, I could feel the eyes on us.
The vultures began circling from a respectable distance. My hubby – of course, being a man – thought I was just being paranoid until his hat flew off while I was tweaking his nipples. A kind man picked it up and gave it back to us, but before walking away, he also gave us a smile and a wink while pointing to his nipple. “Wait, what was he watching us?” Hubby said in utter shock. I just laughed and said, “I told you guys were watching us!”
Another popular place for naughty fun is on the dunes at the beach. That is where the gays and bisexuals go to play, so of course, we had to go check it out. We didn’t see a soul as we walked past the fence and into the shrubbery-filled dunes. A few more feet in, two to three men appeared behind us again at a respectable distance. Another ten feet in, we turned around to find eight to ten men behind us. These men had to have been popping out of the brush. The best parody part was they were clearly following us, then when we turned to look back, they all froze and practically whistled as nonchalantly as possible. Needless to say, we did not fuck on the beach or in the dunes this trip, but there’s always the next trip.
At the day clubs, it is also complete freedom for sexytime; whether on a daybed, in the pool, or the foam pit, people were getting some all over. Day clubs and nightclubs do have different relationship status rules. Some only allowed couples, some had couple-only areas, while others let in anyone. There were some where many people kept to themselves, there were areas where the single men watched but kept their distance, and then there were others where the men were right on top of the couple, practically drooling on them.
There was only one gay club, but we realized that it is not particularly a gay town; it is not exactly a gay destination, though there were definitely still some there. There was even a BDSM club that I was quite impressed with. It was small – like every venue or apartment in the village – but very well laid out and organized. Don’t be mistaken; there were vanilla bars where people just danced or took a ride on the bucking dick.
Nearing the end of our trip, we saw the beauty in freedom—the freedom from clothing, covering, shame, and judgment. Once you feel that freedom, you start seeing the beauty in all human bodies and souls. Not only do you start seeing the beauty in others, but you see it and feel it within yourself. You start letting go of what makes you feel ashamed. You start letting go of what you have been covering up so hard within you.