HER: It’s that time of year when people start making summer travel plans. For us, part of the consideration when booking a trip has become what kind of sexy fun we can add to the itinerary. Are there clubs, nude beaches, or parties that would make an already special destination extra-special? We love the way that Hedonism takes everything about the traditional beach vacation to a higher level by adding unlimited sex to the mix. And we love Europe, with its food, wine, galleries, museums, and medieval villages. Imagine how excited we were to find out that, in the beautiful south of France, there was a place that can only be described as a swinger’s paradise. At least, that’s how we imagined it.Coincidentally, we first heard about Cap D’Agde from a couple we met at Hedonism. They described a naked town, filled with restaurants, shops, and miles of beach that were completely clothing optional. And at the centre of it all was a daily foam party famous for its hedonistic abandon. We decided then and there that we had to go.
HIM: I was especially excited because this was going to be a special summer for us. We had lived together for a year and, at the risk of sounding overly sentimental, I knew that I had found the love of my life. Although I didn’t consider myself a very enthusiastic traveller, I was aware that seeing the world was important to you. I wanted to prove that I was committed to making our relationship work on every level. I was going to propose.
HER: Our journey began in Barcelona, where the closest international airport to Cap D’Agde was located. We stayed for three days in this incredible city, with its spectacular parks, museums and architecture. Once we had our fill of cheap tapas and sangria, we took a three hour train ride north and east from Barcelona into France. After some confusing bus transfers from the Bezier train station, we eventually found our way into Cap D’Agde proper. The bus dropped us off at the centre of town.
HIM: With the ordeal of the journey behind us, it didn’t take long to figure out that we had misunderstood the whole concept of the ‘naked town’. Cap D’Agde is actually a family-oriented tourist destination like many others, with a classic mix of natural beauty and tasteless development. The part we were so interested in was called the Naturist Village, located at the far west end of the Cap. It is a fenced-off, pay-for-admission complex of hotels, shops, night clubs and a long stretch of Mediterranean beach front. Within its confines, visitors are free to be nude anywhere – even the grocery store – and there is a definite sexual vibe in the air.
Unfortunately, we booked too late to get a room in the Naturist village, so we had to settle for a room in the regular village. We had no idea how big the place would be, so we figured we could just walk over every day. It wasn’t that easy. We had to rent bikes and make the twenty minute ride, then provide i.d. and pay to get past the gates every day. So we never felt completely immersed in the experience. It would be like doing Hedo on a day pass. It’s just not the same.
Once beyond the gates, I would have assumed the Naturist Village would be off-limits to children but, well, that was the first of our disappointments. Once inside, we headed straight to the beach where we almost immediately saw unclothed families cavorting together. Straight ahead was an eight year old boy sitting between his naked mother’s spread legs, having sunscreen applied to his shoulders. There was the teenage boy sharing snacks with his naked parents, and closer to the water, two pubescent girls were enjoying a nude frisbee game with their father (god, I hope he was their father). I’m sure – at least, I think I’m sure – there was nothing unhealthy about it all, but to someone with an intact set of North American-style personal boundaries, it was unsettling. How was this place not the preferred destination for international pedophiles?
We had heard from the couple at Hedo that the beach was divided into separate sections for different groups – gay, lifestyle, nudists, etc. – so we made a left turn to see if we could find a less discomfitting scene. Almost immediately, you pointed out a woman giving a man a blow job as he lay back on a blanket. We had assumed there would be some kind of partitioning between the different sections, but I really don’t think we were out of eyesight of the family zone at this point. In fact, it wasn’t obvious that we were in a different section at all.
HER: And, before we go on, let’s clarify for our readers who have never been to a beach on the Riviera. This is not soft, white sand. The beach is covered in stones, so lying around on a blanket is not a comfortable experience. You have to pay 20 euros a day for a lounger at one of the beach clubs. And you have to wear water shoes if you want to swim in the cold water.
Anyway, the family feel of the place continued at dinner. We ate at a restaurant where everyone was dressed, and we were enjoying people watching – one of our favorite activities in any setting. Gradually, we noticed that the dress of the people walking by was becoming more extreme. We realized that it was something we had read about in an online review: a sort of informal parade of fetish wear that occurred every evening before dinner. On one hand, we were enjoying the creativity of the leather, lace and latex crowd. But we couldn’t help but wonder about the family sitting at the next table, and how they would explain the outfits to their kids.
As the evening wore on, we thought we might be able to escape the unsettling presence of so many children by checking out one of the sex clubs. There must have been at least six of them. We picked one that caught our attention and gave it a shot.
HIM: The challenge for any club, anywhere, is to create a party vibe. Lameness and desperation are always lurking at the door, ready to take over. This is especially true of lifestyle clubs, where the sexual dimension makes the frivolity more tenuous. That is why I so admire the best of them – they have to put a lot of effort into appearing effortlessly sexy. I know it doesn’t happen by accident. As soon as we stepped through the doors of the club we selected, it was obvious that it was struggling to achieve cruising altitude. People were drifting onto and off of the dance floor with indifference. When we walked around the play area, it seemed obvious to my nose that – how can I put this – someone had had a non-vaginal penetrative experience they had not hygienically prepared for.
Her: It smelled terrible. That was definitely a low point. We are nothing if not persistent, though, and the next day we got to experience one of the things that had initially drawn us here: the daily foam party. Club Le Glamour has built an entire indoor/outdoor facility just for hosting this event. It costs twenty euros to get in as a couple, but we were relieved to see that no children were allowed and the fences were high enough to ensure that we weren’t traumatizing any minors on the outside. Although it was the middle of the afternoon, the sexual temperature was very high. Men and women in groups of two and three (and more) were lounging naked on the various couches and beds. At the jacuzzi, a middle-aged French woman with a perfect body was being fucked theatrically by a beautiful midnight-black man with a gigantic penis. Their fellow revellers sat around sipping drinks and watching the show, as if they had walked into one of those legendary Havana nightclubs of the 1950’s.
From there, we drifted over to the dancefloor just as the bubbles started to pour down from a giant hose overhead. The foam quickly reached shoulder height as the music got louder and louder. As we’d experienced before, the slippery mass of naked bodies all cloaked in the anonymity of the suds makes for a pretty spectacular mosh pit. Firm asses, soft tits, and bobbing cocks in various states of arousal rubbed against me from all directions. I loved it.
When we showered off the bubbles and returned to one of the lounge areas, we were ready to go. You sat on a couch and I straddled you. Unlike at a sex club, it seemed most people were not there to actually participate in public sex. They wanted to dance and drink in the sexual environment, perhaps hoping to SEE a show, but they were reluctant to BE the show. So when we starting fucking, we had a fairly large audience. Under other circumstances, this might have made me a little shy, but I was so turned on after our time in the foam that I didn’t care. I began facing you, then I got more bold and turned around to give them a head-on view of your cock sliding into my pussy. When I did, I discovered that a threesome had broken out on the bed across from us. We were watching them as they were watching us. Then the woman next to me started running her hand up my arm and down my chest. The whole thing was incredibly hot. Finally, we were getting what we had come to Cap D’Agde for in the first place. The bad experiences from the day before melted away.
We returned to the foam party on the last afternoon of our trip, but we couldn’t recapture the magic of that first experience. It seemed like they were overdriving the bubble machine, so that people were preoccupied with making sure they didn’t drown. Perhaps with the extra anonymity, a guy I couldn’t see stuck his finger up my ass. Although we had come to Cap D’Agde hoping to find a European swinger’s paradise, I’d say the reality had been somewhat disappointing. How did you feel?
HIM: I’d agree. Not that I regret going. I think it showed us another side of the lifestyle, and maybe challenged our sense of cultural self-certainty, which is always a good thing. Oh, and we almost forgot to mention what was really the highlight of the trip…
HER: Your half-clumsy, half-endearing proposal on the way back from dinner on the last night.
HIM: Yes. I know, the setting could have been better, and my sense of stagecraft left a bit to be desired, but asking you to marry me was unambiguously the best thing about the trip.