The Parasol Left Me Naked

“You’re supposed to be holding the pole, Tom.” I was naked, digging my feet into the sand to secure our parasol while my husband held absolutely nothing. He blinked and reached for it. Ten minutes earlier, we had been the overdressed couple at the edge of a naturist beach. Now my clothes were dripping beside our towels, and apparently I had become more distracting than an umbrella trying to escape.

“Sorry,” he said. “This afternoon has taken a turn.” I released the pole and didn’t know what to do with my hands. Crossing my arms felt conspicuous; leaving them at my sides felt worse. “Are you cold?” he asked. “No. You’re making me nervous.” That surprised both of us. We had been married for years. Usually, his response to seeing me undress was to ask whether I needed the bathroom first.

He glanced at my abandoned shorts. “You don’t have to stay like that.” “And you don’t have to keep checking whether I am.” His mouth twitched, and I blushed. Around us, the other adults continued reading and unpacking lunch. Nobody cared that I had taken everything off. My husband, however, seemed to have forgotten how an afternoon at the beach worked. I was beginning to enjoy being responsible.

We hadn’t set out looking for a naturist cove. We found it after a walk along the Corsican coast and agreed to stop, keeping our hiking clothes on. I planted our parasol, announced that I was excellent at practical things, and sat down. Immediately, it lifted out of the sand and rolled into the shallows. I chased it without thinking. Tom shouted something useful like “The parasol!” while I splashed after it, grabbed the pole and turned back with the canopy upside down around me like an enormous, unsuccessful flower.

Someone moved a bag out of the dripping canopy’s path. That was the extent of my public reception. My shorts, meanwhile, had the weight and charm of a wet sandbag. I peeled off my T-shirt, then paused with my fingers at the waistband. “We can leave,” Tom offered. I looked at the steep path back. “In these? I’d arrive with no skin left.” Taking them off required a one-legged hop and a steadying hand on his shoulder. With the last wet fabric gone, I stood still, startled by the breeze, then laughed at the perfectly dry clothes he was wearing.

Which brought us to the pole and my husband’s unreliable attention. This time we buried the base properly, packing the sand with our feet. When I reached up to adjust the canopy, Tom stepped close and held it steady. We stood face-to-face beneath the tilted shade, his hand beside mine. “Better?” he asked. I reminded myself that he meant the parasol. “Much.” He smiled as if he had heard the pause. I lowered my arms without covering myself, and we tested our handiwork with a firm shake.

I sat on the towel, initially very upright, as though good posture might count as clothing. Tom handed me our water bottle. “For the record, I wasn’t suggesting you get dressed.” “Your face was difficult to interpret.” “I was surprised.” “By your naked wife?” He laughed. “By you deciding to stay. You looked pleased with yourself.” I was, actually. Even with sand stuck to one foot and my hair drying into something unfortunate, I liked that he had noticed. I leaned back, letting the sunshine warm the places my wet clothes had chilled.

After lunch I suggested another swim. He looked at his shorts. “You’ve made a strong argument against wearing those in.” I left him to work that out and walked toward the water, conscious of his eyes on my back and no longer tempted to hurry. When I glanced around, he was undressing with the solemn concentration of someone handling complicated equipment. I waited in the shallows and offered my hand. “Cold?” I asked when he hesitated. “Possibly nervous.” I squeezed his fingers. “Apparently that happens.” We went in together, laughing as the first wave reached us.

By the time we packed up, my clothes were dry. Tom lifted my shorts from the parasol rib and offered them to me. “Ready?” I looked at the quiet water. “One more swim first?” He hung them back up, then leaned in and kissed me, briefly and without his earlier distracted expression. “I’ll check the parasol,” he said. “You do that. We know what happens if I have to rescue it.”