Salomon Bay

“There’s a nude beach here, and it’s right outside of town,” Mark said.

“Oh boy,” said Heather. “And you’re going to tell me you just found this out.”

“That’s correct, I didn’t know this before now,” Mark said. “Seriously, I just saw it in this guidebook.”

Mark held out an old, worn St. John guidebook, but Heather didn’t take it. He’d found the book that morning, their first full day on the island. The book was on a shelf of paperbacks left by previous vacationers.

“You didn’t research this at home?” Heather asked. “You didn’t wait to tell me until I’d started to relax and was only partly dressed most of the time anyway?”

“Yes to both questions,” Mark said. “Or, maybe, no to both questions, but I’m not sure.”
Mark flipped the pages of the book and began studying a map.

“Believe what you want, but this is new information.”

They were in the living room of their small rental villa on a hillside overlooking Cruz Bay, sitting on a sofa upholstered in a red and blue fish theme, their thighs pressed together, drinking white wine.

“I think we should go there,” Mark said. He spoke without looking up from the book.

“Well, I certainly didn’t see that coming,” said Heather. She finished her glass of wine. “Is this what men expect of women? They need to be willing to show their tits on a nude beach in the Caribbean on their first trip together? Is it a sort of test?”

Mark laughed. “It’s not a test. Do you think women don’t want to be seen naked? Are nude beaches just full of men waiting for women to show up and take their clothes off?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to one,” said Heather.

“Neither have I,” said Mark.

He finished his wine and stood up, and took their glasses into the kitchen. They were keeping the wine bottle in the freezer and he was pouring half glasses for them. It was warm in the living room and they had the doors to the balcony open and the two ceiling fans turned slowly; only the bedroom wing was air conditioned.
He handed Heather her new glass of wine and pretended to try to sit on her lap, but she blocked him with her forearm and he sat next to her, thigh to thigh again.

“Yes, you’re probably right. Only men go to nude beaches,” she said. “Forlorn perverts, pretending not to check out everyone else’s equipment.” Heather brought her wine glass to her mouth to hide her smile.

“You make men sound pitiful,” Mark said. “Don’t reply to that!”

Heather placed her wineglass on the coffee table and gently put her elbow to his ribs. “I’m teasing you, Mark” she said quietly. “But I don’t want to go.”

Mark picked up the guidebook and turned to the description of the beach, which was at Salomon Bay. “Why not?” he asked.

Heather tucked her hair behind her ears, but in a few seconds the locks of blonde hair on both sides fell forward again.

“I’m too big,” she said. “And too small, too.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Mark said. “You’re strong and athletic. And who would care, anyway? It would just be us.”
He knew that sounded absurd as soon as he said it. But in his imagination, it had been just them, swimming naked and alone in the turquoise water.

“There would be all those pitiful men,” Heather said. “Checking out all the skinny women. And the skinny women snickering at the big girls.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” said Mark. “This must be a girl thing.”

“Must be,” said Heather.

Later, lying in bed under a couple of blankets, the air conditioning cranked up high, Mark recalled the snorkeling trip they’d taken that afternoon. There were three other couples on board the small sailboat. The captain anchored off Lovango Key in Pillsbury Sound, and one by one the vacationers jumped in the water. One of the men brazenly checked out Heather as she sat on the side of the boat and put on her fins and adjusted her mask and snorkel. Mark maneuvered to stand next to her to block the guy’s view.

Now, as he fell asleep, he pictured himself and Heather alone at Salomon Bay. Heather took off her one piece bathing suit and waded into the blue water, framed by coconut palms along the beach. He followed her. Her long legs moved gracefully in front of him. He swam beside her and then dived and swam below her. He rose in the water and reached out a hand and surprised her, and heard her cry out with pleasure. They embraced in the warm, shimmering water, her small breasts pressed against him.

In the morning, Mark said “you played basketball on national TV. There were millions of eyes on you.”

They’d shopped at the Starfish Market earlier and were now on the balcony eating eggs and toast and drinking coffee. Below and not far away, Cruz Bay harbor glittered in the morning sunlight. The wakes of passenger ferries and cargo barges led to and from St Thomas across the Sound.

“It was women’s college basketball,” Heather said, “and I doubt a million people have ever watched a women’s college basketball game.”

“You’re used to people looking at you, is what I mean.”

“But Mark, we wore uniforms.”

Mark pushed his plate aside and opened the old guidebook.

“There are two beaches on the same trail,” he said, pointing at a map. “Salomon Bay is the nude beach and Honeymoon Bay is the regular beach. Right here, there’s a trail that goes down to Salomon, and the main trail continues to Honeymoon. The whole thing’s only a mile long.”

Mark passed the guidebook to Heather, his index finger indicating the trail branches on the map.
Heather took the book and briefly looked at the map. Then, sighing, she turned the pages until she found the description of the two beaches. The book said the beaches were geographically side by side though not visible to each other, separated by a slight jutting out of the land from which a magnificent coral reef extended into the bay. She read the description once, then went back to the beginning and read it again.

“They both sound beautiful,” she said. “They’re essentially the same, except for the nudity thing. And the book says Salomon Bay is known as a clothing optional beach, but nudity is illegal.”

She looked up from the book, directly at Mark, and took a sip of coffee.

Mark looked at Heather, then at the view of Pillsbury sound with the green hills of St Thomas in the background, then back at Heather. Heather was studying his face. Her blue eyes were exceptionally pretty in the tropical light.

“We could decide which one to go to when we get to the turnoff,” Mark said.

“Or not! Mark, why are you pressing me on this?”. Heather put both hands on the table and the silverware bounced. Her voice quavered.

“Sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll drop it. I just think it would be fun. I think it would be romantic.”

“Romantic? How do you figure that?” Heather collected their breakfast plates and stood up. Mark stood and picked up the coffee mugs. They were a foot apart, equal height, face to face.

“It just doesn’t sound romantic. I agree it could be fun swimming in the nude, Mark. But not with other people around. I’m not comfortable showing my body that way.”

“You don’t know. You’ve never done it.” Before Heather could say anything else, Mark leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. “Forget it. No problem.”

In the kitchen, while cleaning up, they agreed to hike to the other beach, Honeymoon Bay, that afternoon at 3 o’clock.

They stuffed their backpacks with gear. Towels, sunblock, a couple bottles of water, masks, snorkels, t-shirts, shorts, the guidebook, some cheese crackers, a Hershey bar. They’d have to carry their fins. At the last minute, Mark picked up a mystery novel that he’d enjoyed on the plane and put it in Heather’s pack. He also decided to bring his expensive camera. They’d just have to be aware of what was happening up on the beach while they were in the water swimming, in case there were thieves hanging around.

They walked quickly down the steep hill into town, weaving between parked cars to avoid the intermittent traffic. When the sidewalk started they held hands. Ahead, the veranda of a popular restaurant and bar was crowded with partiers and the sidewalk was pretty much blocked. The smell of frying hamburgers floated on the air. The college-age men were loud, getting a good base in preparation for the night’s revelries. Mark put his arm around Heather and led her to the other side of the street. There was an outburst of laughter from the men at the bar and Mark pulled Heather closer. I’d hate to be at Salomon Bay and have those guys show up, he thought.

They turned onto the busy street that ran along the harbor. Reggae music was playing in a hut selling snow cones and they stopped and bought a grape and a vanilla.

It took a while to find the start of the trail that led to Salomon and Honeymoon Bay. It wasn’t where the guidebook said it was. They took a guess and clambered up a hill and found the trail through a hole in a sea grape hedge. The trail led away from Cruz Bay and the sounds of traffic and reggae faded quickly.

To the left, they could occasionally see a sparkle of sunlight on Cruz Bay harbor, but the thick vegetation mostly blocked the view. It was very quiet; even their voices were muted by the heavy growth.

They hadn’t seen anyone else on the trail. But suddenly, up ahead, two middle-aged men appeared, coming up the hill on the trail that led to Salomon Bay. The men stopped talking and looked both Mark and Heather up and down as they passed by, headed in the direction of town. They muttered hellos. Mark wondered what they’d been doing at Salomon Bay. Were they gay? If not, they were probably there to look at the naked women.

Mark shrugged his shoulders. “Well, there’s the trail to Salomon,” he said. “Honeymoon is this way.”

He turned and took a step down the main trail to Honeymoon Bay. Heather said “wait. Let’s go down here,” and pointed to Salomon. Her voice was bright.

Mark turned back. Heather held her hand out for Mark, but he didn’t take it. “We agreed to go to Honeymoon,” he said, and dropped his fins on the ground.

“I wanted to surprise you. I changed my mind. It seems really quiet here and I’d love to swim naked with you. Sexy man.”

“Heather!” Mark’s voice was whiny. “You didn’t want to go and I totally understand.”

“But now I do.”

“But now I don’t!”

Heather cocked her hips and her upper body pointed toward the Salomon Bay trail.

“No,” Mark said. “Let’s go to Honeymoon. It’s probably safer.” Mark picked up his fins, turned and started walking down the trail. After ten strides he turned around. Heather was gone.

“Shit,” he muttered, then called out, “Heather, come on!”

He waited, but Heather didn’t return his call and didn’t come back onto the trail.

Mark turned toward Honeymoon Bay and walked down the hill as fast as he could in his sandals. He reached behind him to try to get the guidebook out of his backpack, and finally pulled the pack off, unzipped it and fumbled around in it. A pair of shorts and sunblock fell onto the ground. He leaned over to pick them up and his camera started to fall out too. He found the book and opened it as he walked, holding the half-open backpack under his arm. He couldn’t locate the trail map and finally shoved the book back in the pack. Why do I need the map anyway, he thought. I’m already here.

In a few minutes, the trail opened up and Honeymoon Bay appeared. The sun was behind the bluffs they’d hiked over. Honeymoon Bay was a lovely crescent of shaded white sand and glinting blue water.

Mark walked a short way onto the beach and dropped his pack on the sand. He pulled off his shirt, grabbed his mask and fins and walked to the water. The sand was soft and cool. He put the mask on and fit the snorkel into his mouth. He waded into the water and lay on his back and pulled on his fins. He put his face in the water and started to swim. He hadn’t rinsed the mask since the sailboat trip the day before and the mask clouded up immediately. He took it off and swished it in the shallow water. While he did this, he looked in the direction of Salomon Bay, but as the book had said, it wasn’t visible.

He put his mask back on and started to swim. A school of silvery fish was right next to him. He reached out to touch them, but they were either farther away than they seemed or they were very adept at avoiding him. When the water got deeper, he dove down to the sandy bottom, spit the snorkel out of his mouth, and screamed. He surfaced and took a deep breath and dove to the bottom and screamed again.

He quickly toweled off and put his tank top back on, shoved the snorkeling gear in the backpack and put his sandals on without wiping the sand off of his feet. He ran up the trail. lt was steeper than he recalled and he was breathing hard and sweating when he reached the Salomon Bay turnoff and took it. He wanted to keep running, but the narrow trail to Salomon was rocky and much steeper than the main trail, so instead he walked carefully.

At the bottom of the trail, he strode onto the beach and scanned to the right. There was a couple lying on a blanket and there was someone in the water, snorkeling near the reef. To the left, a group of people, what appeared to be two families with young children, were standing ankle deep in the water. An adult was leaning over a child in an enormous, pink flotation vest, pulling the kid through the water. Everyone was laughing.

He walked farther out onto the beach and looked for Heather. Far down to the left, he saw her lying on her beach towel in the shade of a maho tree. Her head was resting on her backpack and she was reading a book.

Mark relaxed his shoulders and took a deep breath. She was wearing a bathing suit. Everyone was.

He wanted to approach Heather, but he hesitated. He was certain it was her, but she looked different. Maybe she was wearing a bathing suit he hadn’t seen before. Maybe the contrast of sun and shade made it difficult for him to focus.

He slipped the pack off his shoulders and started walking toward her. When he was a couple of feet away, he said, “I don’t mean to disturb you. I saw you reading and I’m curious what book you have.”

Heather looked up, holding the book so Mark could see the cover. She had sunglasses on and he couldn’t see her eyes.

“It’s a mystery,” she said. “My best friend gave it to me. It’s set in Iceland, and the people are cranky and it’s really cold there, but it’s an exciting story.”

Mark nodded and smiled. “Can I put my towel down here and join you?”

Heather moved her feet up under her, making room on her beach towel, and patted the towel with her hand.
“Why don’t you sit down for a minute first, and let’s talk.”

“I’d love to,” Mark said. He gently put his pack on the sand and sat by her feet.

Heather looked at him from behind her dark glasses and said, “so, what brings you here?”

© 2010 Scott Johnson

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Scott D. Johnson grew up outside of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and lives in the Piedmont region of North Carolina. He holds a B.A. in English from the University of Pennsylvania, and makes his living as a software developer. When not writing code, Scott might be running, hiking, taking photos or working on a short story. “Salomon Bay” is his first published story.

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