2 (bikini kill)

When I was at a hostel in Madrid, I met this nice bro, Adam, in the bathroom. He was fixing his faux hawk and asked me what I was doing in Spain. I told him my story and he suggested I join him and his friends at the hostel bar, so I did. We walked downstairs and he introduced me around. His group was pretty normal, a bunch of young American white guys celebrating their recent graduation by backpacking around Europe. I asked them if they were going to more places in Spain and they said that they were going to try and hit Ibiza.

"Gotta see one of these topless Spanish beaches," Adam said exuberantly. "Am I right?" I told him he was.

But I didn't mean it. I had been to one of said beaches six years prior and my brother and I spent the whole trip doing our best to not see any boobs. We thought the whole business was rather indecent and much preferred our style of swimsuit: Black jammers (like bike shorts) that reached the knee with black Under Armour style shirts tucked into them, mine was long-sleeved, his was short-. We looked like a couple of ninjas on vacation.

And true, he and I were a little extreme. I generally don't wear a shirt anymore when I swim and as much as I like the idea of wearing black and white horizontally striped coverall swimwear like moustached dudes did in the 1920's, I know that's not a style that's going to come back. But topless beaches?

Now we zoom back to the present, my first Spanish beach trip of the year. Me and the family are driving up and over the mountains in the bulky, white VW van circa 1965. There's room for both the kids to lay down in the trunk area, which leaves a full bench seat to Viky, a luggage area where you would expect another bench in front of her, and me and Christian upfront. I'm on the left 'cause I don't drive stick, so it's my job to thank the car and pat the dashboard every time it makes it over a hill without stalling and rolling back down to the bottom. As we crest over the highest point of our journey, the beach comes into view. It's nestled into a valley, no resorts in sight, reachable only by driving up and over the mountains. And where I expect to see a straight shot of white sand, the landscape is speckled with big grey rocks, some 25 feet high, where people set up their towels and coolers.

So after another 20 minutes of zigzagging our way down into the valley we reach the beach. We put up our two big umbrellas, throw down our bags and Adrian urges me towards the surf. I know that somewhere around here there will some nudity, so my periscope's up (no, not that periscope.) I'm looking around as we jog to the water. And lo and behold, the first topless honey appears. She's about fifty-five, and although a nice-looking woman, isn't really doing it for me. She looks as though she may have once had a rather presentable body, but now has pretty much stopped caring. Which brings me to my first point, that the vast majority of women who choose to reveal their assets seem to do so because the value of said assets is negligible. To continue a bad analogy, they've realized that since the crash of each one's individual stock market, share values have dropped.

Which I understand. Women's power over men comes from keeping things hidden, not from giving it away. That's why celebrities tend to model for Playboy only after they've fell out of the limelight. However a nude girl looks in a guy's imagination is always going to be better than she looks in real life. So it's in the best interest of young ladies to keep that info under wraps.

So, back on the beach, I'm not really into it. I figure I got better things to do at that point anyway and I run into the ocean where Adrian and I try and body surf for an hour or so. But on the way out I can't help but notice there are a few 20-somethings tanning in the sand. And dismissing the fact that I think laying out is about as smart as microwaving yourself, I think "Hey, alright!" These ladies are looking fine and I'm not going to pretend I didn't notice. Of course, they're attractive in a way that conjures images of a pop-up ad saying "Spanish Girls Want To Chat With You", but that's not necessarily a bad thing. Points for nudity.

I think that puts the score about even until I notice the kids. To start, there are some little babies playing naked in the sand. No big, which isn't all that unusual anywhere. But then I also notice that there are some kids running around who are clearly above the "you must be this young to be a naked baby" mark. I'm talking about 6-year-olds playing tag in the buff.

This seriously freaks me out. But much more the girls than the boys. Maybe it's the fact that my mom stuck me and my two younger brothers together in the shower for so many years that I could probably draw more accurate nude portraits of them than is really healthy, but I'm not bothered by these tiny tikes swinging their little boy junk around. Have a good time, fellas. But these little girls make me feel like I'm a voyeur just for having eyes, like I'm seeing something I am definitely not supposed to see. And no, I'm not one, but they look so weird that I've got this dual fascination/disgust thing going on. I mean, these kids are clearly missing something. They look like action figures. Or aliens. Or as Bill Cosby said, like "someone forgot to put the stem on the apple."

So now we're in the definite negative on the beaches. But I've never been one to make a rash decision, so when I get a chance to go to another beach, I decide to include in it my study. This time we hit a smaller, more discreet beach. It's got less sand and more rocks, but it's cozy. You have to hike a little ways from the road to reach it, but that adds to it's allure.

The scenery starts off by neutralizing itself: A foxy chica sunning herself with her boyfriend is a plus, but the 3-year-old girl making sand castles is a minus. This little girl bothers me less than my previous encounter. Maybe I'm adapting to this strange Spanish lifestyle. Or maturing enough to not flip out when there are naked kids around. At any rate, I feel comfortable enough to set down my clipboard and go for a swim in the freezing waters. I don't stay out to long, naturally, and end up dozing off while warming up on my towel.

I guess the water took more out of me than I thought, because when I awake there's another group of people on the beach. They're sitting behind us, two or three couples in their fifties. One of the women has provided me with cause to include her in my study. She's a definite minus. I'm chatting with Adrian (who, for obvious reasons, does not know about this study) and keep accidentally getting an eyeful of this lady. He asks me what's wrong, why do I keep twitching. I shrug off the question and ask him if he wants to go walk around on the big rocks on the other side of the beach. He says no, so I go off alone, in need of some distraction.

I go out to some rocks that are half-covered in water now that the tides coming in. I put my feet down and everyone once in a while a wave will pass over them. The water's still icy, but it feels good. I whistle, but can't hear it because of the waves. I smile and enjoy the sight and sounds of the water. When I feel myself getting cold, I get up and hop across a few rocks toward the beach. I go back a different way, around the far side of a large rock.

It's there that I catch sight of another sunbather. I see the undersides of her barefeet, her bronzed calves, her buttcheeks. Yep, buttcheeks. This chick is going for the gusto, totally nude, lying facedown on her towel. I modestly look away and start to trek back the way I came, but something makes me look again. And that's when I realize it: That's a dude's butt. I'm 10 feet away from a strange naked Spanish man who has no hair on his legs.


Things That Make Me Feel Pervy:

-Having to handle a 12-year-old girls cartoon themed undergarments when I fold the laundry.

-Having to handle her mother's thongs for the same reason, though the creepiness manifolds when I encounter both items in the same load of laundry.

-Looking at the plastic pump bottle of "Germisdin: Feminine Hygiene Cream" which sits next to the soap dispenser in the bathroom.

-Clown Porn.