We’re so pleased to have author Adam Arkin joining us today with an exclusive excerpt from the debut novel, Freedoms Shore.
Welcome, Adam!
From the Author
This excerpt is based on a real-life experience—as is much of the novel—I was lucky enough to enjoy first-hand. Transposing the memory from my mind onto the page was akin to reliving the moment all over again. Lucid details flashed into my head, from the way the end of his bright red tee-shirt fluttered in the breeze, to the lustre of his dark eyes. Above all else, I remembered the topsy-turvy state of my emotions as I prepared to surrender to a deeply repressed desire.
In many ways writing this novel has been a means of catharsis, a way to finally acknowledge my true orientation. A chance to fully embrace those facets of my sexuality that I kept hidden for so long. If I can tease and excite readers along the way, then that would be great, too!
About the Book
When a shy student decides to spend a summer on the Spanish Mediterranean coast, he has no idea of the life-changing adventure that awaits. For years Adam has denied his true yearnings, until a visit to a gay-friendly nudist beach inspires him to act on his naked impulses. Slowly his mind is coaxed open to a world of new pleasures, in the experienced hands of the uninhibited hunks that frequent the cruising zone beyond the palms—a place where nothing is taboo.
As Adam learns to embrace his sexuality, he develops intense feelings for the enigmatic Javier, a young man with a secret of his own. Infatuated by his friends smouldering allure and striking Latin looks, Adam falls recklessly in love. As passions flare over the course of a long, sultry summer, both men must risk it all, if they are to satisfy their deepest desires.
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The Excerpt
When I stepped out onto the beach any fears I held seemed to disappear with the slight breeze. Being surrounded by the boundless azure beauty of the Mediterranean, palm trees, dunes and soft golden sand was both uplifting and inspiring. I was struck by an overwhelming urge to rid myself of the last vestiges of clothing. My right hand undid the loose knot on my Bermuda shorts and they fluttered down around my ankles.
All at once, I felt a sense of release and a rush of heady excitement.
I stuck my chest out and inhaled the potent sea air through my nose and marched across the sands.
Two hirsute men frolicking in the sea stopped to look my way, when I paraded past naked and proud. It put a spring in my step to be the object of such attention. My gait became poised and confident.
Nakedness has often been associated with vulnerability; the sense of being exposed. The opposite proved true for me. Revealing myself at my most intimate gave rise an inner-conviction. By baring it all, there was nothing left to fear. The world was my oyster.
My eyes scanned the posse of naked bodies for one that most appealed.
Close to the water’s edge with foam covering his bare feet, stood the painter whom I´d encountered on my previous visit. I could scarcely believe my good fortune.
The painter was concentrating hard on his brush strokes and scarcely noticed my arrival. I gently put down my knapsack, not far from where he stood by his easel. I made certain that my back was to him, before I got down on all fours and spread out my towel.
The thought that he might be watching sent a tingle down my spine. My body was awash with a wild sexual energy. I felt giddy and made to sit down. As I did so, I turned my head to the side and saw that the painter´s attention had been pricked.
He turned his tall frame to face me. At a glance, he appeared to be in his early thirties, tall and in good physical shape. His dark hair was tousled in a time-honoured bohemian fashion that only a few can execute properly. The carefree coiffure was complemented by a classic three-day stubble that shaded his strong, rugged jaw-line. It was a contrived look, but very attractive nonetheless.
The tails of his paint splashed, bright red, tee-shirt flapped about his waist as he stood with his powerful tree-trunk thighs akimbo. A small mound of springy, curled black hair covered the base of his penis, which hung like a trophy between his strong legs. My appreciation of his prodigious member was interrupted when he grabbed it roughly with his large hand. As he did so, he grunted loudly, and kept his eyes trained on my nude body.
I was unsure how to respond to his gesture. A half-smile crossed my nervous features and I looked away. I turned my attention to the small waves and watched as they tumbled ashore. Even though he was removed from my line of vision, I could still feel the painter´s eyes boring into me. A shiver ran through my body. I chanced a glance in his direction and he fixed me a pregnant stare. I lowered my gaze. I debated getting up and going over to him, on the pretext of wanting to see his artwork. I wondered, how it might feel to nestle my head against his chest or to feel his strong arm coiled around my waist.
I looked back up at him. He was still staring right at me. I smiled, shyly. I was tickled pink that such a handsome hombre should display such an interest in me. There was something of the hunter in the way his eyes homed in on my body and trapped me in his sights. I felt squirrelly, caught in his unswerving glare. The fact that I was completely naked made it even more arousing.
Whilst I sat and wondered what to do, the painter started in my direction. His impressive member slapped strongly against his thighs, as he swaggered across the hot sand in his bare feet with typical Latin machismo. My pulse quickened, as he drew near. I looked up to see him towering over me, as he came to a stop by my towel.
“¡Hola!” he said in a loud, confident voice.
“Hola” I replied meekly. I noticed the dryness in my mouth and cleared my throat.
“You are Inglés, no?”
“Sí.”
“I am Pedro. I am, how you say, pintor.”
“Painter?”
“Ah, sí. Painter, yes. I am painter and I very much like that I can paint you.” He paused to assess my reaction, though he wore the look of someone who assumed that there would be no refusal.
I smiled sheepishly.
“Yes. Is good?”
“Sure, why not?” I answered, thoroughly taken by his Latin charm and swarthy good looks. “Okay.”
A large grin spread across his handsome visage.
“Vamos. We go to a place that is more tranquilo.”
In an instant, my smile froze. Pedro was pointing to the dunes behind the rope barrier that separated them from the beach.
Pedro sensed my misgivings and proffered a disarming grin with perfectly straight, white teeth.
“Is okay. I only want that I can paint you.”
He looked at me with his dark, dancing eyes that seemed to know my innermost thoughts and desires. It had an intoxicating effect on my intellect. The argument for rejecting his offer rapidly lost its power. Tentatively, I nodded an agreement.
Pedro led the way, carrying his easel under one strong arm. I followed behind cautiously, careful to leave a clear distance between us. In spite of my nervousness, my heart beat boldly with an adventurous spirit.
My curious eyes fixed squarely on his delightfully exposed rear, unashamedly tracing over the natural contours of his firm, but well-rounded cheeks. I revelled in watching how they brushed together, as he swept across the sand. That was until he glanced back over his shoulder, and caught me in the act. I looked sheepishly at my feet and, with head bowed, trudged through the golden granules, kicking up dust.
Pedro found one of the larger dunes that obscured the view of the beach, and set up his easel at the foot. He beckoned at me to come closer.
I edged nearer, but remained just shy of his reach.
Pedro grinned and looked at me with his fluid eyes.
“Eh, so, um, what pose should I take?” I asked, timidly.
“What is this you say?”
“Do I sit? Do I stand? How do you want me?” Yet another Freudian Slip?
I had begun to make a habit of those, I thought to myself and reddened.
Pedro smirked.
“You be whatever way you want, whatever make you comfortable, chico.
Then, I paint.”
Pedro pulled his old red tee-shirt up over his head, exposing his well-honed torso. My wide eyes marvelled at his naked masculinity, as he dumped the crumpled material to the sand. “I, too, get comfortable.
Yes.”
I stood stock still, unable to think rationally. I could feel the sweat trickling down my sides. I chewed on my lip and looked to him for guidance, as a swell of wild thoughts threatened to overrun my mind. Pedro removed the end of the paintbrush from his mouth and replaced it on the easel. He stepped aside, and appraised the demure nude youth before him with an assured eye.
Pedro placed his two strong hands on my slight shoulders and looked directly into my eyes.
“Why you so nervous? You have such a beautiful body. You have no need to worry.” He extended out his large hands and rested them on my tense shoulders. “Tranquilo muchacho,” he said in an insistent whisper.
Slowly and deliberately, his strong hands began to work their way over my skin. Pedro looked deep into my eyes and I found myself powerless to resist his touch.
I closed my eyes in an effort to block out my nerves and instead, focused on the relaxing movement of his calloused palms. Surprisingly it felt nice and I did indeed feel calmer. His big hands wasted no time in working their way onto my chest. My immediate instinct was that I open my eyes and flee, yet his touch felt reassuringly pleasant. He rubbed my left nipple roughly, provoking it into a stare of hardness.
I emitted an involuntary moan.
“Uff! Such a beautiful body,” Pedro proclaimed lustily. “Almost feminine, like Ardhanarishvara. So, so beautiful, I want to eat every bit of you.”
Pedro´s hot moist tongue flicked my erected nipple and my manhood stiffened accordingly. He left my saliva coated nipple and turned his attention to its twin. Soon it, too, was coaxed into a full state of arousal by his eloquent tongue tracing over the areola, like fingers reading Braille.
I let out an audible gasp when Pedro´s teeth bit down on my tenderized nipple. A pleasurable streak of pain shot throughout my chest. A warm hand enclosed itself around my throbbing organ and gripped tightly. I shut my eyes and gave way to the pleasure of his skilled hand caressing my stiff sex.
Pedro bit down on my sensitive nipple again, sending another strange spasm of pleasure rocketing down my spine. My breathing became restricted as his free hand rubbed the small of my back. Boldly Pedro´s palm descended to my bare bottom, but I had no mind to try to impede its progress. My left cheek became embroiled in his strong grip, whilst my masticated nipples were tenderly kissed better. My barriers came crashing down. I tossed my head back and let Pedro assert his dominion over my pliant body…
About the Author
After quitting his life in London to pursue his lifelong ambition of becoming a writer, Adam Arkin found himself on the sunny tropical coast of Spain. And instantly fell in love with his adopted country. After stints as a sports journalist, and a teacher, he decided to dedicate his life to his one true passion, writing.
A keen practitioner of the naturist lifestyle, Adam spends his (limited) free time at the local nude beach finding inspiration for his writing in the natural and physical beauty around him. Perhaps as a result of too much exposure to all that sun and skin, he cannot resist imbuing his stories with a searingly sensual, highly-charged erotic element. Drawing on personal experience, Adam´s protagonists are a wild tangle of complicated emotions, as they endeavour to navigate the beautiful turbulence of romance in order to find true happiness.
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