I just spent my third straight day at the beach. No, not full days, but certainly a few hours each of the last 3. It’s been three days that make you say, ‘I love San Diego!’ Incredible blue overhead that get’s darker and deeper the higher you gaze; Blue black Pacific turning emerald near the coast; Sandpipers and shallow spots to just sit in the warm July surf . . . 
yes; this is definitely what it’s all about. Each day I’ve driven my rocket car to Genesee at the 5 and taken the back road up to the Coast Highway off Carmel Valley Rd. With a little patient waiting and luck, I’ve scored free parking outside the State Park each day.
Half the fun is the long walk down Torey Pines State Beach, next to the cliffs. The crowds thin as you walk south until there are only a few folks around. You come to the first landmark: the place where the trail 
comes down to the beach from Torey Pines Preserve, right there by the cliff outcropping that jutts out to meet the sea and the large flat fallen rock that breaks the waves as they crash towards the shore. Today there was a bit of a hub bub there: Life Guards and a flat-bed truck from Sea World. A Sea Lion had become disoriented and beached itself there by the rocks. He seemed unable or unwilling to return to the ocean, so concerned beach goers called Sea World and they sent their rescue truck and a team of vets and helpers. They took the befuddled creature in a large tank of sea water off to their facility for tests and observation. If all checks out, the Lion will be returned to the ocean later this week.
I love the big flat rock in the surf. I spent several hours on it with my friend and his grandkids last week. They were spellbound by the wildness of the crashing waves and the abundance of sea life living in the tide pools that dot the surface. We touched urchins and watched them close, 
chased minnows in the barnacles, and captured a number of small crabs. We sat for a long time on the edge of the rock, gazing into the water between waves to glimpse the occasional sting ray. It’s an amazing place.
Looking south, down the coast, the next landmark appears in the haze: another jutting cliff, this one smaller, with a brushy mesa atop, and another scatter of rocks breaking the surf. The spot marks the beginning of Blacks Beach, and on each of the last 3 days, a harvest of beach umbrellas was visible beyond.
As you walk in that direction, you will most like be completely alone. The few people who come to the first outcropping seldom go further, and the Blacks Beach crowd usually comes down the cliff at the south end of the beach, near the Glider Port. I gave that up a couple of years ago when I realized that I could walk on a completely flat beach about the same distance as I would from the cliff top parking lot on the south end without having to scale a mountain to get back out. Besides, my walk is incredible. The climb down and then up from the South end is just that: a climb.
As you probably know, Blacks is a nude beach. It is nude by popular demand. In truth, there is no such thing as a nude beach in California. 
There is not one that is officially sanctioned. However, all along the coast, wherever a beach exists that is hard to get to, there is nudity. I love Blacks, but just up the coast, in the middle of the Camp Pendleton Marine Base is San Onofre State Beach, which is also nude and even a bit more remote, a little wilder. Further along, north of Long Beach, is Abalone Cove on Palos Verdes. This is probably my favorite. It’s a small cove with caves and lots of tidal pools that teem with life.
On weekends at Blacks Beach, you will see more people in trunks than without. It’s just human nature: the gawkers always outnumber the nudists on the weekend. All kinds of folks stroll along the beach with at least one eye turned inland toward the sun bathers. Those of us who love a good opportunity to shed clothes pay them no mind. In fact, I take some pride in my willingness to peel off publicly in the proper situation — and none could be more proper than a nude beach.
The North end of Blacks, which is the first part you come to if you walk down from Torey Pines, is gay. That is to say, the vast majority of people you run into there are male, with a sprinkling of lesbians tossed in like bacon bits on a salad. Of course, there are abundant trails and ‘bushes’ along the cliffs at the North end for the boys to enjoy on nature walks. Right. As an older man I don’t get into total hedonism that much, so I stick pretty much to the sand and the surf. But be forewarned: if you venture off the sand you may be utterly amazed at what you encounter.
Further South, where the cliff trail comes down from the Glider Port above, Blacks is more ‘straight’ (whatever that means). There is a continual naked volleyball game that occurs at the bottom of the trail, boys and girls diving to make those tough shots, various appendages flopping in the sand. Here you will see hard-core naturists: families with children, middle aged men and women, etc. I always find it hard to know what to do with my eyes when I go down there. I mean, I don’t want to be looking at children, and I’m far to afraid of offending to oggle some gal’s old man; and, heaven knows, I don’t get much of a kick looking at women . . . so I just stay up on the north end.
The Glider Port is a wonderful feature, too. 
It sits between the Salk Institute and the edge of the cliffs that overlook South Blacks Beach. All Day, every day, parasailers dive off that cliff and remain aloft on the hot verticals that come up from the sand below for as long as they like. It’s a beautiful sight.
In Mid-July, the ocean temperature is near 70 degrees, which is as warm as it gets in California. The Pacific is a cold ocean. So much so that I generally don’t get into it. It is a darker blue than its Atlantic cousin, and is not kissed by the warming gulf stream that cuddles the East coast. But for a few weeks each year in July and August, it loses its icy teeth and becomes merely refreshing. I spent much of the weekend playing in the surf, naked as a jay with dozens of similarly naked boys, probably visiting from all over the world. I’m always amazed at the wide variety of languages that are routinely spoken at Blacks Beach. My favorite weekend moment this time was just sitting up in the shallow water, letting the wave leftovers roll around us as we talked and splashed.
Boys play frisbee, boys toss footballs, 
boys play smash ball. But the most interesting sight is the ones who jog naked, pricks flopping up and down up and down as they make their way along the sand. I’m sorry; there’s no way that can be comfortable.
Everyone is on a perpetual weenie alert. All are constantly glancing to see the biggest and best thingamajigs on the beach. Yesterday, my friend and I were on our stomachs, facing away from the ocean. I looked over my right sholder and saw this guy with . . . excellent equipment. Bob saw me out of his perifferal vision and realized I was looking at something, and turned ot get a look, too. ‘ Dick of the day,’ I said. ‘Uh-Huh,’ he replied. And we heard laughter from the blanket in front of us. Turning back, the guys next door snickered, ‘We saw that!’ and ‘It was sooo funny, seeing you both turn to look at it.’
‘It.’
So much of the beach is ‘It.’ The emphasis is on how you look, of course; and everyone is in a movie for a few hours at the beach. But there is more. At least for me. I’m intrigued by the stories I make up about the parade of people I see. And sometimes I have conversations that add to the color of the place. I’ve met painters and writers, doctors and hustlers at Blacks Beach. The place offers a broad horizon.
Courtship rituals. You start noticing this one, way back from the water, turned to look at something . . . ah, yes, he’s looking at that one . . . who, of course, is looking back . . . he lights a cigarette . . .then HE lights a cigarette. . . he scratches his balls, then HE scratches his balls . . . this one gives it a couple of tugs, then that one gives it a few more and the next thing you know they’re following each other off the sand and on a nature walk.
I’m always tickled when I see one guy come out of a canyon or off a trail and a moment later, here comes another. Heaven forbid they’d leave the bushes together! The unfortunate thing is that they’re all so busy playing parts in each other’s fantasies that they rarely introduce themselves, exchange phone numbers or even talk, for that matter. It’s all about the Dick and the Orgasm. Period. And yawn. I’m bored.
But I love the beach, I love the sun and the sea, and I love the carnival of it all. ‘Life’s Rich Pageant,’ as REM called it. I think I’ll get up at 5 tomorrow and work ’til 3 and go again. Hell, you just can’t have too much richness in your life, you know?
This was written relatively early in my gay life (2004). Well, not really: I came out to myself 15 years earlier, but that was in the height of the AIDs crisis and safe sex and being careful about who you had sex with and how became a very important lesson, one not easily forgotten. So I was slow to promiscuity. That happened a few years later, when I grew up and decided to make up some time. Blacks Beach became even more important to me then and I experienced it all.