A forty-something man wearing khaki slacks rolled up above his calves and a royal blue button-down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up strolled along the shoreline of the secluded nude beach while I was skinny dipping. A brown leather briefcase with a shoulder strap hung at his side. He held his brown leather shoes in the hand opposite the side of his body where the briefcase hung.

When I strode out of the clear, turquoise surf naked, he locked his gaze on me and smiled. I walked across the soft sand toward my teal, navy blue, and rust-colored mandala beach blanket. The man altered his path. He angled away from the shoreline and headed inland as if to intercept me.

I picked up my sky blue towel and dried off. The man walked directly toward me with a big grin on his face. He stopped a few feet away and gazed longingly at my slender, naked body with an intense look of desire, like a lost, starving man who'd suddenly happened upon a lavish banquet in the wilderness.

I felt creeped out and turned on in equal measure. I knew that I was sexually desirable to both men and women, and I always loved it when I caught someone ogling me in public. They were usually much more discreet, though.

I felt vulnerable and nervous. We were in an extremely secluded area. Only one other person had walked past the entire time I'd been there. The man was much taller, heavier, and presumably stronger than I was. If he tried to sexually assault me, and I screamed, no one would hear. I'm five feet seven inches tall and weigh one hundred thirty pounds. The man stood well over six feet tall and appeared to outweigh me by nearly double. He could surely overpower me if I tried to fight him off.

I played it cool and tried my best to appear unfazed by his leering interest in my naked flesh. I smiled a reserved, closed-lipped smile, nodded, and tossed my damp towel onto my blanket.

His short black hair was thinning, and, although he wasn't horribly overweight, he had the bulging paunch around his waistline not uncommon for someone his age. By no means a conventionally handsome or especially physically fit man, he, nonetheless, had a strange, mysteriously attractive quality about him. What was it? His green eyes. The look in his green eyes seemed hypnotic. He took a purple bedsheet out of his brown leather briefcase and spread it on the sand a few feet from my beach blanket.

That upset me. I'd had that whole stunningly beautiful secluded stretch of beach to myself for over an hour and a half. Why'd he have to choose a spot so close to me? Miles upon miles of beach sand were available... but, no, let me restate that. I was in Spain, and I intended to learn to think and speak Spanish. This was la playa, not a beach, measured in kilometers, not miles. Anyhow, you get the picture; he was crowding me, and it bummed me out.

"When a small boy keeps his hair long like a girl, it does not necessarily mean anything," the man said in excellent English. His accent sounded Spanish with a hint of something Eastern European. I thought perhaps he might be Russian or Ukrainian by birth. It surprised me that he spoke to me in English right away rather than trying Spanish first. On further thought, though, I realized my long blond hair and fair skin made it clear to him that I was not a native Spaniard, and quite likely a tourist from an English-speaking country.