STS Ch-17

We lay there silently for hours, turning over every thirty minutes at the chime of the stopwatch. The sun bore down relentlessly, but the ocean breeze softened its sting. We applied sunscreen on most of our bodies ourselves, with the sole exception of our backs. Those, we hesitantly helped each other with, laughing awkwardly at first until the tension faded.

I drifted off many times during the tanning period, the warmth of the sand and sun lulling me into brief naps. After the first few minutes, all of our hesitancy and shyness had evaporated, and to my surprise, I was genuinely enjoying the experience.

I had never been to a nude beach in either of my lives, and now that I was here, I was cursing myself for not trying it out sooner. There was a strange sense of liberation in the vulnerability.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky and the light turned golden, the rays no longer felt harsh against our skin. I got complacent with the half-hourly rotations and let the stopwatch beep away without moving.

At some point, I must have dozed off completely, and from the slow, even breathing beside me, so had Julie.

In that moment, everything else slipped away. The beach, the distant chatter, even my current reality. All I could register was the sudden coolness in the air and the warmth of a soft, breathing human pillow beside me. Julie had curled up close, one leg draped over mine, holding on as if I might vanish. Her soft curves pressed gently against my chest.

Half-asleep, my instincts took over. I kissed her cheek, slow and sleepy, and let my hand drift down her back, pulling her hips closer. I was fully, painfully aroused, my body grinding unconsciously against hers as though she were the solution to a dream I hadn’t finished.

“Noah,” someone whispered my name softly.

I groaned, my face still buried in what I thought was a pillow. “Not now,” I murmured. “Just five more minutes.”

Then pain. A sharp tug at the base of my ear.

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Fine, I’m up. I’m up. Ow!” I yelped, scrambling upright. “Will you let me go already?”

Julie finally released my ear, and I winced, gently rubbing it with my fingers.

“What the fuck was that for?” I muttered, blinking away the remnants of sleep.

She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head down meaningfully. I followed her gaze, only to realize that my salute had yet to settle.

Mortified, I scrambled to cover myself with my hands. “I’m so sorry for that. I fell asleep. I didn’t realize what I was doing.”

Julie scoffed, brushing sand off her arms as she got up and began slipping into her clothes. There was no trace of a smile on her face.

She turned to me, voice even but cool. “I may be an open-minded girl, but if you want something, next time ask.”

And just like that, she walked away from the tanning area, leaving me with a pounding heart and a mess of confusion.

I thought I was a grown man. Mature. Capable. But somehow, this girl had me spiraling. She gave so many mixed signals, playful one moment, distant the next. What did she actually want from me?

I sighed, pulling on my trunks and brushing sand off my legs. With one last glance toward where she disappeared, I headed back to my tent, still lost in my thoughts.

(Break)

“Noah, meet Danielle, your swimming coach for the duration of your stay,” Mark, the Second AD, said as he gestured toward the tall woman beside him. “Danielle won an Olympic silver medal for Australia in her prime, so she’ll be perfect to train you. She and her husband also teach diving, so from tomorrow onwards, they’ll take up your and Julie’s diving lessons as well.”

Danielle looked to be in her late thirties, fit and poised with the unmistakable confidence of someone who’d spent a lifetime in water. She extended her hand with practiced enthusiasm, her eyes scanning me up and down. I was wearing only my swimming briefs, so there wasn’t much to hide.

“Just call me Dani,” she said with a firm shake.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Dani,” I replied, a little formal out of habit. “Now, if you don’t mind, can we start our session? I’ve got a tanning appointment with the sun right after this.”

Dani raised an eyebrow, amused. “You don’t seem disappointed to see me.”

“Should I be?” I asked, matching her smirk.

“Not really,” she said, crossing her arms. “But plenty of young guys with Olympic dreams tend to second-guess my abilities. Comes with the territory.”

Ah. That. I’d never trained under an Olympic-level swimmer before, but I knew what she meant. Too many male athletes underestimate women in the sport, ignoring the fact that coaching isn’t just about brute strength. Sure, men generally outpaced women in endurance, stamina, and speed, but that didn’t mean a woman couldn’t teach you how to be better. That mindset had always bothered me.

“I’m already an Olympic-level swimmer,” I said bluntly.

That earned me a mocking, skeptical look.

“I’m serious,” I added quickly. “I hold the national record in the U.S. for every swimming distance, from 100m to 1500m in all four strokes.”

That seemed to give her pause. Her curiosity sharpened.

“What’s your record in the 100m freestyle?” she asked.

“49.59 seconds,” I said.

That caught her attention. The world record was currently held by Jonty Skinner, another American, at 49.44 seconds. I was only 0.15 seconds behind, and I hadn’t even pushed myself to the limit in that race. Honestly, I could’ve shattered the record a while ago if I had gone all in.

That performance alone had secured me a verbal guarantee from the head of the U.S. Olympic Committee, a direct place on the 1980 Olympic swim selection team. It was also the reason I got a full-ride scholarship to Harvard when most others didn’t.

“Why?” Dani asked, puzzled. “Why do you even need me then?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never had an Olympic-level coach. I could probably win a medal next year without one. But if I want to break world records, multiple ones, and for that I’ll need someone who can fine-tune my form, push my limits, and keep me from plateauing. That’s something you can do better than anyone. Your gender’s irrelevant for that.”

Dani studied me for a moment, then gave a small, approving nod. “You’re very ambitious. I like that. Alright then, let’s get started. Get in the water.”

I turned to look at the endless expanse of the South Pacific stretching out before us. Ever since arriving on the island, I’d felt this strange pull toward the ocean, like something in it was calling to me, waiting. But I hadn’t given in to the feeling until now.

Without overthinking it, I waded in. The water was warm and clear, lapping around my legs like silk. As soon as I was fully submerged, something shifted. A surge of power coursed through me, stronger than anything I’d ever felt. My muscles loosened, my senses sharpened. Even the mild sunburn on my back, from yesterday’s accidental nap in the sun, began to fade. The water was healing me. It was… magical.

I surfaced, remembering I wasn’t alone.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Dani called out with a knowing grin. “There’s something about Fiji and its water. It’s almost otherworldly. Come on, let’s swim. We’ll start slow. First one from this edge of the island to the other side wins.”

She pointed toward the far end of the beach, where the film set was nearly ready for production.

I nodded, grinning back. “You’re on.”

(Break)

The next few days passed in a blur. My schedule was packed: tanning, swimming, diving, exercising. Rinse and repeat. I quickly realized that being an athlete was one thing, but being camera-fit was another entirely. My previous training had been about speed and stamina, optimizing performance. Now, it was about aesthetics: symmetry, muscle tone, and posture. Vain? Absolutely. But that’s what the film team wanted, and I was nothing if not adaptable.

My dynamic with Julie had improved dramatically since that first day. Now we stripped down together with casual ease, cracking jokes like it was the most normal thing in the world. We never brought up that awkward moment again. It hung unspoken between us, diffused by time and humor.

Looking back, I’ll admit that the whole situation was kind of fucked up. I didn’t even consider myself a nudist. But in those moments, I couldn’t help but embrace the experience. Being bare, exposed, and still feeling unashamed was liberating. Sure, Julie was the only one seeing me that way at the time, but I was slowly preparing myself for the first day on camera when the entire crew would be present for the scene.

Somewhere during that stretch of sun and saltwater, I stumbled onto a truth: concepts like modesty and shame are human-made. Clothes, too. Just inventions we collectively agreed on. Nature didn’t ask for them. The so-called “civilized world” had turned nudity into a taboo, but out here, stripped of that context, I felt more human. More myself.

Swimming was already my greatest love. But swimming naked in the open sea? That was something else. A primal joy. A freedom I hadn’t known I was missing. The ocean didn’t judge me. In fact, it felt like it welcomed me and healed me. Every dip in the ocean left me feeling invigorated.

But paradise has deadlines.

The crew, Randal included, had spent the last few days capturing all the shots they could without us. Aerials from a helicopter, wide pans of the island’s untouched beauty, the swaying palms, the reef-fringed beaches. Establishing shots, they called them. Visual poetry to set the mood. But with those now complete, it was time for the real work to begin.

The first major scene with Julie and me was finally upon us, the one everyone on set had been cautiously circling around. The confrontation scene. Emmeline refuses to light a fire to signal a nearby ship, and Richard loses it. It was supposed to mark the first real fracture in our characters’ bond.

After an hour in hair and makeup, I was ready. My shoulder-length hair had finally been cropped down to a more manageable length. I had even gotten a perm to give me that naturally curly-haired look.

I was absolutely ready for the scene.

Then Randal pulled the plug.

“We haven’t received the props we needed to build the raft and bonfire,” he explained when I found him near the monitors. His tone was apologetic, but firm.

He clapped a hand on my shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’ve got another shot lined up that we can get today. You won’t even need to redo your hair and makeup. It’s light on dialogue, so you won’t have much to memorize.”

Not that I had much trouble remembering my lines. I’d memorized the entire script, every single word of my character’s dialogue. But the truth was, the film leaned far more on visuals than it did on dialogue. It was designed to be immersive, to let the island speak for itself. That meant my lines were limited. And to make things worse, my character didn’t even appear until a full thirty minutes into the movie.

“Okay,” I said, nodding at Randal. “So what scene exactly are we shooting today?”

“Scene number 69,” he blurted, already turning away. “I think they need me, go check the script and learn your lines!”

And just like that, he was gone.

What the hell? Why did he bail so fast?

Sure, I remembered all my lines, but I hadn’t bothered with scene numbers. That was a rookie mistake. Overconfidence. Inexperience. Call it what you want—it was catching up to me now.

“Ash!” I called out. “Get me the script!”

“On it!” he shouted back without missing a beat.

A minute later, he sprinted over, panting slightly, and handed it over. I flipped to scene 69 and the moment my eyes hit the page, I understood exactly why Randal had vanished in such a hurry.

Damn it.

The very first scene we were shooting today was one of the sex scenes, a love-making sequence that appeared several times in the film. In this one, Julie’s character and mine are sitting together, eating tropical fruits, when I ask her for a kiss. Things escalate. We cuddle, we make love. And yes, both of us are completely naked during it.

I shut my eyes and let out a long, frustrated breath. I knew it was coming eventually, but not today. Not on the first day of filming. Randal had promised that these scenes would be shot last. After we’d built chemistry. After we were more comfortable with each other and the crew members on the island.

Beside me, Julie must’ve realized the same thing. She glanced at me, clearly uneasy. I offered her my hand, and she took it, gripping it tightly.

“It’ll be okay,” I told her gently, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be okay.”

Julie drew in a shaky breath, then gave a tiny nod. “You’re right. We’ll get through this. Together.”

I gave her a faint smile before turning my eyes back toward the set. Peter was darting around the crew like a man on a mission, running errands and relaying instructions. Since Ash had taken on the role of my personal assistant, Peter had been reassigned to help with broader production needs.

The camera crew was busy setting up their gear with clinical precision. The sound team followed suit, testing levels, adjusting mics, and double-checking cables. Everyone moved like pieces of a well-rehearsed symphony, tuned to the rhythm of the island breeze and the director’s unspoken expectations.

The sun was already climbing high, heating the sand and casting harsh, angular shadows. Sweat beaded at my temples. The only relief came from the soft wind rolling in from the ocean, offering just enough cool to make the loincloth I was wearing tolerable.

This was it. My first real test, not as a swimmer, not even as an actor, but as someone putting everything on the line, literally and metaphorically, in front of a camera.

I glanced at Julie, who wore tattered fabric barely holding together, about the same as mine. Her fair, freckled skin was flushed from the heat, and her expression mirrored my discomfort.

Just then, Randal strode over with a broad grin and a piece of paper in hand. “Alright, guys, everything’s set. Let’s give it a shot!”

Julie and I shared a nervous look. We both knew this day was coming; it was time to put on our game faces and get to work.

We walked to the filming spot. As the scene required, I removed my loincloth, trying to keep my expression neutral. Julie followed suit, unflinching, but I could feel the weight of the crew’s collective gaze settle on me. It wasn’t my paranoia; their eyes were absolutely darting where they shouldn’t.

I could only imagine how Julie felt, given how male-dominated our crew was. Apart from her and one other woman, the makeup artist, the entire team was men. It was hardly the most comfortable environment for this kind of scene.

With nowhere obvious to put my loincloth, I flung it toward Ash.

“Hey!” he shouted, ducking just in time.

“Take care of it, assistant,” I called, half-joking.

Ash groaned but dutifully grabbed it and carried it off, just outside the camera’s frame.

“Noah, Julie!” Randal called again. “We’re starting the scene. Because of the nature of it, we’ll be skipping rehearsals and going straight into filming, alright?”

Julie and I nodded.

Before anything else could happen, the first AD leaned in and whispered something to Randal. His eyes found mine with a strange intensity.

“Something urgent’s come up. Give me a few minutes before we roll,” he said before walking off.

I sighed and sat back down beside Julie in our assigned spot. We were settled in the middle of trees, so it provided enough shade to stave off excess heat.

“What do you think that was about?” she asked, eyes narrowed slightly.

I shrugged, genuinely clueless. The delay wasn’t helping my nerves. Sitting around in nothing but my skin made me feel hyper-aware of every glance, every camera movement, every gust of wind.

Now I get why some productions opted to have everyone disrobe on set for nude scenes. It helped normalize the experience and took the edge off the awkwardness.

Then Randal returned.

“Noah,” he called gently. “Can we talk for a sec? Alone?”

I got up, brushing the dirt off, and followed him a few steps away. “What’s up?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He hesitated, his voice suddenly low and awkward. “Can you, uh… calm down a bit?”

I blinked. “You don’t think I’m calm?”

“No, I mean, down there.” He motioned toward my lower half, eyes carefully avoiding it. “It doesn’t look… professional. You might want to take a quick dip in the ocean. Just to cool off.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again. I looked down, then back up at him.

“This is my normal,” I said evenly. “I’m not excited. I mean, I am, about the scene. But not like that.”

Silence.

Randal stared at me, and so did the two Assistant Directors and the Director of Photography, who were unfortunately close enough to hear the exchange.

I gave a sheepish laugh. “So… can we start now?”

“Yeah,” Randal squeaked, then cleared his throat and repeated, “Yes. Take your place beside Julie. We’ll start any minute.”

As I walked back, I couldn’t help but grin at how surreal that moment had been.

Julie looked at me curiously. “What was that about? You look way too cheerful for someone about to shoot such a scene.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Forget it. Let’s just focus on the scene.”

She didn’t look satisfied with the answer, but she nodded and began going over her lines silently. I joined her, letting the weight of the moment settle back into place. It was finally show time.