Author’s Note: This blog-site celebrates all the many non-sexual aspects of naturist/nudist living. The title here may be somewhat misleading but I assure everyone reading here this posting is in no way sexual. Please forgive me the confusion and please enjoy the message contained.
“Sex On The Beach” may mean a number of different things to an equally number of different people. For me, it recalls summer days relaxing on the beach, completely bare and soaking up the sunny rays while sipping a tropical cocktail. A before dinner mix of sand, surf and sunshine and a drink.
When I was a university undergraduate, a very popular cocktail drink was named Sex On The Beach. Why that particular name for this particular drink? I have no earthly idea. Nor do I even know the original mixture of the original Sex On The Beach. The problem being there were so many different variations with a plethora of ingredients.
Last year, I posted the recipe below for one version of the Sex On The Beach drink. For those who may have missed it, I’m including it here. To view last year’s post, please click here.
Sex On The Beach (2017)
11/3 oz. Vodka
11/3 oz. cranberry juice
2/3 oz. peach schnapps
11/3 oz. orange juice
Mix all ingredients into a highball glass filled with ice and garnish with an orange slice.
This year, rather than simply re-post last year’s feature with the recipe, I decided to not only include last year’s recommended Sex On The Beach (2017) but to expand the focus and offer a different recipe as well. Here below is this year’s recipe:
Sex On The Beach (2018)
11/2 oz. rum (dark)
6 oz. orange-pineapple juice (or plain orange juice)
garnish: 1 orange slice or 1 pineapple slice
Mix ingredients into a tall glass over ice
This particular cocktail recipe brought back memories of a summer cocktail party from my undergraduate days at university. Twin (my identical twin brother, Alex) and I rented an apartment for the summer holiday from a friend of our family. We lived there for the months of May, June, July and August prior to our final undergraduate year. We furnished it minimally using donated furniture or older pieces from our family attic. It was plain but sturdy – perfect for a couple of students who were study-focused, financially poor but very fun-loving.
As the summer was drawing to a close, probably in the middle of August, a mutual friend of ours shared that his summer job (he stocked produce for a locally owned market) had an over-abundance of fresh pineapple. The owners were giving them away. Twin had just tried this new tropical cocktail (recipe above) and asked our friend if he could get us as many as possible. Thus was born our first and only “Middle Of August Pineapple Party.”
Twin and I decided on a Polynesian-theme for the gathering and began inviting our friends (all either acquaintances from our visits to a gay skinny-dipping area along a river or Deaf gay friends) to our joint social. Our produce buddy actually procured an even dozen pineapples for us to have. This was more than we imagined. Our “night to remember” was guaranteed to be a success!
We set about making decorations for our party and reminded guests that the evening was an all-bare event – no clothing allowed once they crossed the threshold into our apartment. Everyone was encouraged to wear just shorts and sandals and to bring a bag or satchel to store them in when they arrived. We borrowed card tables and folding chairs from our parents as well as decks of cards and I created a “pin the coconut on the tree” game which was a variation of the children’s party game “pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey.”
Our oldest brother agreed to purchase the dark rum for our party (Twin and I and our guests were all too young). The day prior to the festivity, our brother went to the store and returned with three fifth-size bottles of the alcohol. We’d given him money for only two. When asked, he explained that the extra bottle was his donation for our first party in our very first apartment. He promised to stop in at our gathering around 10 p.m. to see if we needed anything.
Finally, the day for the party arrived! Twin and I cut off the tops of all of the pineapples, removed the core and emptied the fruit and juice into a large punch bowl we’d borrowed from our parents. We refrigerated the bowl and contents and then began to decorate our modest apartment. We set up the card tables and folding chairs and set out the decks of playing cards. It was party time!
As our guests arrived, Twin showed them where to store their clothes and I began mixing the punch, adding orange juice, fresh mint leaves and fresh slices of orange. While Twin saw to our guests, I set out snacks and the punchbowl with our Sex On The Beach concoction. The party began, with all the guys laughing as I ladled out the punch into everyone’s individual pineapple and gave each one a straw.
Our guests commented on how clever it was to use the pineapple instead of a glass. Soon, everyone was in wonderful spirits and we were all enjoying playing cards, joking and laughing and having a great time. No one appeared to become too inebriated which was fine by us. Nothing ruins a good time faster than an uncontrolled drunk.
True to his promise to us, Nicko, our oldest brother returned to check on our party beverage supply about 9:45 p.m. He entered our apartment, stripped once he walked in the door and parked himself on our kitchen counter (for lack of any available chairs). He’d grabbed a glass from one of the cabinets and helped himself to a Sex On The Beach drink.
Pronouncing it “refreshing,” he motioned Twin and I over to his perch. He then asked, “How many bottles of rum did I buy for you guys?”
I looked at Twin just as he cut his eyes over towards me. “Three” we signed back to him, in almost perfect sync.
“How many bottles did you pour in the punch bowl?” was his next question.
“One” I answered.
“So why are there still three, sealed bottles of rum here?” Nicko inquired, pointing to the trees unopened bottles beside him on the kitchen counter.
I felt stupid as hell! I’d forgotten to add the dark rum to the punch!
Both Alex and Nicko began laughing uncontrollably. In hysterics, they got everyone’s attention and announced my mistake.
“Never trust a bartender who doesn’t drink!” Nicko added as a moral to the evening.
Needless to add here, my days as a barkeep were over the same night they began. No one has asked me to mix a drink for them since. Ever!