Gay Greece: Stoma Beach

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Like carefully guarded buried treasures, some of the beaches in southern Greece are priceless best-kept-secrets. During this one particular trip to the Mediterranean, I didn’t know what I’d stumbled across, having forgotten my treasure map where triple Xs mark the spot. But on this day, my queeriosity got the best of me.

Renown for its sandy slopes by both locals and tourists, Stoma Beach hugs the Ionian coast of Peloponnesus. Most sun-loving parties congregate in the far end, accessed by a gravel road and catered by a sandy-floored cantina. The remainder of the seashore stretches for miles southward, populated only by dunes, driftwood, and mystery. Eager to escape whiny children and overprotective mothers, I decided to venture the uncharted sands in search of fame and glory.

I drifted barefoot for miles down the deserted coastline, slowly losing hope of reaching my mythical destination, the undiscovered country of clear turquoise waters and white velvety sands. Hours had passed: the coastal stretch appeared endless. And then, just as imaginary buzzards began circling above, I saw it. Far on the horizon, a mass of rock towered above a group of bodies bathing in the waves, basking in the sun, and running along the surf. From here, they resembled tribal islanders, their silvery trailers and silky tents huddled below the tower as though it were their protective divinity.

As I rounded a dune, a band of bathing nudists surprised me. I proceeded cautiously; who knows how they’d react if aroused. Bodily markings and verbal sounds revealed they were of Germanic or Roman ancestry. They looked at me queerly, intrigued by the clothed interloper. As I pressed forward, I realized that the females were missing, either hiding from this new stranger in their midst, or off gathering foods. The remaining men gathered in groups of two, probably to watch the other’s back.

I noticed a man emerging from the frothy waves. They violently struck against his nude body, causing each bulge to glisten in the fiery sun. As salty droplets collected in his every dimple I think I heard a choir somewhere singing. What more wonders did this place have? I gathered myself and continued walking, wondering if I had, in fact, discovered the legendary gay scene of Pylos! Paradise found.

The adventurer’s spirit with me, I explored on—in the quest of knowledge, of course. I observed the local customs, and, to blend in, shed every thread and button, “When in Rome” (or Athens) right? I spread my towel and beach toys out on the sand, before I spread myself out to bronze all over. As I watched the naked men bathe and play with their beach balls, something stirred in me and I jumped into the water.

In the crystalline sea, I became one of them and soon, they were swimming near me, at times very close—surely the work of strong undercurrents. In fact, an Italian couple donned their masks and snorkeled toward me, likely to glimpse the fruits of the sea. They must have come to Greece to see bronze gods and mighty pillars and I thought it strange they would look for them in my direction Cousteau-style. I befriended many of these men, and as parting gifts, they gave me sun-warmed embraces and telephone numbers.

The riches I found that day remain with me, and I still admire those beautiful jewels and baubles glistening in the surf. So if you should perchance be along the sandy shores of Pylos, be on the lookout for that coastal paradise, and you too can find underwater treasures and abundant booty.

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