Nude-Muse Magazine Magazine

The sun was a fat, lazy bastard, squatting over the horizon like it owned the place, spilling gold across the Baja coast. Andrea, fifty years old, curvy as a backroad through the Sierra Madre, stepped out of the taxi, her flip-flops slapping the cracked pavement of the nudist resort’s entrance. Her skin, a deep, even bronze from years of soaking up the sun, gleamed like she’d made a deal with the devil to keep it flawless. She adjusted her wide-brimmed hat, slung her duffel over one shoulder, and walked toward the gate, her hips swaying like she was dancing to a mariachi band only she could hear.

Twenty years ago, Andrea would’ve rather eaten glass than show up here. Back then...more>

Alexandria wandered the sun-scorched ruins of Luxor, where the ghosts of ancient temples whispered beneath a modern sky. At twenty-one, she was a vision of fire and grace, her long, straight ginger hair blazing like a comet’s tail against the faded sandstone. Her yellow sundress, embroidered with delicate white floral patterns, fluttered in the warm breeze, a bright anachronism among the tourists and guides. Alexandria’s emerald eyes, sharp with curiosity, drank in the hieroglyphs and towering columns of Karnak, her heart stirred by a connection she could not name. A history student, she had come to Egypt seeking the past, but fate had other designs.

At a shadowed corner of the temple complex, where the crowds thinned...more>