Picture a lovely drive through farmland, the farmland isn’t great, but considering it’s very close to an industrial area, and petrochemical plants, it’s not too bad.
There’s an interesting escarpment through which flows a creek, an historic homestead that’s been turned into a hotel (not terribly well, but there you go)… and eventually, you find what in Australia are either signs of interest, or of impending doom.
The brown ‘tourist’ sign, that usually points to scenic drives, or Giant Bananas or some crap like that.
This one said cove, I’m not being coy or obfuscating it, I literally cannot remember it, as the name has been replaced in my memory with Testicle Cove.
I’m actually wracking my brain to try to remember it, but nevermind.
So, we continue towards what sounds like (remember, it isn’t actually called Testicle Cove, that’s just how I think of it now) a lovely place to visit on a day trip. In the distance we can see little fishing huts, not unlike the beach boxes that we have on this side of the bay. We can see the water, we park in a little grassy area and go for a little walk, it’s a nice place, albeit a little smelly from the exposed sea grass drying in the sun.
We realise there’s a side road we didn’t drive down, so we head back to the car and turn into it.
Five minutes later, it’s looking a bit… inbred.
Someone hoons past on a trail bike, and he makes me think of first cousins and why they shouldn’t fuck.
Another corner, the huts are looking a bit ramshackle, and a car nearly collects us, it’s a fancy looking BMW, with a suited guy behind the wheel. Weird.
Another bend in the road, and there’s an open area with these wooden fishing huts, and a bunch of guys, mostly old blokes, and a smattering of scrawny young ones. They look mostly naked.
The fiance turns the car around without saying a word.
This thought is making its way through my head, and just as we finish turning the car it comes out.
Me: “Was that a nutsack?”
He: “Yes, Yes it was.”
I find out later it’s a well known naked beach/gay area, but I DIDN’T KNOW THEN. It’s not young guy testicle, it’s old bloke nuts.
Picture an old farmer, sun wrinkled skin, beer gut, and BALLS DOWN TO HIS DAMN KNEES. Just casually letting the family jewels blow around in the breeze.
I wasn’t expecting them, and I’m still seeing old bloke nads behind my eyes, I think I have a mild case of PTSD.
So now you can suffer like I did. I’ll add pretty pictures later.