Perhaps its all to do with your roots… I was born in the sticks, a small farm with 50 acres of land, I grew up in a tiny community our family were a welcome addition to the local parish, and, perhaps owing to my Mums Croatian heritage, we were fairly liberal about most things that in Britain, would be considered rude, taboo or inappropriate.
Mainly I can remember we never really worried about seeing each other in a state of undress, indeed I my fondest memories were playing in the garden pond with my cousins, jumping off the waterfall into the deep end, drying off in the sun, chucking the basketball around, all without a stitch of clothing on.
This liberal attitude toward nudity remained with me until my teenage years… I can remember finishing a PE session in secondary school, returning to the changing room and walking into the shower room, dropping my towel and exposing my newly pubescent penis to my class mates, of course I thought nothing of it initially, but, and I still remember the jeers, the abuse, the shock… I was nicknamed ‘boner boy’ for the remainder of the school year… That sense of modesty and shame had snuck in. In college when acne struck, and teenage horniness was abound, the idea of being comfortable in the buff was about as realistic as a truthful Labour Party MP.
Those years of naturism had been lost… Perhaps forever…
Then came my holiday with the girlfriend (now wife) to Gran Canaria in 2012, we knew little about this mediterranean island other than that it was bloody hot and had plenty of beaches, which, after dealing with the stresses of a new job that year, was just what we needed.
It was the first day, we were staying at playa del ingles and the holiday rep advised you could walk to the neighbouring Maspalomas via the beachfront, alas, the friendly rep whom boasted extensive knowledge of the area seemed to have omitted one minute detail; this tranquil walk across the broken waves would take us through the local au naturel spots.
So as we walked hand in hand, her in a gorgeous (if slightly see through) maxi dress and me in my customary billabong board shorts, we saw a striking figure in the distance, a muscly gentleman striding from the ocean back to the beach, droplets of salt water glistening upon his naked posterior… Wait a minute, double take… Naked posterior?? That’s right, at first we thought this a mighty brave act from one individual with a taste for exhibitionism, but then, more naked bodies came into view, it was all on show; willies and boobies, and bums, and vaginas! This wasn’t on the Thompson travel guide, low and behold, our adventurous hike had landed us smack dab in the middle of the nudist beach.
As we hastily trundled through, the GF looked up, down, out to sea, anywhere where her juvenile grin might go unnoticed, for me I was intrigued; I couldn’t help but glance at the varying couples and groups, all of them swimming, playing ball games, chatting away, doing all the things one would normally do to relax, just in the complete buff. I’d done this before, many years ago, it wasn’t an alien concept, I’d just lost that feeling of freedom amidst the tide of societal pressure and ridicule from peers throughout my adult years… I must admit I was a little envious. Here existed a place that seemed on the surface.
We walked straight through and spent the rest of the day on the ‘textile’ beach, although even here my GF was in the minoroty with her bikini top on, there was a sense of liberation abundent in our surroundings.
That night at dinner, we discussed the days visual stimuli, at first we did what most British people did; giggled childishly, but as the night wore on I told the GF about my naturist experiences in my youth, at first I thought she’s never shower at my parents again, but, and perhaps the wine played a role here, she seemed curious; she asked what of felt like, what the atmosphere was like, but in all honesty, my experiences as a nudist was as a child, from a time before I know what social acceptability was, when my mind was naive to the taboo that surrounded nudity, as an adult I’d had no point of reference as to what a naked experience would be like.
Stone me the GF actually suggested we try the nude beach in the morrow. By this point she was steaming from the two bottles of mont blanc so I dismissed it, alas, when I sheepishly mentioned it at breakfast, she maintained her enthusiasm, albeit with a certain anxiety.
So we entered the nude beach, our first instincts were to try and subtlety find another couple perhaps our own age and set down near them, I guess we were trying to blend in with the crowd. We found a point just back from the sea front up against a bank of sand, nearby was a hippyish couple I’d assume were in their twenties.
We plonked ourselves down and in a matter of seconds stripped off, the GF immediately dropped like a bomb to her towel and laid on her front, I walked around my towel, just trying to get a a sense of whom if anyone would be noticing and how I’d find that, of course, no one noticed, and this was perhaps the Brit in me assuming my nudity would cause uproar, but here we were, in a place were it was quite the norm.
The water against nude skin was the greatest sensation. We spent the remainder of the holiday on the nude beaches, our greatest truimph came when we walked from the beach across the dunes completely in the buff. One could argue it was exhibitionism on our part, but I can honestly say we did it because we felt free, free from social judgement, we didnt really notice we were nude.
This account came from reader John Callis
Sent from my iPad
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