Before setting off to the Med, I googled our destination. It was tiny, hard to get to and didn’t even classify as a resort by British package holiday standards. But one thing did catch my eye, naturist beach, about ten minutes walk away.
I’m body conscious. I hate getting naked, even in front of TSH, if I overthink it. I’m not an exhibitionist and the idea of being naked in front of people is terrifying.
So we decided to visit the naturist beach, even if only for an hour. My research had shown that not everyone there takes off (all) their clothes, so there was no real pressure.
We arrived to find a smattering of people, most of them naked.
Before putting our beach mat and towels out, I decided to take off my bikini top and see how it felt. Okay so far.
We set up ‘camp’ and I muttered to TSH “in for a penny, in for a pound” and wriggled out of my bikini bottoms. There. Naked. In public.
He took off his swim shorts and we both sat down and grabbed our books. We were fine. The world didn’t end.
It was baking hot and the best solution was to go for a swim. That meant walking across a couple of metres of pebbled beach.
So, wibbly bits and all, I strode across the pebbles and launched myself into the water.
It was amazing. Freeing. Bobbing around in the Aegean ocean with no clothes on. It might not sound much to some people but it meant the world to me. The throwing off of old ideas about myself, the thought that I couldn’t be naked. The fact that I didn’t care what other people thought and happily enjoyed myself.
I swam a few widths of the bay, the sea crystal clear. My breasts weren’t constricted by swimwear and were surprisingly buoyant. I scissored my legs too, a few times. The difference in sensation between nudity and wearing my bikini was joyous. I loved it.
And then I just hung in the water, the salinity allowing me to float along. The sun was high, the sky bright blue and I had a whale of a time.
I did have to get out of the water and Ursula Andress I’m not. But even then, no-one looked as I wobbled across the pebbles in the surf. They’d all been there.
We spent the entire afternoon on the beach, swimming, drying off in the sun, reading and relaxing. We protected our delicate bits with extra suncream and rotated our positions so as not to get any particular part too toasty. And we enjoyed every single damn second.
Turned out to be our favourite beach, the one we visited every day from that day onwards, until we had to go home.
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