Karen, a nervous, naturist debutant, wrote about her feelings towards body consciousness and her concerns for a forthcoming naturist holiday -her first- in this post.
Since then, she and her boyfriend have been off to the Caribbean, and we’d love to know how she got on, wouldn’t we?
Karen’s lengthy email jumped around from topic to topic, so I’ve tweaked it to give it some narrative flow, and slotted the odd word (in brackets) in where it made it flow better. Karen has approved the version below in advance.
We were staying in Club Orient in the French West Indies (FWI) arriving at Princess Juliana Airport. A nice smooth landing which didn’t give any indication that our wheels were rattling the airport’s fence coming into land, as most flights apparently do. It did make me a little nervous about our departure for home, after another guest showed me a youtube video of landings at the airport.
(Note: I’m not 100% certain that this is the video Karen refers to: Ella)
It’s on the (western) Dutch side of the island, after which we had to make our way to the (north eastern) French side of the island, but it was only about five miles, and that’s pretty much the entire width of the island. In fact, we rented bikes and were able to cycle from one side to the other. What’s awesome is that you cross what is supposed to be the border and signs that were written in French are suddenly in Dutch. I don’t speak either language, but happily everyone seems to speak good English and the signs outside restaurants are mostly bilingual too.
First impression of the resort itself was that it was a resort of which I’ve never experienced before in terms of luxury at every turn and, most importantly for me, it didn’t categorise itself as nudist but clothing optional. That meant I was under no pressure to go nude if I didn’t want to, which was a great relief. Yeah, I got an eyeful of everything a lot of people had got while walking from the reception to our apartment, but did notice that one to two ladies had bikini bottoms on, and one or two were also wearing sarongs knotted across their chest. Great! I felt more relaxed already.
We stayed in one of the studios, the smallest (and cheapest) apartment type, and away from the front line to the beach.
Aaron, my boyfriend, was immediately nude in the apartment while I did make a valiant effort to keep my clothes on while unpacking. Aaron was by now throwing open the doors and walking around the chalet, inside and out. ‘Someone will see you!’, I snarled at him forgetting momentarily we were in a clothing optional resort and, from what I could see of our neighbours, sprawled on sun loungers or simply walking about having decided that clothing wasn’t the option they were taking.
OK. It was simply too hot to keep wearing clothes, I thought, as a hot, not warm, breeze blew in through the window, so I started undressing. Another gust of wind passed through the apartment and I have to confess as I stood there, naked, that it was a magical kind of feeling as the breeze reached parts of me that I never consciously remember it reaching before. But, hey, I’m not a nudist, remember? So it was a case of getting the bikini on (both parts of it, yeah) and doing the rest of the unpacking in swimwear.
Having gotten ourselves organised, and with it now late in the day, we went out for a walk. Even now, the idea of being out in public in a bikini seemed a bit under-dressed to me, so I knotted a sarong around me, as I’d seen other ladies do earlier and we went exploring. I have to say that even Aaron covered up for that first walk as we didn’t have any ground rules as to what was acceptable and where. We found the on-site Papagayo restaurant and had the most fantastic meal there, but found a strange mix of dress codes. Some were nude, some like me were in swimwear while others had dressed for dinner.
When night had fallen, and we’d purchased a second (!) bottle of wine for the apartment, we walked back, this time exploring the remainder of the resort and breathing in warm night air. It did feel special.
The wine we’d had with our meal, and that which we were now drinking in the comfort of our own apartment, had lowered my own inhibitions to a degree. In the privacy of our apartment, if sitting on a terrace while other vacationers are also sitting on theirs can be considered private, I suddenly confident enough to decide the bikini could go!
No. I wasn’t going nude. The sarong was firmly knotted in place again once I’d removed it. Around us, people were nude on their terraces, and Aaron had gotten rid of his shorts and shirt the instant we’d gone back there and established that nudity seemed to be the dress code of the evening.
The wine was working its magic as we sat there drinking, mostly in silence, just listening to the music on Aaron’s iPod, turned low so not to disturb others. The knot on the sarong was loosened, and I eventually opened it up to sit naked, outdoors. Aaron just grinned at me and said nothing.
I would say that the atmosphere was sensual rather than sexual, both external and internal to our studio apartment. I did replace the sarong for the four steps between the terrace and the apartment door, though. I wasn’t that drunk, or that confident. But once inside and Aaron had locked up it came off again and we did have a rather lazy, warm, fuzzy love-making session before falling asleep to the sound of the waves a little distance away.
When I awoke it was to the sound of waves again.
in part 2, later this week, Karen continues to tell us how her first experience of naturism develops.