My Nude debut : ….happened! ‘Eventually’, says Karen (part 2)

Karen has awoken to the sound of waves somewhere in the distance, having been surrounded by the naturist lifestyle for less than 24 hours. Today is the day she finally goes nude in a public setting. Or is it? Karen continues to tell us about her first experience of naturism.

Aaron, my boyfriend, had immersed himself into naturism immediately, and was happily standing naked while speaking to the (French) residents of the neighbouring chalet and soaking up the experience, and their experience of St.Maarten, while I drank some coffee inside. The sense of wine-driven bravura from the previous night had dissipated, and it was back to the bikini being on, and the sarong over that.

‘Lovely people’, Aaron enthused as he returned and excitedly told me about all the things we could do and see nude. Did he really need to add that final word? I was still very much of a mind that I could probably get through the two weeks without ever being naked, except in the privacy of our own chalet. So I was rather delighted when it transpired that we could go shopping and wear clothes. Shorts on, tank top on, sun tan oil on, hat on, sunglasses on. Great!

We headed off to the island’s main shopping area, picked up some provisions, had coffee, and I thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of sitting there in a whirl of foreign languages. Not that that’s a unique experience to anyone who lives in or visits New York, but this seemed somehow much more exciting than Sheridan Square to Wall Street on the subway.

Aaron had maybe picked up on my sense of unease. He’s a guy, so how much he picks up on feelings is maybe moot, but he seemed to have laid off the enthusiasm a bit, as it had certainly been making me uncomfortable. We had lunch, and headed back to the resort. Aaron said he was going to the beach and would maybe swim, but there was nothing of ‘are you coming or not?’ about it. I said I might join him in a bit, as I was nearing the end of a novel on my Kindle, and decided to finish it before exploring by daylight.pasted image 449x299

I finished the final chapter and put my bikini on again, my sarong on again, and with towel in hand, I headed to the beach where I was shocked, surprised and thrilled to see that it wasn’t busy. Just a few resort residents scattered around. I spotted Aaron’s towel and dumped my bag of things on top of it, then wandered to the water’s edge to speak to Aaron who was splashing around in the water like an overgrown schoolboy, a look of delight on his face.orient-beach

‘It’s fantastic…we need to snorkel….the water is crystal clear…’, the words tumbled out of his mouth in excitement.

Returning to our chosen beach beds, I was emboldened by the fact that the beach was relatively quiet. Sure, there were others swimming, or sunbathing, but not so close that I felt I was under scrutiny, being eyed up and down in a sordid or seedy way, nor being judged for still being ‘clothed’. Suitably emboldened, and not so desperately close to anyone else that I felt directly under their gaze, I removed my sarong and bikini top to sunbathe, face down, on the sun bed. I’d never gone without a top before, and it felt strange, yet deliciously nice, under the Caribbean sun.

There comes a point where it is necessary to roll over, and I was desperately self-conscious when I did so, not that anyone was looking or, by this point in time, near enough to see anyway. There! My breasts. My very small breasts. Bared in public.


Throughout the afternoon Aaron, nude, and I, still with my bikini briefs on, would wander back and forwards from the sea to cool down, then resume our sunbathing place. As the afternoon wore on, there were fewer and fewer people on the beach, and lying around in wet bikini panties isn’t particularly comfortable. At some point it just seemed the sensible thing to do to lose the panties. Ultimately, there was no big build up, no heart beating fast, no sense of shame or embarrassment, just a sensible decision made.


Even so, it felt simultaneously strange and wonderful. You aren’t prepared in life for the moment where your most intimate parts are naked, outdoors, under the sun, in ‘public’, even though the public weren’t really anywhere in evidence. It felt good, is all I can say, rather than embarrassing. The lack of crowds helped with the moment, I would say. A glance left and right, no one around, and a quick dash down the beach and into the clear, warm waters for my first ever skinny dip. Wow! Who knew swimming could feel so good, that swimming could feel so free.


Yes, the sarong went back on for the walk back to our chalet, but it was a sort of breakthrough. As the days went on there was more and more a sense of ‘who cares?’ The terrace at the bar would provide entertainment, and naturists seem to be a naturally outgoing, vivacious lot. I never did go for the topless dancing with Aaron, as other females did, but we socialised and made new friends. Within two or three days I would say that I was probably contentedly sitting there  with the sarong tied at my waist, my breasts bare. It doesn’t take long to realise that you aren’t that ‘special’ in that regard, and men, regardless of size , aren’t that special either. We’ve all got the same basic bits. It’s never quite a case of ‘you’ve seen one and you’ve seen them all’, but 72 hours surrounded by naked people does mean you don’t think there’s anything unique. Yes, of course I was peeking. I was peeking for the first day or so and if I’m honest I did think ‘he’s bigger than Aaron’ or ‘Aaron’s bigger than him’. That stopped at the point, maybe on about our third day, where my confidence had grown to the point where I was wandering around the chalet and had forgotten I was naked, and that I didn’t even notice Aaron was naked either, that I was now waving at out French neighbours and not particularly aware if they were dressed or not.

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Eventually, yes, I was making it to from our chalet to the sea without bothering to cover up, and wasn’t ashamed, embarrassed or, as I say, even aware of the fact.

I could tell you chapter and verse about every little event over the next two weeks, the ‘firsts’ for each naturist event. I could write a couple of entries for SLN based on the experience of naked snorkelling alone. Ultimately, though, my experience was that, with no pressure to disrobe immediately, it all came rather naturally and uneventfully because we were in the proper context for it happening. I started out the holiday a reluctant non-nudist. I returned a convert. Which makes me think…if people like me are given a proper, unpressurised entry into the naturist lifestyle is there anyone on the face of the earth who couldn’t, in those same circumstances, embrace naturism? My personal opinion now is that if the circumstances are right, all of us have an inner naturist.

The only down side is that next January seems so damned far away before I can do it all again.

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Karen, growing in body confidence over the first few days of her vacation.


Freebies for men

There seems to be a little bit of a bonanza for male avatars this weekend. First, 7 Deadly Skins have reduced their group membership fee to L$0.

And Bade have a nice, free hair out right now.

Which is exactly what Markus had been doing when I ran into him at the ‘Naked’ sim earlier. I can never pass a terrific looking avatar (male or female) without remarking on them looking terrific.

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Markus before his mini-makeover

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…and after.

What are you waiting for fellas? This mini-makeover is free and you’ll look hot!




50 shades of objectionable nonsense (3)

A real life dominatrix lays into the movie in Rolling Stone.

Cheyenne Picardo doesn’t hold back in her critique (and I suppose a dominatrix holding back would be something of a contradiction in terms. Well, not quite, but you get the idea).

pologies for the language included in the photo, but it’s exactly how this book would be described where I live.


What would concern me is that, by the end of the weekend, there’s thousands who are so sheep-like in their behaviour that they’ll want to try this sort of nonsense out, and for some the total control over a female may be a core part of it. I’m not against people experimenting, but I’d be against people getting the idea that this apparently errant approach to the theme is the ‘right’ way to do it.



Fifty shades of objectionable nonsense (1)


So, ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ is out in the cinema and by all accounts the critics appear to be agreed it’s a lousy film based on a lousy book.

I’ve not read it: this sort of literature, even well written, wouldn’t be my first choice of reading material, and the excerpts I’ve read from various online sources would suggest that it is really pedestrian, unimaginative but unintentionally hilarious purple prose.

“You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince”

Surely someone didn’t actually write that and have it published?

“I gasp, and I’m Eve in the Garden of Eden, and he’s the serpent, and I cannot resist.”

Stop it! I know there’s a BDSM theme going on in it, but those words cause me immense pain me as an example of ‘literature’.

“He’s naked except for those soft ripped jeans, top button casually undone. Jeez, he looks so freaking hot. My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm.”

If a man had written this book there would have been uproar from feminists about him inflicting all sorts of things upon her, but because the writer is female, it seems to have negated much of the justifiable criticism of it as an excuse for domestic violence (if we define domestic violence in the broadest sense).

“Laters, baby”

I agree with those criticisms. And those criticisms. And those criticisms. And dozens of other criticisms.

Choosing to release it on St Valentine’s Day is also a crass move. The film is not about romance, it’s about control; not the basis for any healthy relationship.

I think I shall prefer to spend the evening with a nice bottle of wine, my beloved, some candlelight, and some soft music instead. Should one thing lead to another, it will be a gentle, mutually loving experience, not this objectionable ’50 shades’ nonsense.


Fifty Shades of objectionable nonsense (2)

Fifty shades of guilt by association?

The execrable Daily Mail somehow manages to link ‘5o shades of drivel’ to swingers resorts and taint naturism through guilt by association.

‘Journalism’ of the laziest type helps to reinforce the image of naturism as something linked to sordid partner-swapping antics and, just as bad, now infers that BDSM activities, as evidenced in the ‘Fifty Shades’ book and film, are part of the lifestyle.2592399A00000578-2949110-Nudist_beach-a-5_1423730815177

Shameful ‘journalism’, but not unexpected from the wretched Daily Mail.

One photo caption reads ‘Desire resorts have two bases in Mexico, with both catering for swingers and adults who want to ‘experiment’

No mention of naturists in this, but by then the damage has been done.



‘Naturism is something that you LIVE’

The new February edition of Naturisme TV is online, presented by Betty Boost (pictured below), who has delivered what I think has to be the quote of the year with regard to naturism. While describing it, Betty says that naturism isn’t something that you do, but that naturism is ‘something that you live’. What a wonderful, and accurate, way to describe the lifestyle so many of us choose!

You can watch the latest edition of Naturisme TV here, and if you watch in HD the programme comes complete with English subtitles. 🙂



My nude debut : …….happened! ‘Eventually’, says Karen (Part 1)

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.

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We stayed in one of the studios, the smallest (and cheapest) apartment type, and away from the front line to the beach.


St Martin.boat 121 strand


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.

My Nude Debut : is imminent, says Karen

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My boyfriend is much more relaxed about nudity than I am. I’ll come home to our apartment and he’s wandering around naked already, home from work, into the shower and naked if the weather’s good enough. He’ll stay that way all night in summer.

I’ve always had hang ups about my body. I’ve no boobs to speak of, and I feel self-conscious looking at myself naked in the bathroom mirror. But I think it’s kinda cute the way he wanders around. We’ll sometimes eat dinner with him nude, me dressed. And we’re in a sexually active relationship, so there are times when I do get naked, although the time from getting my panties and bra off and getting into bed is milliseconds, if I get my way. Sometimes, I don’t get my way.

Hi, I’m Karen and I live in New York City with my boyfriend, and he’s booked us two weeks in a nude resort in the Caribbean, which starts in about three weeks (is over. Karen submitted this 6 weeks ago: Ella)

I’m both excited and terrified. It’ll be great to get time away with the love of my life, and away from the cold of NYC, but at the same time….going nude???? In public????

How did I get myself talked into this? The simple answer is, I didn’t. He booked it, because he’s always wanted to visit a nude beach. In some ways, I want to throw off my clothes and lose my hangups and inhibitions, and in other ways I don’t want to be on that plane to that location. I want to be back in NYC, wrapped in all of the layers in my wardrobe to ward off the New York winter.

Looking at other men’s cocks? Them looking at my lack of boobs? Can I even go through with it? I’ve only agreed to go on the basis that I can, if I want, keep my swimming costume on.

I’ve agreed to fill another report to SLN when it’s all over. I know that sentence makes it sound as if it’s root canal work, but in a way, root canal work would be preferable right now.



Ella adds: Karen was as good as her word and has submitted her report from Saint Martin. I’ve added a couple of RL photos of the resort (not Karen’s photos) to give you a taster as to what it offers. I often get a sense of SLN being a little bit Euro-centric, so it will be marvellous to break out of that and cover a bit of ‘the Americas’ at last. I’m editing Karen’s piece at the moment and I should have it published during the forthcoming week.photo1 photo2




My Nude Debut : Teufelssee, Berlin, with Scottish Hugh

I arrived in Berlin on a cold March day, and was met at the airport by my ‘landlady’. She rented the top floor of her house out to employees of my company who would be seconded to company HQ for six month periods from all over Europe. There I was, a pale and skinny Brit not long out of university, and abroad for the first time without the company of friends or family.

Berlin is a marvellously bike friendly city, so my landlady and her husband owned bikes and she would cycle off to the shops daily. Her husband had had a mild stroke, walked with a limp, and didn’t get out much, so I was offered the use of his bike and at weekends I would use it to explore a little further afield. Other than that I didn’t have enormous amount of contact with them, as my small apartment could be accessed by fire escape and I could come and go as I pleased.

I didn’t have any friends there. A drink after work with colleagues was the extent of my social life, so I welcomed the weekend bike rides, where I could head off in any direction and see more of Berlin. Of course I did all the tourist bits of it throughout the remainder of March and into April, when the weather did begin to get better, by which time I would be cycling for its own sake, rather than being on a mission to see the Reichstag, or the remains of the Berlin Wall, or KaDeWe (Ella adds: it’s a famous department store) or the dark imposing bits of the former East Berlin.

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I also learned of the Grunewald, the Green Wood, on the western fringes of Berlin, and not so far from where I was living, as a great recreational place at weekends. So it was that I found myself cycling through it one warm Sunday morning in May, and it was a great ride, as the shade of the trees made the cycling more pleasant than riding in direct sunlight around some of Berlin’s streets.

I chanced upon the Teufelssee, a lake in the middle of the Grunewald, and -hold on- are those people naked over there? Indeed they were. Some of them, anyway. There was a relaxed, clothing optional arrangement in place, although a number of them were naked. What should I do? Stop? Cycle on? Join in?

In the end I cycled on, but I was amazed to have witnessed such a thing, so much so that the next week, towel and sun tan oil in a knapsack, I made my way back to the Teufelssee and spread the towel on the grass, sat down on it and slid off my shorts to be naked in public for the first time. It was an indescribable, exhilarating experience. Couples, families, single females and single males like me. Some totally nude, some women topless, some people in bathing suits.

Of course, being a Scot, I’ve been out in public ‘commando‘ before. Everyone knows that nothing is worn under the kilt. So the sense of freedom of movement didn’t seem particularly strange. But this was the first time my genitals had been fully aired in public. It wasn’t remotely ‘erotic’ or arousing and in the midst of dozens of others unclad seemed quite normal. Even the sight of some beautiful German frauleins wasn’t arousing. Delightful to see, but not arousing in that context.

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Hugh finds an SL location that reminds him of Berlin’s Grunewald

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…before he takes to the waters of an SL locations serving as the Teufelssee

Since then, when opportunity has arisen, I have skinny dipped or gone nude on beaches without fear or embarrassment. The great regret of my life so far is that there haven’t been enough occasions on which to do so.



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Nothing is worn under the kilt (It’s all in perfect working order) 🙂

Ella adds: Hugh’s mention of nothing being worn under the kilt prompted me to drag a photo from our now extensive photo library of just that: nothing being worn under the kilt. Text was provided by Hugh, but the photos are of one of our regular models standing in for Hugh, who doesn’t use SL, but who has been reading SLN as a result of it being linked to a RL naturist blog.