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.

 

Ella

‘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!

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

 

Ella

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.

Ella

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.

club orient

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

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St Martin.boat 121 strand

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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.

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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.

Karen

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.

Karen

 

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.

Hugh