Tag Archives: Karen

Pillow fight!

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Depoz is a long-established store which does high quality furniture, with many of the lounge, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom furniture having a lot of static animations built in and they look fabulous.

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Does my bum look big in this? Karen tries out a bedroom mirror pose at Depoz

Hugh’s original intention with this shoot was to capture some of the animations and follow Karen’s morning routine, from bed, to shower, to dressing. That photo-shoot is on our Flickr page. However, along the way, Hugh and Karen discovered a L$0 free ‘pillow fighter’ box that they bought, tried out, thought was lovely (as I do too). Summoning another model, Jayne, they tried it out. It works without the need for Depoz furniture, you can essentially have a pillow fight anywhere, and the pillow you get has a feather emitter 🙂

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Feathers everywhere as Karen and Jayne have a pillow fight.

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Karen appears to be winning this pillow fight.

Hugh says that ‘as there’s such a flurry of movement as the pillows are used that it’s hard to capture the sense of movement the attachment provides. I’ve not done it justice and in the end had to resort to a couple of semi-static poses that captured the feathers cascading’. At L$0 it’s going to be something you can take a chance on anyway, isn’t it?

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I’ve been over there, picked up a copy and I can say that it is a fun attachment, even though I was pillow fighting my shadow! 🙂 I’ve created the link above that should TP you directly to the free attachment and you can pick up your own copy. Take your significant other, get them to buy a copy and you can fight out who gets the larger share of the duvet! 🙂

Ella

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

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

Karen

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

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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.

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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.

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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.