/ xprattmarkussen63's Library/ Notes/ It occurred so frequently I sometimes feel like my becoming a nudist was part of some Start-like scheme. In other dreams, I Had be lounging around the house, watching TV, when my sister would come home from work. She'd see me, see that I was nude, and say
It occurred so frequently I sometimes feel like my becoming a nudist was part of some Start-like scheme. In other dreams, I Had be lounging around the house, watching TV, when my sister would come home from work. She'd see me, see that I was nude, and say
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The summer following my sister's honeymoon, she and her husband allow me to tag along on their tour of the Greek islands. This kind of trip was nothing new to me, except my parents were not around, and now I was hiding a secret. Far more amazing than any landscape, however, was what I seen on our third stop, on the island of Eos. We had just unpacked our bags and the sun was setting, and I asked my sister if it was OK to run down to the plage. A ten minute stroll from our resort, under an orange and red skies, I could see the refined human lines, the naked bodies lying on the sand.
The informal, shameless way these people went about the plage thrilled and inspired me, and I desired to be one of them, to cast off my clothes then and there, but what would my sister say? How could I even start to broach the subject? To be honest, I don't recall what I said, just that I somehow found the courage to "come out" to her. The best part about my sister is that she's a talker. Occasionally, when we are on the telephone, I will put the receiver down and go to the toilet and never miss a thing. When it concerns issue, no subject is taboo. But this was more than simply talking. I told her how I'd needed to visit a naked beach for years, to not see girls (as one might expect) but to be naked myself, in sight of her and her husband and the entire sand going public. Her reaction? "Certainly, why not." What I didn't know at the time, and what caught me entirely by surprise, was that her husband harbored the same interest.
The week that followed was completely dreamlike. It was as if we'd stepped through a magic portal into my dreams, where bodily shame failed to exist. I took to nudity in public like a born naturist, as shameless as unicorn girl, and the experience exceeded my expectations.
Now let me just take a minute to discuss swimwear. It doesn't compare to my loathing for bathing suits. There are few worse sensations than walking around Adventure Island for eight straight hours with sopping wet genitals and the remainder of your body bone dry. I've forgotten swim trunks in my personal car for days simply to discover they are still wet! At the sand, sand gets sucked into your butt crack and every crease and crevice of your testicles and pee hole. I avoid the plage just so I do not have to suffer wearing the darn things. This is the only drawback to my island encounter. Routine seashores were destroyed forever.
Every year I was determined to visit a bare beach, but there were many challenges. Some isles cater completely to cloths and sometimes aunts and uncles went with us, but what was especially frustrating were the beaches known for nudism with no naturists! Even in Eos, I'd discover only fearful tourists. All of it appeared to change from month to month, since the time of year ascertained what nationality went on holiday. Greek and Italian tourists never go naked, but Germans, Swedes and Norwegians generally do. For http://verybigclits.com/cgi-bin/atc/out.cgi?id=42&u=https://beach-photos.net that continue to elude me, the greater the latitude, the more folks appear willing to go au natural.
As the years went by, more people became complicit in my own escapades. I traveled the islands with my other sister, her sons, and my best friend (and his buddies) who lived in Athens, and was naked in front of them whenever possible: on the beach, in the resort, even in my parents' summer house. Astonishingly, nobody seemed to mind, despite that they were too timid to try it themselves. Once, my nephew and I seen a remote plage on the island of Mykonos. We had to trek for miles through rocky hills and bushland. For him, it was an ordeal, but for me it was an experience, a chance to live like Dynotus, like my ancient ancestors before things like bathing suits were invented.
The informal, shameless way these people went about the plage thrilled and inspired me, and I desired to be one of them, to cast off my clothes then and there, but what would my sister say? How could I even start to broach the subject? To be honest, I don't recall what I said, just that I somehow found the courage to "come out" to her. The best part about my sister is that she's a talker. Occasionally, when we are on the telephone, I will put the receiver down and go to the toilet and never miss a thing. When it concerns issue, no subject is taboo. But this was more than simply talking. I told her how I'd needed to visit a naked beach for years, to not see girls (as one might expect) but to be naked myself, in sight of her and her husband and the entire sand going public. Her reaction? "Certainly, why not." What I didn't know at the time, and what caught me entirely by surprise, was that her husband harbored the same interest.
The week that followed was completely dreamlike. It was as if we'd stepped through a magic portal into my dreams, where bodily shame failed to exist. I took to nudity in public like a born naturist, as shameless as unicorn girl, and the experience exceeded my expectations.
Now let me just take a minute to discuss swimwear. It doesn't compare to my loathing for bathing suits. There are few worse sensations than walking around Adventure Island for eight straight hours with sopping wet genitals and the remainder of your body bone dry. I've forgotten swim trunks in my personal car for days simply to discover they are still wet! At the sand, sand gets sucked into your butt crack and every crease and crevice of your testicles and pee hole. I avoid the plage just so I do not have to suffer wearing the darn things. This is the only drawback to my island encounter. Routine seashores were destroyed forever.
Every year I was determined to visit a bare beach, but there were many challenges. Some isles cater completely to cloths and sometimes aunts and uncles went with us, but what was especially frustrating were the beaches known for nudism with no naturists! Even in Eos, I'd discover only fearful tourists. All of it appeared to change from month to month, since the time of year ascertained what nationality went on holiday. Greek and Italian tourists never go naked, but Germans, Swedes and Norwegians generally do. For http://verybigclits.com/cgi-bin/atc/out.cgi?id=42&u=https://beach-photos.net that continue to elude me, the greater the latitude, the more folks appear willing to go au natural.
As the years went by, more people became complicit in my own escapades. I traveled the islands with my other sister, her sons, and my best friend (and his buddies) who lived in Athens, and was naked in front of them whenever possible: on the beach, in the resort, even in my parents' summer house. Astonishingly, nobody seemed to mind, despite that they were too timid to try it themselves. Once, my nephew and I seen a remote plage on the island of Mykonos. We had to trek for miles through rocky hills and bushland. For him, it was an ordeal, but for me it was an experience, a chance to live like Dynotus, like my ancient ancestors before things like bathing suits were invented.
