Naturist experience combats my insecurities [F]

A week ago, I had never had a naturist experience. I don’t have any strong feelings either way about naturism. I haven’t actively avoided it, but then nor have I particularly sort it out. It’s just never been part of my world. A couple of years ago, some curious part of me watched a handful of fly on the wall documentaries about the lifestyle on Channel 4 but that’s where my contact with it had pretty much started and stopped.

Hubbie and I booked a fortnight in the South of France, camping on a beachside resort. He’s been trying to encourage me for years to sunbathe topless, but my anxiety about my physical appearance has always stopped me. Playing with me, he joked about the naturist resort next door and how this would be a holiday where we could strip off entirely if we wanted to frolick in the Mediteranean sea. I scoffed at his joke, knowing I was not the sort to expose my body to the world, not with just how badly my diet had been going (8 years after starting it I weighed more than when I started). Don’t get me wrong, I’m not awful to look at. I’m tall, and an hour glass with great tits and shapely bum – but my tummy is squishier than I’d like, and my thighs… I could write for hours about my thighs.

Still, over the months leading up to our holiday, his joking words rung in my mind. Nude sunbathing. Naturism. Me. Maybe I could do it? Take a trip out my comfort zone. Afterall, these people didn’t do the naturism thing for anyone but themselves. There was nothing sexual about it. No one was going to be looking at me. I could be naked and anonymous within a crowd of bodies.

And I found myself talking myself into it. If nothing else there’d b a story to share about with the girls when I got home. I said nothing to my husband, leaving myself the option of backing out when we got there.

The resort had a naturist spa, with multiple pools of crisp cold water, frothing with Jacuzzi bubbles and fountains. Obscured from the rest of the world, in a sun soaked and child free courtyard, the decision to strip off was an easy one for both of us.

The courtyard was filled with strangers – all ages, all shapes and sizes, all completely at ease in their own skins. For the impossible aspirational bodies young girls are exposed to in the media, this courtyard was an antidote. Tall, short, slender, chubby and fat, hourglass, pear shaped, big boobs small boobs, alabaster skin and olive, old young, hairy, waxed, toned, growers and show-ers. There was no one looking at me, no one judging my body as my insecurities had convinced themselves there would be. There was just people.

There was nothing sexual about it, and my eyes didn’t devour or judge the bodies around me, merely slipping over them as you might look upon the rest of the world – acknowledging them as people with ordinary characteristics.

I felt at ease. Skin exposed to the elements. The sun baking down on me – the heat absorbing deep into my mound in an alien but very pleasant way. In the water, the Jacuzzi bubbles burst on my flesh and I felt them more than if I’d been suited up. The massage jets felt like a hundred hands stroking and pummelling and caressing my curves. If I closed my eyes I could imagine a cluster of men manhandling my skin, easing out my aches and pains and insecurities. A cluster of men there to pleasure me and enjoy my body.

The very thought jerked me from my reverie and blush, but it got me. I could feel the familiar arousal grow with in me and a quick hand between my legs found me slick and hot against the cold frothy water.

In the afternoon, my husband and moved to the beach, which was also naturist in part. My new found ease with my own skin, amidst a crowd, spurred me on.

The waves of the sea crashed over my feet, spraying my body with salt and tiny droplets of cool pleasure. What was it about nudity that was heightening my senses to every touch and tease of my skin?

We found a spot amidst the bodies – umbrellas and towels scattering the sand. Before me I could see couples curled around each other, basking in the afternoon sun. To my right, beach volleyball, and the bouncing boobs were hard not to giggle at. To my left, a number of families and lone travellers. This was clearly a haven for all.

I stretched out, face down, on my towel, digging my toes into the sand and tried really hard not to be aroused.

I tried.

My legs opened a little of their own accord. The hot sand beneath my towel burned through to warm my skin. The lulling lap of the sea dragged me into a mid afternoon day dream and I was imagining those clusters of men pummelling me skin again.

Imagining their cool strong fingers invading the nooks and crevices of my body.

I could feel the heat in my pussy emanating and wondered if the poor souls lazing around me could look up and see the tell tale wetness between my pussy lips.

I dozed. The sun crisped my skin until I woke from the prickle of sun burn. It was time to call it a day and almost at once I became aware of the imperfections of my body once again. I stood and clumsily brushed the sand from my body, tripping into my shorts, only to spot that I was being watched.

A man. Mid 50s, at a guess. He was alone, in fact I’d spotted him earlier curled up on his beach towel like a sun drenched Labrador might laze away the days. He was watching me, brazenly, since he didn’t look away when I caught his eye. No, a friendly smirk danced on his lips and in his eye. He was appraising me, but the look in his eyes was not disgust or disdain.

No.

He liked what he saw. He awoke my inner exhibitionist and for that I am grateful. I’ve spent two weeks in the sun, happy to flaunt my body and feeling sexy regardless of my own insecurities.

Thank you – whom ever you were.

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3c1i1f/naturist_experience_combats_my_insecurities_f