my first fictitious nudist story

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my first fictitious nudist story

The sun was beating down and flashing through the trees as I drove the last few dirt miles to the bushland retreat. I had worried that my little Hyundai, laden with camping gear, and an abundance of food, drinks and ice, might not make it through the rough country roads, but she had handled it all with hardly a complaint. I wondered now if I would be as resilient as she once I reached the end of the bumpy, sandy road that led – in less than 5 minutes – to my destination.

The retreat, hidden away in the hinterlands, was beautifully advertised online as a nature retreat where one could walk in the beautiful australian bush, dip one s toes in pristine waterfalls, admire native fauna and flora, and enjoy the best of peaceful and comfortable camping. All that was enticing and welcoming to a young woman stressed out with years of study, work and yet more study, and I SHOULD by rights be feeling the relaxation seep into my bones already. But I was so, so far from relaxed. Because as well as being the seemingly idyllic locale for my week long holiday – the retreat was also a Naturist (not clothing optional ) Resort.

The butterflies in my tummy at that moment were flapping up a storm, I really, really needed to stop for a nervous pee, and I considered for the 50th time just doing a U-turn and driving the 5 long hours back to Sydney. Just what the hell, I asked myself again, was I doing here?

The answer to that was complex. To understand the decision that had brought me to this place you need to know a little about me. I was 24, single ( for single read virgin ) I had been raised in a loving, supporting family, had excelled at High School and University, had just embarked on what looked to be a successful career, and life should have been about as good as it gets . Yet it wasn t.

What I d learnt about myself in my first real full-time job is that I didn t have what it takes to succeed – and what it takes is confidence. I m not going to say I had a lot of body issues , but my introverted character was undoubtedly related to how I looked. I was … a little overweight. Not fat, not by most standards anyway, but as a girl of Asian heritage, I d always been bigger than my friends. Not tall, not obese, just what my mum would call chubby . I had a roundish face, a largish bottom, biggish thighs and (to my continuous embarrassment during my school years ) a very large bosom for someone of my height. So much was I conscious of my body shape, I spent most of my formative years covering up and avoiding sports and anything that might require revealing myself, including swimming and sunbathing. In fact I had only ever owned one swimsuit – a large black, shapeless monstrosity that I wore under sufferance at our annual school swimming carnivals.

So, what was I doing here? I was on a quest to learn to be comfortable in my own body. A year earlier I d heard some people at work talking about their weekend on a nudist beach. I d never even thought such places really existed, and at home that night – after a glass or two of wine – I d googled it. As often happens, one internet page led to another and I stayed up half the night reading about naturism, nudism, FKK and whatever the movement called itself. I downloaded a few books from amazon and the subject and read them voraciously – this was a world I d never imagined. I wasn t really convinced of the endless denials in the literature that nudism was not about sex , and I only half believed the stuff about it being a healthy alternative lifestyle. What truly fascinated me were the photographs. On beaches, in woods, at resorts and campgrounds, people of all shapes and sizes relaxed naked and smiled confidently back at the camera. And I mean ALL shapes and sizes. It was such a revelation to me. People were not all gorgeous, slim and toned. People were not all the bikini models that had haunted me my whole life with their seemingly unattainable and unsustainable perfect physiques. Their nudity not only made them seem more real than the ideals that advertising pushed, they actually looked more confident, happy and accepting. For the first time in a long while that night I stripped naked and looked at myself in a full length mirror. I had the sudden revelation that I was OK! Just another perfectly acceptable shape on the human spectrum. I had an overwhelming desire to join these nudists, to be accepted in my own skin.

I woke up the next day, and chickened out. And kept chickening out for months.

I found out where the local nude beaches where and tried every week to pluck up the courage to visit one, But I never did. I made myself plenty of excuses: I couldn t go alone, I d be too shy. I couldn t go with a friend, I d be too self-conscious. What if there were sex-pests there? What if I bumped into someone from work? So many reasons kept me from the beach, but the fascination with naturism remained.

So, I opted for a resort. The one I finally chose looked safe, clean and not too crowded. And I figured, as I d be camping there, I d always have a tent to hide in if needed.

So here I was, almost at the gate to the retreat and really really needing that nervous tinkle. I stopped the car and scooted out to behind a tree on the side of the road. Hiking up my skirt and pulling down my knickers ( the first time believe it or not I had done so outside ) I did what I needed to do and then in an act of what I considered bravado, I slid the knickers off over my feet and threw them onto the back seat of the car. Bravado indeed! My skirt came down to below knee-length so there was nothing really all daring in what I d done. Still, I felt it was a milestone.

That gave me pause for thought. I d soon be at my destination and neither the website nor the emails I had exchanged with the owners had given me precise instructions regarding one thing. When does one actually get naked at a nudist resort? Before arriving? At the front desk? At the 5 o clock cocktail party? I simply didn t know and did not want to offend the protocol.

Too late to worry now, I thought as my little car swung through the gate and into a new world.

Inside the gate, the retreat seemed already to live up to its name. It was an idyllic bush hideaway, complete with beautiful gum trees, wild flowers, birds flitting here and there and even a few kangeroos grazing shyly on what looked like the greenest softest grass I had ever seen. And that s all I saw: no nude volleyball players, no skinny dippers, no streakers – no one in fact. For a moment I thought I d missed a turning and come to the wrong place. I drove toward what I assumed was the office, – a lovely homestead surrounded by verandahs and a huge sun deck. I heard voices shouting, Hi! You made it! and I knew I really had.

A middle aged couple were walking hand-in-hand toward me. They were attractive, waving at me enthusiastically, and both stark naked. Naked except both wore trainers which seemed to draw even more attention to their bare skin. She was perhaps in her 40s, slim, dark and petite, I noticed almost u*********sly that her pussy was almost bare and her long hair almost but not quite covered her nipples. He was maybe a little older than her, neither thin nor fat, neither muscular nor underdeveloped – just a normal guy, I m sure I must have seen his penis as they walked toward me, but in my excitement and confusion I honestly don t remember it. I just remember thinking, This is it! I m about to meet nude people!

I jumped out of the car as they approached, conscious of my clothed state, but unsure what to do about it. Thankfully, they ignored it.

Hi, the man said, offering his hand. You must be Kasumi. I m Dave, We spoke over email. And this is my wife, Sabrina.

The lady leant in to give me a peck on the cheek.

Welcome, she smiled. We re so glad you made it! Have a good trip?

Leave your car here for now and come up to the house, said Dave. We ll get the formalities dispensed with and then you can relax.

I walked with them over the lawn and onto the sun-deck. I marvelled at their complete indifference to their nakedness. The proudly pointed out their the flower beds, told me where I would find the campground, the BBQ Barn, the amenities blocks, the nature trails and everything else. I took almost none of it in. I was now very aware that the man walking next to me had a penis, A penis that didn t exactly swing from side to side, but certainly bobbed up and down with every step. I was terrified of being caught staring – something I was convinced was frowned upon – but in my peripheral vision I could see it quite clearly. I was circumcised, dark, maybe about 3 inches long,a little wrinkled at the base, and spouted from a thick tuft of dark pubic hair. Below it his scrotum was loose looking and slightly shiny. It looked … non threatening.

Mmm? I started guiltily as I realised Sabrina had been talking to me and I had not heard a word.

I was just saying that you are the only guest here so far this week. Most people don t usually get here till friday, so I m afraid you might find it a bit quiet for the next two days.

Might be good for you, added Dave. Being a first timer, it will give you time to settle in before the rush.

Suits me, I thought. One penis was about all I could manage at the moment.

We reached the sundeck and Sabrina offered me a seat at an outdoor dining table while Dave disappeared inside the house.

Sabrina poured a cool drink for all three of us and leant back in her chair. She lifted one leg and tucked it under the other and I was aware that her almost hairless pussy was fully on display. If she was conscious of just how visible it was from where I sat, she showed no sign of it. She chatted about the weather, the road from Sydney, her garden – all normal and mundane, but I had trouble keeping eye contact with her. Believe it or not, I d never been so close to another naked woman before. He labia, even her clitoral hood was there plain as day for me to see and I was embarrassed, exhilarated… almost mesmerised by the sight.

Dave came out to the table, bringing me some forms to fill in, an information sheet about the facilities and nature walks, and a list of do s and don ts . The first of which I noted was that clothing was not optional – nudity was expected. Still I wasn t sure whether I was supposed to get naked then and there, and the couple made no mention of my clothed state. Dave also handed me a large photo album.

A history of the resort. he said smiling.

I leafed through the album of photos, at first just to be polite but then with increasing interest. It showed how they had worked hard to carve their little paradise out of the raw bush, and it seemed to chronicle nearly every guest that had ever been there. From every page naked men, naked women, naked couples smiled back at me. People on the nature trails, people around the pool, people playing tennis, being sitting around campfires and bonfires, naked, naked people and all looking like they were having the time of theirs lives. Each photo was titled and dated, dating right up to the previous week. Would I, I wondered, be expected to have my photo in this book for other guests to see? Dave voiced my unspoken fear.

You might end up in your book yourself, he smiled. If you decide naturism is for you. But don t worry. There is no pressure to. In fact, a strict rule here is no photos without permission, That s not negotiable.

As he was talking he had stood to my side, pointing out several shots in the album he was quite proud to have taken. His penis was inches from my shoulder now. I noticed a tiny dew drop of liquid appear at the opening of his glans. I did my best to ignore it. He seemed oblivious to it.

After a little more chit chat, mainly about the retreat (oddly enough they never once asked me why I d decided to try naturism) Sabrina suddenly said, I guess you want to get your camp set up and freshen up after your long drive?

I did indeed want to freshen up, I wondered if that was code for get naked. ?

Dave showed me where I should park my car on the campground. As the first guest of the week I had my pick of the campsites available and I chose one on a lovely patch of lawn, not far from the swimming pool and the BBQ barn. The barn was more like a huge tin roof, without walls, beneath which was a concrete slab s**ttered with chairs and tables, sofas and bookshelves. Imagined what it would be like in the evening, full of people dancing and dining.

I began unpacking by taking out my brand new tent from the car. Brand new being the operative word. I had never camped out before and was now regretting that I had not opted for the Bed and Breakfast option offered by the retreat. My Mum s influence ran deep and I had thought of saving money on my 2 week vacation by camping out and cooking my own meals. Now I was calculating how much I had spent on lanterns, sleeping bag, air mattress, ice-box, collapsible chairs and tables, gas bottles, bibs and bobs too numerous to mention (the guy at the outdoor supply store had been a hell of a salesman) and above all, the huge three room tent that had looked so good on the showroom floor, but now confronted me as an enormous and inexplicable pile of canvas, ropes, zippers and esoteric carbon-fibre poles.

I wrangled the shapeless mass out of its vinyl bag, fell over it once or twice, and sat down to ponder the 2 page instruction sheet on its construction. Just my luck – the instructions were printed in Chinese, French, what appeared to be German and Spanish – no sign of the only two languages I spoke well – English and Japanese. As for the diagrams, they made IKEA instructions look like positive works of art,

As I pondered the confusing mass before me, Dave walked over to my little campsite.

Need a hand? he asked.

Well, I vacillated between not wanting to appear useless and not wanting to be a nuisance. All I can get actually.

Dave was what I call a competent Aussie alpha male. He strode around my campsite, dragging canvas and ropes and pegs and wielding a mallet, and I pretty much just tagged along, handing him the bits and pieces he occasionally asked me to grab for him, but otherwise just watching. I learnt next to nothing about pitching a tent I m sorry to say. Most of my time was spent watching – and trying to avoid seeming like I was watching – his penis and his butt. Unabashed, he leant over in front of me, squatted beside me, stretched up above me, and all the time his stubby brown penis bobbed and wiggled before my eyes. I d never before seen a real live penis and testicles, and it was an education. I wondered what it felt like – not to touch, but to have one of those things so inconveniently dangling between one s legs. Was it a nuisance? I thought? Could one ever forget it was there? Dave certainly seemed to take no notice of it whatsoever.

By the time the tent was erected, I had given up all pretence of helping and was squatting on my heels clapping my admiration of Dave s competence. He turned to say ask me something and I saw his eyes widen and a small smile flit across his face.I remembered my lack of knickers and realised he must, from that angle, be able to see right up my skirt to my naked pussy. My involuntary reaction was to clamp my legs tightly shut, but after a second I thought how prudish that would seem in front of a confirmed nudist like him, so I forced myself to relax and let my knees swing casually open again. I even recall that as i did so a long stalk of grass beneath me tickled my my outer lips. Dave gave no indication nor comment about what he had seen, and smiling at me he stood and said, The tent is ready to move into. I ll leave you alone to get more comfortable. And standing up, he sauntered away toward the house.

I spent a little while filling my tent with my air mattress and bedding, my electric lantern, my books and phone and whatnot. Then I unfolded my camp chair and table, sat down in the warm midday sun and thought…now?

Sooner or later, I was going to have to get naked. But how hard I found that first step. I told myself how absurdly I was behaving. I was completely alone – Dave and Sabrina could not see me from their house – I had to cross this line, and the sooner the better.

I stood, unbuttoned my blouse, slipped it off and then – more prevarication? – I folded it neatly and packed it away in my tent before sitting back in my chair in skirt and bra. Another long minute and I unclasped my bra and let it fall. My breasts swung free and I felt the warm sun on my bare skin. I looked down at my breasts – D-cup, slightly pendulous , pear shaped, with large dark areolas. Not the breasts I would have chosen for myself but .. they were mine, and I wanted to be happy with them , even proud of them. I stretched my arms above my head and watched my breasts ride with them. Why, I thought, should I worry about what others thought?

I unzipped my skirt and let it fall, seeing my pubic hair poking out from the bottom of my tummy. I had considered, before leaving home, waxing or shaving my hair off ( so many nudists I had seen in photos seemed to ) But I had baulked. Somehow the loss of my pubic hair would make me feel TOO nude, I had thought. So I d left it. I was not overly hairy, my pubes are fine and straight and don t really hide all that much. But such are the little quirks we have and I felt somehow covered by them. I quickly ran as hand over my mons to assure myself I was clean and dry and sat back down on my towel ( one of the do s on the information sheet said that one ALWAYS sat on a towel )

I was naked! Outside in the sunshine and naked! True, I was all alone… but what an exhilaration I felt. I literally could not sit still with excitement. I left my chair and strolled across the lawn and along a nature trail that led into the trees and up a small hill. My breasts swung with each step and rather than the discomfort I had felt at being bra-less in the past, this movement was pleasant. My breasts were just another part of me in motion, they were free, just like my arms and legs and neck. I wandered along the trail, hearing birds and insects, spotting wildflowers and tiny babbling streams. I saw a brilliantly coloured lizard sunning on a rock. Two small kangaroos hopped past me and disappeared deeper into the woods, an inquisitive parrot looked at me from its perch in a tree. For a city girl like me, these little glimpses of nature were like a paradise. And I was naked. It is so hard to find words to describe that first ever experience, it was though I was drunk on this new found freedom.

True, I was alone and had not really gone nude in public yet, but I felt like I had broken some huge taboo. I wondered what I would feel right then if there were others watching me. I let my hand fall to my pussy ( to check it I guess?) and realised with a start that I was wet. Very wet. Not just wet but hot and engorged. I was mortified. I swear I had not been thinking any naughty thoughts, yet here I was – excited just by being where I was and naked. Believe it or not, I was so naive that I thought if my body showed any signs of arousal, it would be instantly noticed by more experienced nudists and I would be shunned and dismissed as not a real naturist . Little did I know. I thought then about men, and how hard it would be for THEM to conceal any physical reactions. Dave s penis – the first real one I had ever seen – had been completely inert. Had he a lot of self control? Had nudism made him so blase that he never got excited? And what about Sabrina? Did she never feel what I was feeling now? The sheer sensuality of the warm sun on one s completely naked body?

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