I wish I really could say that I grew up in a naturist household, spending my summer holidays running round naked

in the sun. But I cant. I grew up in the East Midlands in britain in the 1970s (I was born in 1968), with a totally ordinary childhood. I only ever saw my parents naked once or twice, and I dont believe theyve seen me naked since I was about 10.

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So, I grew up with all of the regular British reservations about showing my body in public. I think that my first exposure to naturism came on holiday in the south of France with my parents when I was (I believe) about 17 – my last vacation with them before I became a pupil and then left home. We stayed near Port Grimaud, and one day I decided to see what was on the other side of a sizable stony breakwater. Imagine my surprise once I saw a beach full of naked folks! Id like to say that I went and stripped off and joined them, but I didnt. Remember, this was a time when I didnt even want my parents to see me without a top on!
Anyway, when I was a student (residing at home), I picked up a copy of Health and Efficiency from a shop that had it as one of its top shelf magazines (a phrase that will undoubtedly be familiar to British readers, but might be less so to those from foreign. Keep in mind that Playboy is a top shelf magazine!). It was interesting to discover a magazine full of naked photos of what I came to think of as ordinary people doing ordinary things not models who appear to be auditioning for a gynaecological textbook. At the moment, I also started to spend time round the house nude when everyone else was out, but this was more from the illicit delight point of view. However, my opinion began to change, and erotic nude beach video found that I actually loved being naked, and envied people who could go on naturist holidays. I did manage a few afternoons sunbathing nude in the back garden in an exceedingly rare time when my parents were on vacation and my brother was still away at college in another town.
And that was it for several years. In 1992 or 1993, my girlfriend and I went to stay with a buddy who lived in Poole, on the south coast. On the Saturday we went to their local beach for a walk, and my friend warned us that there clearly was a nudist section. It absolutely was Studland Bay, someplace I’d learned of in H&E (which I had long stopped purchasing, mostly because I had moved in with my girlfriend). So there I was, walking along Studland, encircled by nudists, but I didnt dare do anything. I mean, I used to work with my (female) friend (and did again a few years later) and couldnt picture telling her hey, Id love to strip off here. For all I know, her and her husband might have been regulars, but that wasnt going to occur!
My girlfriend and I went back to Studland on our last day as the weather was fine, and I somehow plucked up the courage to indicate to her that we went to the nudist beach because I saw stripping off. She was fairly amazed, but agreed on the understanding that she didnt have to. I really loved it, much to her bemusement. I even swam nude in the ocean, which was just brilliant (if a little cool).
During the the next couple of url , my girlfriend indulged me and we seen Studland once or even twice annually and I likewise stripped off once or twice on a beach in France, but that was pretty much it. For the last 3-4 years however, we have been on holiday in French bungalows, and weve always managed to be distant enough for me (and sometimes my girlfriend) to strip off by the pool. Over the past couple of years, I have been doing a streak of photography lessons (Im an extremely keen amateur), and the last one, in 2003, was social documentary. I struggled for a long time to think of a matter, and from somewhere deep down I came up with the concept of doing something on naturism. I hunted round the net and found a club in Marlborough (which is about 50 miles from Bristol where I now live) who astonishingly enough were agreeable for me to take some photographs and invited me to come along and see them even though I would be on my own as my girlfriend would not be joining me.
So, I somewhat nervously went to see them so they could meet me and I could see what the photographic possibilities were. They were most welcoming, and I spent a thoroughly enjoyable evening swimming and playing badminton in the nude.
There were some delays in receiving permission from the sports center they use, and in the end they said no. With this time, I ‘d been 2 or 3 times and was getting to appreciate it. Thus, even though my job was killed off before I ‘d shot any graphics, the club asked me if I wanted to join, and I did. I now go along once per month or so, and adore it. The main problem is that the team meets on Saturday evenings, and I feel guilty about leaving my girlfriend on her own at home whenever I go. Id love for her to come as well, but she isnt assured enough at present, although she hasnt ruled out the possibility entirely.
More recently, I have been beginning to consider making contact with one of the clubs not too far from Bristol one that’s its own land so I could possibly have someplace outside to see regularly.

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