It was a stunning beach, the sand was fine and the sun was shining. I did a quick scan and it was completely deserted but for me. I was feeling high on life after an invigorating swim in the transparent ocean. “Go on, do it Rossy! Are you a man or a mouse” The voice, the one that occasionally makes me do naughty things. Normally I reply “mouse” but this time I didn’t. I dropped my shorts and stood there in all my ‘glory’. I reassured myself that the ocean was particularly bracing and that it was normal for it to look like that.
It felt good, it felt amazing, this is it, the new me, the naturist me………………and then I convinced myself that someone in the bushes was watching me and quickly yanked my shorts back on. In my panic I put both feet through the same hole and toppled over. I now had sand in my mouth and an arse that protruded from the sand in a fashion that must have been pretty inviting for the local seagull population to perch on. I vowed to ignore the voice forever.
This wasn’t my first brush with naturism. Before Mrs Under there was another, never a Mrs but a Miss. Miss invited me to meet her parents, I was always quite good at meeting girlfriends parents, firm handshake and some inappropriate gags for Dad, flowers and my ‘listening face’ for Mum. The evening was going to plan and they were both lapping up the Down Under charm, I excused myself when nature called. I picked up a magazine and flicked through without any great focus. Strange magazine this, as far as I can make out it seems to be photographs of elderly people partaking in volleyball and badminton and if I’m not mistaken that mans shuttle cock is on display. I turned the magazine over and noticed I was reading the Spring Issue of Naturist UK. I was in the home of a naturist couple. Miss’s Mum and Dad like to play volleyball in the buff!
The rest of the evening was spent trying desperately to maintain eye contact with the adventurous couple and trying desperately not to make any unintentional double entendres, did you dress the salad and such like. I explained my nervous disposition to Miss, she was a little embarrassed but fessed up and my naked suspicions were confirmed. Things got serious with Miss. “Would you like to come and stay at our villa in the South of France?” This is a question that usually answers itself but I stalled before stuttering “Will your parents be attending?”
A few weeks later I was sunning myself in a beautiful villa, but as her Dad struts past wearing a flimsy cotton sarong I had the unfamiliar feeling of being on holiday but secretly praying for rain, or thunder, or snow, or preferably all three. Fortunately Mr and Mrs Nude respected my prudish ways and kept their bits and pieces under wraps. The volleyball and shuttle cock remained undisturbed.
One evening we were invited for dinner with their friends. I had rediscovered my mojo and thought it would be a fantastic opportunity to get those last few brownie points I was looking to score. Judging by the scale of the entrance gates and the walled perimeter this was going to be quite some place. And then I saw a placard, two words popped right out and slapped me in the face like a pair of testicles – Nudist Resort. This was no villa this was a nudist resort, A NUDIST RESORT!
I felt faint, my breathing became rapid and shallow, there was a tightness in my chest; basically I was displaying the classics symptoms of an impending heart attack. I made a partial recovery when I was introduced to our fully clothed hosts. “You look a bit on edge young man, would you like a glass of wine”. I knocked it back and went in for a refill and then another. Dinner was served on the balcony overlooking a beautiful garden, you’ve got to hand it to the nudists their lawns and bushes are impeccably landscaped.
The wine and the ambience, but mostly the wine, had an effect on me and I began to relax. Dinner was a beautiful fish soup and the hosts turned out to be remarkably good company. I was just about to bite into a juicy prawn that I had tipsily de-shelled when I looked up and came face to face with a ripe old couple taking the bins out dressed only in sandals. A conversation about the weather ensued between host and bin pushers, I put the prawn back in the bowl as it didn’t really look very appetising anymore.
Me and Miss didn’t stand the test of time, I want to go on holiday without having nightmares about being attacked by giant prawns or experiencing mild heart attacks. I like my in-laws just the way they are, covered up.
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