THE DAY I BECAME A NATURIST (CHAPTER 1) The Adventures of Roy Hi, my name is Roy. Compared to most people, I suppose I have had a very privileged and in many ways unusual upbringing. I live in a rather dry but beautiful Mediterranean country with a lovely climate, born into a rich family and living in a large house set on a two-acre plot. But, to me, one of the most special parts of my life is that I am a naturist. My parents are not naturists. They are fairly normal people of modern British stock, with a few inhibitions as far as nakedness is concerned. When I was small, I bathed at times with my parents and was allowed to play naked in the privacy of our garden, protected from the wicked eyes of the world by the high walls that surround most plots in our affluent suburban area of town. High walls are not really necessary nowadays, but have become something of a status symbol for the rich. Apparently they sprang up overnight among the rich during the revolution forty-odd years ago, along with security guards, but are really superfluous nowadays in a country notable far more for its easy-going character and lethargy than for any crime or violence. By the age of about five I was considered too old to indulge in any unnecessary displays of flesh in the open air, and on visits to the seaside was always expected to change under a towel rather than allow any unauthorized viewing of my quite unremarkable reproductive organs. I still did what most children do when they are sure they are unobserved by adults, though, and urinated out of doors when caught short. The local population is notorious for this, and it is not uncommon to see them, mainly male and even adults, relieving themselves into walls or hedges without showing any real desire for privacy. Of course, I had to put up with all the baby words that most families use for parts of the body and bodily functions that cannot apparently be named without shame – wee and poo, and their like. Nowadays I am embarrassed to use such words, and it is more natural for me to use the correct terms. So in these stories, if you don't mind, I will toss out terms like penis and vagina where they apply, rather than the baby words of the family or the dirty words of the schoolyard. Naturally, with such an upbringing, I rarely saw girls of my own age naked. Perhaps when I was very young I did play naked or change into swimming costumes along with girls of a similar age, but I don't remember any instances. When I was five my cousin Shelley, who lives about a kilometre from us, was born. Her mother, my Aunt Sue, is much more liberal than my parents, and I was soon familiar with every part of little Shelley's body, to my keen interest that I had learned to hide from adults. When I was seven years old, my sister Jenny was finally born, my mother having had a couple of miscarriages in the meantime. My parents did not seem to mind my seeing her naked at such a young age, and even taught me to change her nappies, a task I performed only briefly without protest, until my curiosity had worn off. My interest had been aroused when I was five, when I had a few adventures with a girl next door, about which I shall write on another occasion. By the age of seven and in second grade, I was just beginning to develop a greater curiosity in female anatomy. I had already become aware of the fascination of feminine underwear, thanks partly to Alison next door and also to another incident that took place at school about the same time. Like other Mediterranean lands, most of our rain comes during the winter. One morning I went to school after overnight rain wearing Wellington boots, as did most of the other children. On the veranda outside my classroom was a long trestle table for us to put our belongings. I was one of the first to arrive, so I went to the table along with another boy who was also early. We sat down on the benches beside the table to take off our boots and put on our school shoes, as was expected of us. We fooled around a bit as we did so, and the other boy in fun threw my boots under the table. I crawled under the table to fetch them, while my friend, in typical second-grade fashion, called out, "Good doggy, nice doggy," laughing all the while at his joke. I kept up the game, pretending to be a dog and snuffling around under the table. At that point several girls arrived, and took it as quite a joke to see me crawling around under the table. They had a good laugh at me and tried to pat me, while I growled and barked at them. Then they sat down to take off their boots. As girls of that age of innocence so often do, they simply sat on the benches and, instead of reaching down to remove their boots on the ground as streetwise older girls would, they lifted their legs, one by one, to pull them off. They were quite unaware that they were revealing to me, in my privileged position under the table, the full glory of their underwear. I still can't imagine how I failed to give myself away as I gazed in open-mouthed awe at the splendid display of panties on offer under their long blue school skirts, only just in front of my eyes. Had I not been paralysed with wonderment, I could have reached out and touched them. They were mostly white, some bordered with edgings of lace, and I was intrigued to see how soft and delicate they appeared when compared to the utilitarian underwear that I and most other boys wore. I was also fascinated to see how smoothly the thin material ran under the crotch, without the little bulge that was evident in my own underpants when I wore them. Some panties appeared quite tight, as if whatever they were covering was rounded and convex, but it always appeared so smooth and even. I had some idea of what a girl looked like between her legs, although I couldn't really visualize it when I tried, apart from baby Jenny's rounded little slit, but I wanted to see more. This desire was encouraged the next time we had class swimming. For the first time, as I changed along with the other boys, I meditated on the fact that boys and girls always changed separately, and came to the logical conclusion that they must have something to hide, something that boys were not supposed to see. Naturally, in line with non-naturist thinking, I was curious and wanted to see it. Only later did it occur to me that perhaps I had something the girls should not see either. I noticed again, as we were beside the pool, that the girls' swimming costumes curved neatly under the crotch in a tight little V, while the boys' costumes were more rounded, and some indeed actually bulged slightly when viewed from side-on. I found it quite fascinating. An incident at home a few weeks later heightened my interest still further. While I was very conscious of the underwear and potential nakedness of girls my own age, it had no connection with older females. At the age of seven I had no sexual thoughts whatsoever about adults or even teenagers and nothing of that kind ever crossed my mind, until one evening at home. Aunt Sue was round at our house and playing with me in the garden. I always loved her because she was so much fun. She was quite unconventional, and my parents seemed to regard her as an eccentric, but with good-humoured tolerance. I had just begun to take an interest in football and was begging the adults to play with me. My dad had knee trouble and wasn't often able to play that sort of game with me, while my mother was willing at times but very feeble. Aunt Sue was happy to volunteer, and we gave it a full go. What she lacked in skill, she made up for in gusto, and we were having a wonderful game. Then we both went for the ball at full tilt at the same time, and we collided. I crashed right into her midriff, which fortunately was very soft and well padded, and we both crashed over in a heap, rolling over together. For a moment I didn't know where I was. It had gone half-dark all of a sudden as I lay there on the ground. I could see something over my head, and I could feel my face was pressing on something soft and fleshy. I moved my head, and could see a bit more. There was a large white expanse just in front of my nose, and a funny sort of powdery smell that I didn't recognize. And I could hear peals of laughter from just beside my head. That had to be Aunt Sue. There was still something pressing against my head, and I dragged myself free. I found myself half-sitting, half-lying on the grass with a pair of large plump thighs in front of my nose. I shifted my eyes upwards and saw that large expanse of white again, set against a dark blue background. Then the legs rolled over, the white disappeared, and I recognized the lower half of Aunt Sue's body. As her laughter continued, I began to realize what had happened. Somehow I had got my head thrust up Aunt Sue's dark blue dress. I could not imagine what that white mass I had seen was. "Are you all right, Roy?" Aunt Sue burst out, still laughing. I nodded vaguely, and she went on, in affected indignation, "You naughty boy, just fancy putting your head up a lady's skirt like that!" She burst into laughter again. I began to realize that the white mass I had seen had actually been my aunt's panties. It couldn't be anything else and it had disappeared when she put her legs down. Suddenly I had an appreciation of the fact that adult women wore panties, too, although I had seen my mother's before in the laundry. It also occurred to me that it was considered very naughty to look up a lady's skirt and quite shocking to have my head up it! Aunt Sue was treating it as a huge joke and teasing me, pretending that I had actually been as naughty as that. "Did you see him?" she exclaimed to my parents amid gales of her laughter. "I find myself lying on the ground, and there he is with his head up my skirt! Roy, I really am shocked at you! That's no way for a well-mannered boy to behave!" My parents grinned in an embarrassed, sickly way, and I didn't know what to do, but Aunt Sue obviously thought it a huge joke, so I laughed along with her, although at that age I didn't really appreciate why. But, as so often happens with small children, I got a thrill of excitement from doing something supposedly naughty and causing amusement by it. I might well have arranged to do it again, but knew my parents would disapprove, so I was wise enough to use no more than my eyes. Looking back, I think it was really a silly thing for Aunt Sue to say, as it got my mind working and made me conscious of something I had never been aware of before. Aunt Sue wore her skirts quite short, as was the fashion among the young, while my mother, of more mature years, wore hers rather longer. I found myself, whenever I saw Aunt Sue, thinking back to our football accident and watching the edge of her skirt to see if her panties would become visible again. Sometimes they did. It was difficult to see anything when we had our rough-and-tumbles, as we did sometimes, as my head was usually the wrong end, although I could sometimes see down the top of her dress. There was something white there, which I naively assumed to be her vest, and I was not particularly interested in that. As far as I knew, girls did not worry about people seeing their vests, and in this hot climate in fact very few people wore vests at all. Sitting down I discovered was Aunt Sue's most vulnerable point. Flamboyant and impulsive by nature, she was not the sort to keep her hands demurely in her lap. Especially when she sat with me on the grass, as I often persuaded her to do, a flash of white was evident as she sat and then crossed her legs, cutting off my view, but no doubt without any idea that she had either exposed them or covered them. Aunt Sue's silly joke had set off a new train of thought in my impressionable mind. It did not at that stage develop into any thought of seeing her naked at all, though had I gone to her house and walked in while she was having a bath or with a towel around her, it might have done, especially had she made a similar silly joke of it. I'm not really blaming her, as she was that sort of person, but her comments were quite unwise and I've learnt to avoid saying anything like that or making jokes about underwear or nakedness to small children. It can so easily make the sort of wrong impression on them that it made on me. (To be continued) THE DAY I BECAME A NATURIST (CHAPTER 2) I think children generally start showing some sort of interest in nakedness before they start proper school, but it seems to be in or around second grade when they start to become seriously concerned about having others see them naked. I don't actually remember when I started second grade having any particular worries about any girl observing me. Then, after one brief incident, I became paranoid about it like most children from the age of about seven upwards – in fact, much worse, so traumatic did I find it. I had a new blue school swimming costume that was a little loose. The first time I used it, at a class swimming lesson, I needed a bowel motion and so was later than the others in coming out of the changing room. I joined the rest of my class to find them wet, having dipped themselves in the pool, and gathered around our swimming teacher, Miss Winrow, as she was about to start the lesson proper. "Why are you late, Roy?" she asked me as I sneaked in, hoping not to be noticed. "I needed a poo," I explained reluctantly, using the common baby-talk as I knew no better and feeling slightly ashamed as I said it. The big giggle that went round the class immediately taught me that I had good reason to be embarrassed and I should never mention anything like that in public again as long as I lived. "Quiet, children," Miss Winrow scolded, also looking awkward. "Roy, jump into the pool quickly and then come out and listen to me." I obeyed, jumping into the water, which came up almost to my chest, and then hurriedly heaved myself up over the side again. As I did so, I felt something unusual happening around my midriff that I could not immediately identify. At the same moment, a number of children who had been watching me exploded – or so it seemed to me. There were shocked squeals and ribald laughter, the pointing of fingers, exclamations of my name, and I distinctly heard one girl exclaim, "Oh, gross!" I stared down, to see my penis dangling a few centimetres above the side of the pool, and my swimming costume still in the water, halfway down my calves. I had forgotten to tie the drawstring. Appalled and humiliated, I dropped back into the pool and hauled up my swimming costume straight away. Flushing furiously, I clutched my costume with one hand to keep it in place and headed for the steps, about three metres away, where I could climb out one-handed. Half the class was by now laughing and making rude and silly comments, while the other half, who had not been watching me, was desperately trying to find out what treat it had missed. Miss Winrow was trying with equal desperation and a strangely flushed face to persuade them to be quiet and pay attention. I didn't know whether she had seen the incident or not, but the awkwardness of her manner, the redness of her face and the fact that she did not try to find out why the class was making such a noise suggested that she had indeed been one of those privileged to view my seven-year-old penis. I can still remember the utter humiliation I felt as I tried to tie up my drawstring, looking downwards, unable to face the laughter and ribald comments of my classmates. "We saw your wee-wee," one girl helpfully informed me with a silly giggle as the class gradually came to order again. With typical second-grade sensitivity, my classmates would not allow me to forget the experience. Throughout the lesson, sniggering faces were turned towards me and girls, whenever they could, whispered together in twos and threes as those poor deprived females who had been so unwisely paying attention to the teacher instead of to me sought desperately to find out exactly what they had missed. In the changing rooms afterwards, once they were out of sight of Miss Winrow, the other boys had a good laugh at me. "All the girls saw you," I was gleefully informed. "Miss Winrow saw you." "Oh, shut up, it doesn't matter," I heard one voice say loudly, with annoyance. It was a fairly new boy to our school, Stephen by name. The eager voices quietened a little, and Stephen continued crossly, "Look, it was just an accident and it doesn't matter. Don't be so silly about it." I was surprised to find that most of the boys seemed to feel a little ashamed at this unexpected outburst and I didn't get much more teasing from them. Some of the girls were different, though. As soon as we returned to our own classroom, dressed and ready for our next lesson, one of them announced importantly and with great delight to our class teacher, "Mrs Canford, Roy forgot to tie his costume up and it came off in the swimming pool." Mrs Canford had a couple of words of mild reproof for her, but not enough, as the torment continued from several girls in the class. I have found that most girls can be very cruel, but if they just get a bit of guidance when they are young they are quick to realize it and quick to be kind instead. But I had nobody to take my side with the girls and I endured several weeks of humiliation. No doubt all the parents had enjoyed a full ball-by-ball commentary on the incident as well. Every day some of the girls would slip by me, in the classroom or the passage or the playing field, and chant in a whisper into my ear, gloating smiles on their faces, "We saw your wee-wee!" Girls who hadn't been watching seemed never to tire of eliciting all the details and description from those who had, and at every swimming lesson I had girls sidle up to me and ask gloatingly with a giggle, "Is your swimming costume tight enough today, Roy?" Whenever I went in the pool I could sense all eyes on me, hoping for an action replay. I did try and reply at times by telling them what sort of panties they wore, as I had been noticing those, and even pulled up some skirts to prove it, but that only made it worse. They became more malicious and much more cautious with their skirts when I was around, and I quickly gave up that line of retaliation. Needless to say I tied my swimming costume up very firmly after that, and two weeks later I tied the drawstring so tightly that I couldn't get it undone. An embarrassed Miss Winrow had a go after the lesson, when all the others were changed and waiting, and I was terrified she would pull it down and expose what was below, that which I was determined never again to let any female see apart from my mother and Aunt Sue. But she also seemed terrified of that possibility, and did no more than fiddle feebly with the top of my costume before sending me to the first-aid centre, a subject of class ridicule again, where the nurse had to cut the drawstring, fortunately without revealing my genitals. My torment did finally come to an abrupt end, thanks to some good fortune. One of the girls in my class one day had diarrhoea in the assembly hall. I was not near her when it happened, and the first I knew anything unusual was up was when I saw her, as we were all sitting on the floor listening to the headmaster, being led out of the hall, head down, face deathly white and one hand clutched to her backside, with a brown stain down one leg. There was a muffled murmur of disgust and rapid movement away from where she had been sitting, and children all moved outwards, many holding their noses. I craned my neck, as did all the other children in the school I'm sure, but I could not see anything from where I was. It was only five minutes later as we all left the hall that I could see, staring along with everybody else, a little pool of liquid manure, about the size of a biscuit, on the plastic tiles. A maid had just arrived with a bucket of water to clean it up. Now it was somebody else's turn to suffer, and I was greatly relieved, although a little disappointed that the girl in question had not been one of my major tormentors. Many of the other boys in my class were eager to talk about it and tease the girl herself when she returned to school two days later. I was tempted to join in, since I was no longer the main victim. But I quickly saw the solidarity and loyalty of girls to each other, which I would have appreciated in boys, and the others stood alongside the victim to oppose the boys who tried to torment her. I felt sure that if I said anything unkind, they would come back at me with "We saw your wee-wee" again, and I didn't want that. So I kept quiet, and I think it worked to my advantage. I suppose the girls as a whole decided that because I never joined in the cruelty of the other boys, I must be a `nice boy' and therefore should no longer be teased. It was hardly mentioned again by the girls and I noticed that most of them were soon fairly pleasant towards me again. That incident had a lasting effect on me, though. As soon as I arrived home after school on the day it happened, too ashamed to tell my parents, I shut myself in my room and cried from humiliation. I hated my penis and cursed it bitterly for causing me such degradation. When I had a shower that night, I tried so hard to pull it off, hoping it would detach in my hands, and I could wash it down the drain and never have a penis again. I was terribly disappointed that nothing I could do would remove that offending organ, or the little scrotum underneath that hurt quite sharply when I tried to unscrew it. That night I fantasized about being a boy without a penis, without considering whether that could be logical. I wished I could have just one wish in all the world, and I would wish away my private parts and never have to wear them again. Then I wished I could strip naked all those who had laughed at me and make them run round the school naked and go home naked. I tried to enjoy visualizing them doing so, while I beat their bare skin with a whip, but the pain underneath was too great. Once I became more or less reconciled to the fact that I was stuck with my genitals, literally, I began to examine them more closely. I concluded that there must be something wrong with them, something deformed, something peculiar, to make everyone laugh at them. I wondered what it was. THE DAY I BECAME A NATURIST (CHAPTER 3) I had never taken any interest in observing the genitals of other boys before now, but the next time our class changed for swimming, I was ready to take a look at the other boys to see just why mine were so odd. I was very much afraid that they would revert to teasing me about the previous lesson, but they had forgotten that and chattered gaily as we changed for the lesson. I felt rather ashamed to let even other boys view my deformed penis, so I kept my shirt on and changed under my shirt-tail. Nobody seemed to notice. After swimming I had an even better look at the other boys, as they removed their swimming costumes and dried themselves, naked and unconcerned about it. They did not seem to notice at all that I was examining them and comparing their equipment with my own. My research led to some unexpected observations and conclusions on my part. I was surprised, when I looked closely, to find that penises vary a great deal from one individual to another. Some are longer than others, and some are smaller. Some are thinner and some are fatter. Some are thickest at the top, while some have a bulge in the middle. Some are covered by foreskins and some have a little purple prepuce visible instead. Some are pink and some are white. Some foreskins taper off almost to a point, while other penises come to an abrupt, stubby ending. Some are curly and some are straight. The size of a boy seems to have nothing to do with the size of his penis. Some small boys have quite impressive penises, while the fattest boys usually seem to have tiny little things hidden away between their legs. Some, unnaturally squashed up inside a wet swimming costume, seemed to stick together into an indescribable little ball when released and took some time to come apart and resume their natural shapes. Try as I might, I could not discover anything the slightest bit unusual about mine. It seemed as ordinary a penis as ever existed, not too long or too short, not too thin or too fat, and with my foreskin just nicely covering the end of it. The testicles underneath seemed to be quite normal as well, enclosed in a little bag that neither drooped nor hugged the skin so tightly they were almost invisible. I felt relieved. I was not abnormal after all. So I had to admit that they were not actually laughing at *it*, but they would have laughed at any boy who made the same mistake as I had done. I looked round at those naked boys, with my shorts on now, and studied them again. After the cold water in the pool, many of the boys had penises so shrunken that they appeared to be little more than tiny purple blobs. Others had longer members that hung down and wobbled as they moved. Mine was right in between. We were all slightly different, perhaps, but strangely I was the only one who seemed to be aware of it. A couple of weeks later, I was still wary but no longer afraid I was abnormal and would have the other boys laughing at me. One thing that had always bothered me a bit, even before this trauma, was the occasional peculiar behaviour of my penis. Every now and then, for no apparent reason, it would become stiff. I first remember noticing this – though obviously it had happened before - when I was about five, playing naked in the sandpit at home. I was sitting on the ground holding some sand in my hand when some of it started trickling through my fingers on to my penis. It felt funny and tingly, and my penis suddenly started to stiffen. It was quite an exciting feeling, so I let some more sand trickle through. My penis quickly became quite stiff, pointing upwards towards my chin. I kept sprinkling it and wriggled with pleasure. Unfortunately my parents were watching me, and that was the moment they decided that in future I should be clothed at all times when outside. About two or three months after the disaster with my swimming costume, we had an enlightening incident in the changing rooms after swimming. We came inside to change after the lesson, and one boy announced in a loud, clear, self-satisfied voice, with a silly giggle, "Oh, look, my wee has gone all stiff!" Having secured our attention, he pulled down the front of his costume to show his hard little member sticking upwards, tittering gleefully as he did so. The rest of us stared and giggled naughtily, and then another boy said, "I can do that. Watch me." He pulled down the front of his costume, seized his limp little penis and began working on it with his fingers. It quickly grew stiff as we watched in awe. In no time at all, most of the boys in the class were marching around the changing room, swimming costumes pulled down to just below the buttocks, with stiff little penises pointing upwards or outwards, giggling heartily or making silly noises. One boy went to the urinal and squeaked with laughter as, untouched by human hand, his spray of urine went upwards and described an elegant arc before hitting the porcelain. Eagerly other boys crowded round the urinal to copy this skill. I was still too wary to join in, and I noticed Stephen appeared to be rather disgusted by such behaviour. But such is the copy-cat and show-off mentality of the seven-year-old that most of the class were striving to copy, to outdo each other and to invent new variations. "Boys! Boys!" came Miss Winrow's voice from just outside. For a moment we all froze. "Make less noise and hurry up," she called out again, and her tone of voice seemed to suggest that she suspected that something was up that she very much did not want to be involved with, but was duty-bound to interrupt. "She's coming in!" squealed one boy, slapping his hands over his genitals and bending over at the waist, looking for all the world as if he had just taken a blow below the belt. There were shrieks from the other boys, who all covered up, some holding their half-lowered costumes over their swollen exhibits. We all knew, though, that Miss Winrow never came into the boys' changing room, although it was only later that we began to appreciate her reluctance to risk seeing anything she might consider X-rated. Hands remained over genitals until their owners were quite sure, and then with naughty sniggers and whispers they began to dress. One or two could not resist the temptation to show off the bulges in their underpants before we had quite finished, though. I was still terrified of ever letting a girl see my penis again. The other side of the coin was that I became much more curious about what girls looked like underneath. I had another good look at Shelley and my newborn sister Jenny, but they were only babies. I wanted to see girls of my own age. It became almost an obsession with me, stimulated by the merciless teasing I had endured from the girls in my class. I kept my eyes wide open for their panties, always in the hope that one day one of them might not be wearing any. I invited some `nice' girls round to my house in the hope I could spy on them when they changed for a swim in our pool, but they always secured themselves in the changing rooms where I was unable to see them. I did even gouge a little eyehole in the wooden wall of the girls' small changing room, but when I tried it out after finishing the job realized to my chagrin that it was too dark inside for me to see a thing. I would also be very visible from the house and I did not want my parents to know about my obsession. I didn't dare try it out, knowing it would be doomed to failure and perhaps discovery, but my heart beat wildly every time I knew a girl was changing in there, and my bowels often turned to water with the excitement. Now I am older I realize that, had I tried to peep through the hole, the girl inside would have immediately seen me against the light and I would have been caught in the act, so I am relieved I never tried it. What my parents did notice was that suddenly I became very interested in the human body. I spent hours paging through our family encyclopedia until I found the section that showed very rudimentary labelled drawings of the human body, male and female. Every day I took the book away to study the female pictures in private. There were two, one to show a preteen girl and one a fully-grown woman. I was scarcely interested in the adult one, which looked somehow grotesque, but was fascinated by the preteen one, although it showed nothing more than a little line between the legs. After a couple of weeks I was horrified to notice that the page edges had turned very dark with constant use and it was easy for anybody picking up the book to see immediately what I was always looking at. I did the same in the school library, sharing my interest in whispers with my friends. Some of us hunted for books together, but our school was a very old-fashioned one and we found nothing any clearer than those pictures in our family encyclopedia. We drew crude little pictures of naked girls on scraps of paper and showed them to each other, and made wild plans to spy on naked girls that were so fantastic that we never even tried to carry them out. Boys who had sisters were encouraged to tell all they knew and all they had seen, but most of us in our little group were without sisters. That is perhaps significant. One day one of the boys brought from home a book entirely on the human body, and that was very revealing. Several of us sneaked into a corner of the playground at break time and stared at it together, a full page with a full-colour picture of a naked girl of about our age. The vagina was carefully drawn so we could see it was rounded, almost like little lips, I thought, before I even knew what labia were. We drooled over it, and hastily hid it whenever a prefect or anybody else at all came anywhere near us. I memorized the name of the book and begged my parents to get it for me, pretending I wanted to become a doctor when I grew up. When we went to town, I eventually found it in a shop, but my parents would not buy it, saying it was an adult book and I was not old enough to understand it yet. One good thing that came from the incident was that my friendship with Stephen developed. He was quite a tall boy, with dark sandy hair and light brown eyes, and he was good company. He had seemed strangely uninterested in the pictures that so enthralled me. Several times we invited each other round to our houses to play. I often wanted to ask him why he had stood up for me when the other boys had teased me, but felt too embarrassed. One day, with my parents' approval, I invited Stephen to spend the weekend at our house. "If he would like to come, we'll phone his parents," my mother said. Our respective parents had already met a few times and got on well, so we expected it to be just a formality. "I can come on Sunday but not on Saturday, because we're going to the club," he told me at school when I asked him the Monday before. I wanted to know what club, and he answered, "It's a naturist club we belong to." I was not familiar with the word, so I asked him what a naturist club was. "Oh, it's just like a normal club for families, except that we don't wear clothes," he told me. My heart suddenly started throbbing with excitement, as it tended to do now whenever nakedness was mentioned. "Why don't you wear clothes?" I asked, astounded. "Is everybody naked? What do you do?" "Yes, and it's much more fun than wearing clothes," he smiled, his eyes shining. "We play games and swim and have barbecues and all sorts of things. We have a caravan we sometimes stay in, and so have a lot of other people there." "All without clothes on?" I gasped incredulously. I now had the idea that nobody anywhere would ever want anybody else, from the opposite sex at least, to see them naked, that nakedness was something awful that attracted scorn and ridicule and only happened when absolutely necessary, such as when changing clothes, changing for swimming or taking a bath or shower. These activities were acceptable when done in private between consenting males, but never at any other occasion. "Yes, of course," he grinned, surprised at my horrified reaction. "Except for the barbecue because sometimes there are sparks." I had a suddenhorrifying vision of what might happen were a loose spark to fly off and hit a naked person in an unfortunate and unprotected place. "I've got an all-over tan," Stephen told me proudly, and pulled his shorts down a little at the back to show me, although I had noticed he was strangely brown in the changing room on that day when I needed to assure myself that I was not abnormal. "So has everybody else there." "Are there *girls* there?" I asked, unable to believe he could possibly answer in the affirmative, but he did. My heart beat wildly at the thought. I asked what ages, and he told me all ages – very small, our age, older girls, teenagers, the lot. "But don't they laugh at you when they see your wee?" I asked him, sure that this always happened since it had happened to me. "Oh, no, of course not, silly," he chuckled. "We're all so used to seeing each other naked and it just doesn't matter. I don't mind if they see me and they don't mind if I see them, and we don't even notice. It's not like the kids in this class." I couldn't imagine how I could ever see a naked girl and not even notice, or how one could see me naked and not even react. Stephen must be some kind of different person altogether, I thought. And maybe the girls were different kinds of people as well – even though they looked the same as other girls underneath. Whatever that was like. I actually felt almost like vomiting with over-excitement at the thought of large numbers of girls all running round naked. My heart felt as if it was going to burst out of my chest. I couldn't bear it. I wanted to go – but not if I had to go naked too. There was no way I wanted any girl to see me naked. I had vowed that no girl ever would see me naked, never again. "Do we – do people *have* to be naked there?" I blurted out, hoping that somehow I could go along and remain clothed and yet feast my eyes on naked female bodies. "Yes, of course," he answered, surprised. "That's the whole idea of the club. It's a place where anybody who wants to can go and be naked, and nobody minds, and you don't get people being rude or saying silly things like you do in our class." "Are there any girls from our class there?" I asked. "From our school, I mean," I added as an afterthought, but Stephen was already answering. "No, it's way out in the country, and most of the people are farmers," he said. "It was started by the farmers a long time ago and we've got about a hundred people who belong to it now." The thought of a hundred naked girls flashed through my mind, an illogical assumption from what Stephen said but one that stuck. I was too shattered to inquire any further that day, but the whole idea completely took over my thoughts for the rest of the day. I was too excited at the thought even to eat my meals properly and several times I almost vomited. But I felt bitterly frustrated because I knew I would have to be naked myself, if I could find a way to join Stephen's family at all, and I just could not bear to have a girl see me naked ever again. For two days I couldn't think of anything else. I had this obsession with seeing naked girls – proper girls, I told myself, not babies like Shelley and Jenny – on the one hand, and on the other I would never again allow a girl to see me naked. Somehow I had to go with Stephen to his club, yet keep my clothes on while I observed the ultimate in forbidden and thrilling sights. (To be continued) THE DAY I BECAME A NATURIST (CHAPTER 4) How could I resolve my dilemma? Perhaps, I thought, I might go along with Stephen's family, giving the impression I was happy to go naked with them, and then when I got there pretend I wasn't well and felt cold and had to keep my clothes on. But I have always had a calculating mind, even at that age, and I knew it wouldn't work. It was about the hottest time of year, so feeling cold would be scarcely believable unless I had other symptoms. And then, if I did manage to convince Stephen's parents I wasn't well, they would no doubt take me home immediately. I wished I could turn invisible, and then I could feast my eyes without anybody knowing it. I wished I could make my genitals disappear and then I could show off as the only person there who was so blessed as not to have anything to hide. I wouldn't have any holes in my bottom or between my legs but everywhere would be smooth because I never needed to go to the toilet either. Such were my feelings, and I still remember them clearly, when I was very young and immature and felt there was something dirty or wrong about certain body parts or bodily functions. Such is the result of conditioning by families and societies in most parts of the world. Fortunately I gather that Europe as a whole is more enlightened than anywhere else in the world that I know of, although there are still inhibitions here. I now know that all body parts and bodily functions are nothing at all to be ashamed of, but merely part of being human. However, that still does not stop me from appreciating sensually the nakedness of others. My misguided views came to an abrupt end at the age of seven, when my desires, along with those of other children, were simply to see the other sex naked. I still have that desire to see, and I get sensual satisfaction from seeing. My sexual desires are quiet and pleasant and natural, I think, and very different from the sexual urges that many others my age seem to feel and find so frustrating and difficult to control. I think naturism has done me good in that area. Now I can control my desire to see others naked, but at the age of seven, started off by that traumatic experience at the school swimming pool, I couldn't. I had been humiliated myself, made to feel so inferior and degraded because others who were not naked had seen me naked, and I felt a tremendous desire that I think was basically a longing to get back on equal terms - to see others naked, especially girls, so they would no longer have anything to hold over me. And I wanted better than that as well, to see them naked without their seeing me naked. After my experience, it was far more than mere childish curiosity but an obsession. It became unbearable. My parents quickly noticed that I was so very distracted, even unhappy, and could hardly eat or concentrate on anything. I would not tell them what it was, and my father quickly came to the conclusion that I had fallen in love. I'm not quite sure how serious he was, but I denied it so furiously that my parents felt sure he was right. But I wouldn't tell them anything. I was too ashamed, and with their inhibitions about nakedness I never could have told them anything. At school I kept questioning Stephen all about the club until I became virtually a nuisance. He asked me if I wanted to come with him, and the mere question set my heart throbbing frantically and painfully all over again. I shook my head, but then kept asking him so many questions that in the end he told me to shut up because I never talked about anything else. He must have been very perplexed by my strange behaviour. Finally, by Wednesday I had had enough. I couldn't handle my frustration any longer. I knew I just had to go along to that naturist club and fill my eyes with the naked girls that were constantly in my thoughts and imagination. On the one hand, I wished the girls in my class went there so I could see them naked. I tried to visualize them naked, but in my imagination that place between their legs was always blank, even though I had seen small versions on Shelley and Jenny. Then I remembered that if they were at the club, I would never dare go, as they would see my penis again and laugh at me. This brought me to the next logical step, that I would not actually know any of the girls there. They came from farms, I thought Stephen had said. I didn't think I knew many people who lived on farms, and I could never imagine any of them at a naturist club. I would far rather see girls that I knew naked than girls that I didn't know. But on the other hand I would never want the girls I knew to see me naked – so perhaps it didn't matter quite so desperately if a girl I didn't know and was never likely to know anywhere else saw me – naked? As long as I saw all I wanted of her, of course. And Stephen had almost ridiculed the idea that these girls might laugh at me. Clearly they didn't laugh at him. But he was obviously used to mixing naked with naked girls, and I was afraid I would feel terrible. I had a terrifying feeling in the pit of my stomach just thinking about any girl, however nice, observing my penis. But I just couldn't bear the thought that, this coming Saturday, there would be a place full of naked girls, and I was not in it. I needed to satisfy my curiosity and I needed to get back on even terms with the rest of humanity. My privacy had been violated, and I could not look girls in the face again until I had tasted of the forbidden fruit myself. Feeling utterly terrified but driven by urges that I couldn't explain, I asked Stephen that Wednesday morning if I could come with him to the club on Saturday. "I'll ask my dad," he replied. I spent the next twenty-four hours dreading Stephen's father would say no and drive my frustration to exploding point, and dreading he would say yes and force me to contemplate exposing my nakedness in public. There were times when I felt I could never face up to exposing myself, and other times when I felt I just had to take this great opportunity, however fearsome it might be. I felt almost physically ill as I met Stephen on Thursday morning to hear his answer, desperate to know but terrified of a yes and terrified of a no. "My dad says it's fine with him," he told me, "but he'll need to talk to your dad about it. He says he'll phone your dad tonight if you still want to come." "But don't let him say – it's naturist," I answered. "He mustn't do that. He can just say we're going out on a picnic. That will be all right." "My dad says he has to tell your dad it's a naturist club and get your dad's permission," Stephen explained. "He says your dad might be very cross with him if he didn't know and found out later, because a lot of people don't like naturist places." I didn't know how to answer. I had never thought of that side of it, and had assumed that Stephen's father would be quite happy to call it a picnic and nothing more. I tried to tell Stephen that I would have to think about it and I didn't want his father ringing up yet, but I obviously wasn't coherent about it and Stephen misunderstood me. I was still wrestling with the problem that evening and assuming that Stephen and his father were waiting on my final answer. Aunt Sue was round with her husband, my mother's brother, and baby Shelley, and I was on the veranda with them all after supper because it was expected of me. I normally enjoyed their visits very much, but this time my mind was in such turmoil that I didn't behave at all normally. My mother explained, in the usual way parents have as if I wasn't there, that I had been behaving in a peculiar way all week and they were wondering if I had fallen in love with a girl who was rejecting me. There were chuckles all round and I felt humiliated again. Then the telephone rang and my father went indoors to answer it. I stiffened at the first ring, although I was not really expecting Stephen's father to call, but worried just in case he should. Then I heard my father's voice say, "Hello, Tom," and I froze with terror. It was indeed Stephen's dad – he was the only adult Tom I knew – and my shameful secret would be out. My dad then shut the front door behind him so as not to be distracted by the noise Shelley was making at that moment, and I could hear no more. I sat there as if I was facing instant death. My face must have been as white as a sheet, but fortunately Shelley was too young and my mother and Aunt Sue were too busy talking to notice, while my uncle was reading one of my dad's business journals. All too soon my father came out of the front door and glared at me. "That was Mr Watkins," he told me. "What's all this about you wanting to go to a *naturist* club with them?" I stared at him, open-mouthed and I'm sure looking extremely guilty, not knowing what to say. Then Aunt Sue took a hand. She evidently heard my father despite her conversation with my mother. "A naturist club?" she exclaimed. "Goodness, Roy, that sounds very daring! I didn't know there were any near town at all. You must tell me all about it when you get back." My dad looked at her and said, "I told Mr Watkins Roy wouldn't be going." "Not going?" Aunt Sue exclaimed. "Pete, I never knew you were so – so prejudiced." She laughed. "I think these places could be quite fun, and very different." "All those people naked together?" my dad replied. "If they want to be naked, why can't they use their own gardens where nobody can see them? In public, it's not decent." "Oh, that's just our stuffy English cultural heritage," Aunt Sue laughed. "A hundred years ago ladies couldn't even show their ankles, and now we're in the age of miniskirts. Probably most of the members don't have walled gardens to strip off in, anyway. I'm sure it's a good family place or your friends the Watkins would never go or invite Roy to go with them." "Stephen says there are lots of gir – of kids there," I dared to put in. "There aren't many other places around here where families can go and meet together, apart from the sports club, and then the men just go into the bar and drink," said Aunt Sue. "I'd be fascinated in finding out from Roy what this place is really like." "I don't want him going to a place like that without our supervision, and we're certainly not going," said my father firmly. Aunt Sue laughed and shook her head and was about to reply when my mother broke in. "Roy, take Shelley up to your bedroom and play with her there," she told me quickly. My dad and Aunt Sue held their peace for a minute while I led the willing Shelley inside the house, and then started again. I tried to hang around and listen, but Shelley was chattering away and I couldn't hear. Reluctantly I went upstairs with her, in a state of high tension about what was going on below. I didn't know what to hope, except that I would not be in trouble with my parents. I felt very relieved that at least Aunt Sue had been there to distract my father. It seemed like a very long time before I heard my mother calling me from the foot of the stairs. I came slowly downstairs with Shelley, wondering what was awaiting me. My father told me to sit, and I did so fearfully. He no longer seemed so surprised or indignant, at least. I glanced across at Aunt Sue, but Shelley had run across to her so she was not looking at me. This gave me no prior hint of what had happened during my absence. "Now, Roy," he began. "Tell me why you are so keen to go to this – this naturist club." I gulped. Then I looked down at my feet and blurted out something like, "Well, I don't know – I – I didn't know – I wasn't sure – it was naturist. It's just – Stephen's my friend and he often goes so I can't play with him at weekends and I thought I – I'd like to go where he goes." "Do you really want to run around – naked, with all those other people watching you?" my father asked. That was the last thing I wanted, but at least I sensed a softening of my father's attitude. Of course, I could never reveal the real reason I wanted to go. So I just whispered guiltily, "He said it was fun. They do all sorts of fun things." "Do you still want to go?" he asked me. I stared up at him. The implication was that he might even agree. But I daren't risk anything. I thought long and hard how to answer. I didn't even know myself. Finally I whispered what I thought seemed safest: "I won't go if you don't want me to go." There was a pause, and then my dad said, "Well, Mum and I have never been to one of these places, and they didn't sound good to us. But Aunt Sue thinks it might be all right. No doubt she knows more about that sort of thing than we do." A gentle barb here, which I'm sure only amused my aunt. "So," my dad continued, "we have talked about it, and we think we might allow you to go, if you really want to, but only if Aunt Sue is able to go with you. She has offered to go along if you would like her to. I don't know if Mr and Mrs Watkins would be willing to let her come as well, but if not, I suppose that's a bad sign. Now, what do you think?" I didn't know what I thought. I looked over for guidance to Aunt Sue, who was smiling at me. "I'd love to come, sweetie," she said to me. "But it's for you to decide." My parents have always been pretty liberal in allowing me to make decisions myself, but if I hardly knew what I wanted to do before they found out, I certainly didn't know what to do afterwards. "I don't know," I whispered. To cut a long story short, it was left for me to decide, within twenty-four hours. I went to bed exhausted, but again unable to sleep properly, as my mind was in turmoil. I was so close now to my nirvana, but I was also so much closer to the awful ordeal of uncovering my naked body in public – to girls. (To be continued) THE DAY I BECAME A NATURIST (CHAPTER 5) In the morning I finally made my decision. If I didn't go, I might never in my whole life get the chance to see girls naked again, and I would forever regret what might have been. And it would be a great comfort, at my age, to have Aunt Sue there with me. She might do things at times that one didn't associate with being grown-up, but if anybody laughed at me, she would handle them. I would not be in it alone, and I had no fears about her seeing me naked. It did not occur to me at all then that I would also see her naked. I hoped my parents would take the initiative at breakfast and make it easier for me. But they didn't, perhaps hoping I would say nothing and the matter would drop, never to return. Finally, as I prepared to depart for school, I spoke to my mother, although my father was in the room. She had not taken sides in the original argument, as far as I knew. "Mum," I whispered. "Is it still all right if I go with Stephen – tomorrow? Please?" "Well, that's what we agreed," she said, rather fatalistically. "You want to go then, Roy?" my father asked. Slowly I nodded my head and hoped I was not blushing too furiously. He paused, and then said, "Right, then, I'll phone Mr Watkins at work and see if he minds Aunt Sue coming as well." I had forgotten that part, and realized that I would actually have to wait until I saw my parents that evening now to find out if I would actually be able to go or not. I wished a thousand times I had made up my mind more quickly as the day dragged by and I remained in suspense. That evening I received the news. Yes, Aunt Sue would be most welcome, and we were going. There would not be room for us both in the Watkins' car, though, as Stephen had an older and a younger brother, so Aunt Sue would take her car and follow theirs to – the naturist club! "Just remember, Roy, when you're there," my father warned me seriously. "Don't stare. It's very bad manners to stare at people." He obviously still had serious reservations about my going at all. "Oh, Pete, Roy isn't old enough to be conscious of that sort of thing yet," my mother told him. Little did she know, but I took my dad's words to heart. I had already learned that if I let girls know I was interested in seeing anything private, they did their best to ensure that I never had the chance. I had got what I wanted, but I can still remember the mixture of excitement and fear that once again prevented me from getting much sleep. I felt tired out when that fateful Saturday morning came, but pretended not to be, in case my parents decided I was not well enough to go. I was smart enough to realize that they might be very happy to take this way out, as I could tell they were still dubious about the morality of such a club. I remember going to the toilet when I got up and looking down in hatred at my innocent little white penis as it did its major job in life, spurting urine into the bowl. How I wished I didn't have one, or anything down there, so I could go to the club without fear. This day, I thought, my wee (as I called it then), together with that tight little pink bag of testicles underneath, would appear in public for the first time since I ever became conscious of it. I would have given anything to avoid it – anything but the frustration that would be quite impossible to live with if I missed seeing those imaginary hundreds of girls naked. I didn't think I could even eat any breakfast or hold down anything if I tried, so I tried to look healthy and hit on the brilliant idea of telling my parents that I didn't need any because Stephen had said we would have breakfast at the club. Just to be awkward, my dad then decided they had better phone Aunt Sue and let her know, but my mother said that it was too late because she would already have eaten. "I can't imagine Sue ever saying no to two breakfasts," chuckled my father, and I was relieved that the matter ended there, before Aunt Sue found me to be a liar at the club. I was in a state of high tension and had emptied my bowels until there was nothing left inside me as Aunt Sue picked me up at nine o'clock – Shelley was there too but not my uncle - and we drove to meet the Watkinses at their house. Stephen invited me to join them in their car, which was possible although squashed. I decided I would feel much safer, with the greatest and most wonderful ordeal of my life just ahead of me, travelling with my aunt, though. It takes well over an hour to reach the naturist club from the city, and it was the longest hour of my life. A mixture of excitement and dread is highly toxic. I sat on the back seat with Shelley in her little strapped-in chair, while Aunt Sue chattered away cheerfully. "You're very quiet these days, Roy," she said at last, after about twenty minutes of my monosyllabic answers. "Are you nervous about going to a naturist club?" "Well, a bit," I admitted grudgingly, glad that somebody understood my feelings. Then, afraid I had given too much away and afraid that she might suspect the rest of them, I blurted out, "Aunt Sue, have you ever been to a naturist club?" "Not to a club, dear," she answered. "But when I was a little girl on our farm, our whole family would go skinny-dipping every day in the reservoir. Oh, that was such fun, to feel the sun and the wind on my bare skin and to be free . . . it really brings back memories. I'd got out of that habit since I married your uncle, but when I heard you had been invited to a naturist club, well, I just thought, what the hell, I'd love to go." Within a minute she was telling me about her memories of swimming in the reservoir, and I especially remember one story. "One day while we were swimming, a couple of girl hikers came over the hill nearby and saw us. My two brothers, who were teenagers then, climbed out and went running towards them, completely starkers, shouting at them to join us. You never saw two girls run away so fast in all your life!" She howled with laughter at the memory and almost drove the car off the road. "Didn't they mind the girls seeing their – seeing them . . ." I stammered. "Oh, no, none of us ever worried much about that," Aunt Sue laughed. "We just said, who cares? They look just the same as us underneath, only they're scared of it and we're not. Look at little Shelley – nothing she likes better than running around in her little bare bottom – hey, Shell? It's only when she gets to school she'll have idiots telling her she shouldn't." "Why didn't you go to a naturist club before?" I asked. "Well, I married your uncle and, as you know, your family are rather strict about that sort of thing," she answered. "And I knew there was a naturist club somewhere way out in the countryside, but it was the other side of town from our farm and I'd never been there or known anybody who had gone there, so I didn't bother. But if I can go there with you and Shelley, that would be great fun, especially on the days when your uncle plays golf. Let's see how we enjoy it." I shrank back into a mixture of fear and anticipation as the car in front finally turned off the main road on to what looked like a narrow dusty farm track. But, from what I had heard, the family who started the club had converted part of their farm into a naturist club. Our two cars drove along this dirt road for about three or four kilometres before the Watkins' car turned down a side road and immediately stopped before a padlocked gate. There was a hedge all around the property so nobody could get in. I learned later that years ago there had once been a fence, but the owners planted a hedge, many kilometres long altogether, around the outside. I was not surprised to find such precautions had been taken to keep the place private. After all, if I had lived nearby I would have wanted to find a way to sneak inside. Stephen's older brother got out of their car and unlocked the gate so that both cars could drive through. He locked it again behind us, climbed back into their car and we set off slowly down the new dirt road. My heart felt as if it was going to burst as I gazed eagerly out of the windows, desperate to espy my first naked girl. There was nobody in sight. We were now driving through the woods. I had imagined somehow that we would drive into a big open place with people – especially girls – running around naked, where I would be able to feast my eyes before the dreaded moment when I would have to expose my greatest secrets to the unsuspecting world. I was quite taken aback, then, when we reached a long line of caravans beside the road, and the Watkins' car turned in beside the second one. I could see two or three more cars further up under the trees before the road turned a corner. Still everywhere looked deserted. The doors of Stephen's family car burst open and the boys poured out, naked already, or in the final stages of stripping. Aunt Sue pulled up alongside them. Puzzled and probably red-faced, I reluctantly climbed out. "Here we are, then," smiled Mrs Watkins. "The boys just can't wait. All right, let's get changed first, and then we can unpack." "Isn't there anybody else here?" I blurted out. "Oh, yes, there will be, but they'll all be up in the clubhouse area, I should think," she replied. "We'll go and join them soon, just as soon as we've undressed and unpacked." The Watkins parents began undressing and Aunt Sue was already slipping off her blouse, talking to them as she did so. I tightened with fear and excitement so much I was afraid I would burst. The dreaded, glorious moment was upon me, but it looked as if I would have to strip off before I had anything in return! I didn't count adults as trophies. I stole a glance at Aunt Sue when nobody seemed to be looking, and in my naivety I was puzzled as to why she was wearing such a small tight vest. It didn't even cover her whole chest, as mine did on the rare occasions in our warm climate when I needed one, and only looked like a sort of bikini top. I didn't dare glance at the Watkins parents. The three boys, all naked, were noisily unpacking the car. I found my excuse and started helping little Shelley off with her clothes. She always liked having me undress her and it wasn't difficult to turn this into a time-consuming job. I was soon feeling very self-conscious as the only one clothed, and thinking it would have been better to have undressed at the same time as the others rather than have to do it alone, with the possibility of receiving special attention. The others took no notice of me, though, as they unpacked and talked. I was just in the process of removing Shelley's panties, the last item before I would have to face up to undressing myself, when I heard a girl's voice calling, "Stephen, Stephen!" I looked up to see a naked girl running down the road towards us, calling and waving to my friend. "Hi, Anne," he called back. An indescribable feeling came over me as I realized that this was a girl I knew. There were two second-grade classes at our school and she was in the other one. She didn't see me straight away as I was crouched with Shelley beside our car. She ran up to Stephen, grabbed his arm and said with a big smile, "Come quickly, Stephen! There's a big new slide at the pool." I stared at her, my heart about to burst at seeing a girl I knew fully naked for the first time, and with dread in the knowledge that she would soon see me in the same state. My eyes devoured her, as she hadn't seen me yet. Anne was a pleasant-looking girl, with a clear open face, light brown hair tied back in a ponytail, and grey eyes. But this wasn't what I was looking at. I could see her hipbones just visible as she talked to Stephen, and the gentle groove of her groins as they extended down from her hips to the junction of her legs. And there, at the bottom between her legs, was a lovely little rounded slit, bright in the sunlight. I almost vomited with excitement as I stared at it, so soft, so tender, so exciting. It really did look like Shelley's or Jenny's, but this was a girl my own age and she was not ashamed of it. At least the first girl to see me naked who knew me was a nice, friendly girl, and not one likely to insult or mock me. I quite liked her although I didn't know her well, except I could recall seeing her soft white panties once or twice. Then little Shelley gave a squeal and took off around the little clearing beside the caravan, shrieking with joy. Anne looked over towards her and saw me. I must have made a pretty unimpressive sight as I crouched there in embarrassment, but relieved at being still clothed at that moment. "Oh, Roy, I didn't see you there!" she exclaimed, her open face beaming with delight. She bounced over to me, quite untroubled by the fact that she was naked and I wasn't. I scrambled to my feet as her bare body arrived right in front of my eyes and she exclaimed, "What are you doing here?" I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Stephen rescued me. "He's my friend and he's come to visit for the day," he explained. "His aunt has come too." "Hurry and come up to the pool, both of you," beamed Anne. "The new slide is so exciting. It goes up and down in the middle . . . Let me help you unpack." I think Mrs Watkins must have sensed my embarrassment, as she said gently, "Anne, would you go and wait for us at the clubhouse, please? We'll come and join you when we're ready." "All right," answered Anne agreeably. "Hurry, then," she called out to Stephen and myself, turning to wave before she ran off back up the road. I glanced for a moment at her little light-brown bottom gleaming in the sun as she ran, and then turned on Stephen. "You said there weren't any other girls from our school here!" I accused him. Stephen looked surprised. "No, you just asked me about girls from our class," he corrected me. "None of them come." "Are there any other girls from school here?" I demanded, immediately thinking of several from other classes that I certainly did not want to see me naked. "Not many – there's Sharon," he replied. "And Rachel and – and Sarah Joslin, and I don't think there are any others." Sharon was Anne's sister, in sixth grade and a prefect at the school. She too I classified as a `nice girl', as children often do. My heart speeded up again. Was I really going to see a *girl prefect* naked? Rachel was a quiet, pleasant, pretty girl in the same class as Anne, nobody I was worried about and one I would be very eager to see naked. But Sarah Joslin – I wasn't too happy about her. She was in the sixth grade, but not a prefect. I didn't know her well but her reputation was that she was not a `nice girl'. But I wasn't sure that she actually knew who I was, an ordinary boy four years younger. I must have looked very uncertain and unhappy because Mrs Watkins realized there was something wrong. "Roy, if you don't feel good about this, we're not going to force you to join us," she told me quietly and kindly, from above a mass of tanned skin that I dared not look at. "Would you rather sit in the car and read a book or something?" I thought hard. Little as I relished the prospect of presenting my naked body in public, especially if Sarah Joslin was there, I would miss the chance of seeing a prefect naked, of having another look at Anne – I longed to feast my eyes on her beautiful smooth soft body again – and any other girls who were there as well. I gulped and spluttered out, "I – I'm all right. I'll get – get changed in a minute." "All right, take your time, dear," she smiled kindly, and turned to look at Shelley, who was gaily chasing some brightly coloured butterflies that seemed to inhabit the place in large numbers. The others were already watching her and laughing at her while she, delighted to be the centre of attention, was playing up to the gallery. Nobody was taking any notice of me at that moment. I glanced nervously at Aunt Sue. She, and all the others, were laughing at Shelley and they were all naked. I had only vague memories of my parents naked from the past, and had never seen another adult naked. Now here was all this bare flesh before me, the Watkins' more tanned than Aunt Sue's. It was an unbelievable sight to my callow eyes. I felt as if I were in a completely different world. I had never imagined what Aunt Sue looked like underneath her clothes. I was literally shocked to see her breasts, large to me but fairly small by adult standards I was to find. They were rounded and sagging a little, with large pink nipples hanging down slightly. She was always slightly plump, although not badly so, but it showed a bit more when she was naked. I had seen her stomach before when she wore her regular bikini and it hung slightly over the lower portion. But I was quite unprepared for what had previously lain hidden underneath. There was a large patch of black hair between her legs where the vagina had been. I couldn't help staring, but fortunately she was not watching me. I wondered if it was real. I thought it couldn't be. I stole the quickest of glances at Mrs Watkins, and was amazed to see that she also had a patch of hair there, which was a rather lighter brown. Mrs Watkins also had breasts that stuck out but didn't sag. I had always been aware that women had bosoms but had never wondered what they looked like, because I had never been made aware that viewing them was forbidden. Girls my age in our country usually wear similar swimming costumes to boys – out of school - up until the age of about ten, and they have no inhibitions about letting boys see their chests, which look exactly the same as boys' anyway. I actually felt horrified. I thought Aunt Sue's exposed body looked so ugly, and felt the same about other women when I saw them shortly afterwards. I was also to see men, with their large penises dangling down and hair at the top, and hoped I never looked as ugly as that. Other children my age, with their small hairless parts, I thought really beautiful. It actually took me a couple of years as a naturist before I began to feel that maybe adults were not quite so ugly after all. Even today, when my own penis has grown somewhat and sprouted pubic hair, I still have a preference for the beautiful unsullied bodies of preteen children. It is a wonderful sight to me to see children between about eight and twelve, who should in `normal' society be very shy of revealing their naked bodies, running around and playing happily, enjoying their nakedness and completely uninhibited. Not that I ever have any sexual desires towards them at all. It is sensual rather than sexual, the most beautiful sight in all the world to me. They look so vulnerable, especially the girls. I am really a very chivalrous person and I just want to be a big brother to them, nothing more, loving them and protecting them while I enjoy their beauty. (To be continued) THE DAY I BECAME A NATURIST (CHAPTER 6) I didn't know whether the others were deliberately giving me the chance to strip off when they weren't looking, but I did know I had better do it now. I kept my sandals on, as did all the others as the ground was rough in places. I pulled off my shirt, and gulped. My heartbeat rose rapidly as I fearfully pulled down my shorts. I felt exposed already in my white underpants. But they too had to go. I slid half behind the car and, with trembling fingers, pulled them down and my penis popped into view. Feeling desperately vulnerable and with one hand nervously clutching my crotch, I looked at the others. Stephen's younger brother looked at me, grinned in a friendly way and turned back to watch Shelley's show. I was very much afraid at the time he was grinning at the sight of my penis, but I later realised it wasn't. I glanced down at my penis, looking so small, white and vulnerable as it made its first appearance in public since I first became self-conscious about it. It gleamed in a patch of sunlight shining down through the treetops. I shivered, and I'm sure my penis came out in gooseflesh, despite the heat of the day. Defensively I clutched it with my fingers. It felt so cold, and my little scrotum was snuggled up closely to my body. I thought again about the sensual delights ahead of me, and my penis gave a quick spurt of urine before I could stop it. Appalled, I moved away hurriedly and glanced at the others, but to my utmost relief they had not been looking at me. My quick movements, though, attracted their attention and they glanced briefly at me. I don't think they could have helped but notice how strained and embarrassed I was. I needed to urinate but was too shy to ask. Shelley was coming to the end of her show and ran to Aunt Sue for a hug. Mrs Watkins looked around and then suggested brightly, "Well, shall we move up to the clubhouse now? There are so many people who would be delighted to meet you all." The others began to pick up bags and picnic baskets while I stayed frozen to the spot, one hand right next to my penis, partly to shield it from view and partly to grab it should it decide to engage in any involuntary action again without my consent. Stephen saved me. "I need a wee first," he announced, heading for a bush at the back of the caravan. His little brother followed him and I knew I had better seize my chance. My penis was already spurting as I reached the bush. The three of us must have looked a funny sight, standing there side by side with our bare bottoms facing the road and all urinating together into the same bush. I'm sure my face was red now and I felt horribly exposed, but nobody laughed. Stephen's penis was a little longer than mine, but still pretty normal, while his brother's was quite thin and stringy. Before I had finished, I could see Shelley toddling up on my left. She was only two and we had often had a bath together before that fateful day when my swimming costume failed to co-operate at the school pool, so she had seen me naked before. I turned my face away in embarrassment, though, thinking she had come to examine my penis. Instead, she called out gaily, "Look at me, Mummy! I'm like the boys." She thrust her hips forward and tried to urinate standing up, like the three of us. Then she gave an exclamation of disappointment as most of her little stream of urine poured down her leg instead of spraying into the bush. "Oh, no, Shelley, girls don't do it standing up," laughed Aunt Sue. "Well, they can, but I'll have to teach you how sometime. Come here and let me dry you now." Whimpering, Shelley ran back to my aunt, who wiped her leg dry with tissue paper. "I want to stand up like the boys," she complained. "I'll teach you how later on," promised Aunt Sue. She obviously did, because I never again saw Shelley urinating sitting down. She learned how to press herself in the right place to send the spray outwards and keep her legs dry. Even today, she is still adamant that she will always urinate standing and enjoys teaching other girls the skill. We took the baskets and walked up the road towards the clubhouse. It was over a hundred metres away, and there were a lot of caravans on either side of the road. Most of the members owned their own caravans. I pulled my hat and towel out of the basket I was carrying and held them as casually as I could at around belly-button level so they hung down and covered my penis. We passed a few other families, either talking walks or heading for the clubhouse as well, having just arrived. They greeted the Watkinses cheerily. "Please don't introduce me to anybody," I pleaded urgently to Mrs Watkins, still ashamed of my nakedness. "I just want to make friends by myself." "All right, I'll try not to," she smiled, and she did a pretty good job, introducing Aunt Sue while I tried to keep out of sight among Stephen and his brothers. There were a few other boys and girls who came up to meet Stephen, but as children of that age tend to do they usually ignored me as one they didn't know. I made no effort to be friendly as I was far too self-conscious, but I greedily feasted my eyes on the girls. I was surprised to find there were some differences among their vaginas, although they were not usually as individual as boys' penises. Some vaginas are, of course, a little longer or wider than others. Some are flatter than others and some are more rounded than others. As with fat boys, I soon found that fat girls tend to have small vaginas hidden away beneath their legs. Some girls, I was intrigued to see, actually seemed to have something sticking down a bit inside their vaginas at the top, almost as if there was a tiny penis hidden inside. In my ignorance, I wondered if it was, and watched them carefully to see if it ever came out. Their vaginas seemed to describe a double line instead of the single slit that most girls there seemed to have. One or two little girls had what I came to call a buttonhole vagina. The tops of their vaginas seemed a little wider and more rounded than the rest, as if they were topped with a little buttonhole. I noticed that as my sister Jenny grew a little older, her vagina began to look the same, although it seemed to lose this characteristic when she was about six or seven. I was most intrigued by girls of about eleven or twelve, just beginning puberty, and their growing patches of hair, mostly black or a lighter brown, just appearing between their legs. Some of them had vaginas that looked strangely fuzzy at first, and it took a closer look to discover that they were just beginning to develop little light puffs of downy hair. With some I could see quite clearly the little strands of hair spreading outwards from the vagina. Their developing breasts also fascinated me. This was something I had never even thought about before, as I mentioned earlier. At first I thought them ugly and deformed, but I gradually got used to them. I have never really liked them large, though. After a few months, I fell in love with those little breasts that were just growing, just sticking up from the skin like a tiny replica of Mount Fujiyama. Others seemed rather to grow broader, so that the girl for a few months looked more like a boy with a muscular chest. When they eventually became really large, like a pair of funnels I would say, I sadly gave up my interest in them, just as I did with the vaginas once they developed a real mat of hair. As we continued to walk along the track, I could clearly hear the shouts and laughter of children up ahead, and the splashing of water in the swimming pool. Then we came out into an open space, and I could see the clubhouse up in front, with a bar on the large veranda, and a large number of naked adults talking and drinking and enjoying each other's company. It was like suddenly walking into a terrifying strange new world. In front of the veranda was a large, beautifully kept lawn, and in the middle of that was the swimming pool, surrounded by wire netting to avoid accidents but to allow parents to see all that was going on there. Naked children were running around inside the pool area, swimming in the water and using the diving boards and slides. A few adults were in there as well. There were a few other children playing on the lawn or on the veranda with the adults, but these were mainly younger ones. "Isn't this great?" Stephen grinned at me. I nodded, speechless. "Come up to the veranda first, and you can meet people and have a drink," suggested Mrs Watkins to us all. "Aw, Mum, please may we have a swim first?" pleaded Stephen. "I'm so hot." I was very grateful to him. I wanted to get into that pool, all the better to watch the girls, and also to hide my penis underwater. "Oh, all right, just for a short while," agreed his mother. We threw our baskets on to the adults and took off for the swimming pool, with myself still holding my hat and towel ridiculously over my penis. "Hello, Stephen! Hello, Roy!" Anne greeted us happily, climbing out of the pool in front of us, her long hair, now loose, hanging wetly all over her face and shoulders. Flushing furiously, I tried to hide my naked body behind Stephen and tried not to look too obviously at that lovely soft smooth wet vagina. "Come and try the new slide," she urged us, grabbing our arms. She had never seen me naked before, and she could not see my penis now because I had them covered with my hat and towel. She obviously wasn't the slightest bit interested in seeing it at all, I realised with great relief. Not that I was willing to give her a chance if I could help it. I could see the new slide and a line of about ten children, naturally naked, all eagerly lined up to use it. It looked very exciting. It was about three metres high, went through a small tunnel, and then up over a hump, down again and into the pool. There was a great deal of shouting and laughter, and in normal circumstances I would have been only too eager to have a turn as quickly as possible. But to join the queue would have meant putting my towel and hat down and exposing my white genitals in the same way that the others were doing. I didn't want to do that yet. "I want a swim first," I blurted out. Breaking away from Anne's arm, I plunged into the pool, dropping my hat and towel on the edge in the same moment. I came to the surface with some relief, my penis largely protected from the public by the water. Anne and Stephen had given me up, and were chattering excitedly at the back of the queue to the slide. There were shrieks of mixed fright and delight as an older girl, little breasts just sprouting, bounced down the slide and landed with a splash less than five metres from me. I paddled aimlessly around by myself for a while, too ashamed of my nakedness to join in with anybody else, but very happy to be feasting my eyes on naked girls of all ages. I stared at them in the queue or as they ran round the pool, fascinated by the little breasts of those just verging on puberty, a new dimension I had never envisaged. I could not get enough of their little smooth vaginas, or the little patches of hair covering the spot for those aged about eleven or over. I felt disappointed that at this stage the vaginas should be hidden under the hair, yet the hair itself fascinated me. Stephen and Anne tried to encourage me to try the slide, but when I told them "Later" a couple of times they left me. I wished I could have joined them, but still did not feel ready to display my body out of the water. Then a boy of about ten, being chased around the side of the pool by a friend, accidentally kicked my towel into the water. "Hey!" I shouted crossly as he looked down guiltily. "That's my towel!" "Shouldn't have left it there," he retorted, but he did reach down and grab it before it sank. My main consternation was that a soaking wet towel would not be appropriate for shielding my penis from view any longer, and I was cross and alarmed. Illogically and without thinking, I scrambled out of the pool and grabbed it from him. I held it at arm's length as it dripped water in a steady stream. "Oh, sorry, Roy," said Anne, coming over as she seemed to have seen what happened. "Here, let's put it over a branch to dry." Before I had time to think, and at the same moment that I realized that I was naked out of the water, she took it from me and went over to the nearest tree. I must have gone pale with the realization that I had blown all my cover. Should I leap back into the pool quickly? Anne draped my towel over a branch and turned to me. "Come and try the slide now," she urged me, drawing me by the arm towards the slide before I had worked out what to do. All this time she had not stolen a single glance at my nether regions. As we stood in the queue she happily chattered away about what it felt like on the slide, looking me in the face all the time, while I surreptitiously stood there with one hand defensively clutching my penis. As we moved up the ladder bit by bit, I glanced fearfully around and found that nobody else was staring at me either. She was ahead of me on the ladder, and my eyes were about level with her little tanned bottom. When she reached the top, as the boy in front of her took his turn, she turned towards me as she continued to chatter. Her little rounded vagina was right in front of my eyes. I could see the inward curve of the flesh like two little lips, and even the tiny little fair hairs that would one day darken and grow. It was still damp with pool water and shining in the sunlight. I could have reached out and touched it, or kissed it, as I often fantasized later. With a start, I tore my eyes away and looked up at her, terrified she would have seen me staring. But she was still chatting away, and then she swung herself on to the edge of the slide. "Let's go together!" she squealed. "Sit behind me, Roy!" If she had looked back, I could never have done it. But, facing the front, she lifted her arms for me to slip my legs underneath, as I had seen others do. Afraid that others might be watching me, I quickly sat behind her and spread out my legs on either side of her as she grabbed my shins with her hands, making sure my penis was nowhere near her back. Then before I knew it we were off. Through the tunnel, up over the hump we went, with Anne squealing with delight and myself in terrified silence. I was still terrified of being seen naked and knew that a lot of people were watching me right now, but it was a great slide. We splashed into the pool together and I landed half on top of Anne. I could feel her wet bare body against mine as we scrambled upright together and she looked into my eyes, hers shining. "Again!" she ordered, making for the side of the pool. I followed and scrambled out, still painfully aware that I was exposing my penis to the public again. But each time I did it I became a little less worried, a little less shy. I won't say I quickly overcame my self-consciousness because that took a few hours, after my traumatic episode at school, but I began to feel free to be naked without fear. We played together, Stephen as well and two or three others whom they had befriended, for quite a while. We were splashing about together in the pool when we heard a voice calling Anne. Looking over to the side of the pool, I felt my heart tighten suddenly. There was Sharon, Anne's sister, eleven years old – and a respected prefect at school. She was naked! I had never seen, or imagined I might see, a girl prefect naked before. I stared in awe. Sharon was bending over a little as Anne swam towards her at the side of the pool. Her long dark brown hair hung loosely over her shoulders, but not quite enough to obscure little pointed breasts poking out from her chest. There below was her flat stomach, her loins – and between her legs a little patch of black hair. I held my breath and gazed in awe, at the same time frustrated that the hair obscured her vagina – a prefect's vagina! Then a wonderful thing happened. Anne reached the side of the pool, where she put her hands up to hold on, and Sharon squatted down in front of her to tell her something. There, just above Anne's head, was an awesome sight that would have blown my pants and socks off, had I been wearing any. There was that little patch of black hair at the top. It thinned out lower down, in the area right underneath, between her legs when she stood upright. But now that area was exposed and pointing right in my direction. I saw a piece of flesh that, once I was old enough to make comparisons, reminded me ever since of an African war shield, long, with broadly curved sides and a triangle apparently coming to a point at the bottom. It was a darker pink than the rest of her flesh, but not ugly and red as I soon classified that area in older females. It looked soft and loose. Running down the middle of it was what looked to me like a long, long black slit. I think my mouth dropped open in awe and my ears sang. I had actually – I still couldn't believe it – I was actually seeing a girl prefect naked. Right in front of my eyes! I stared again, at that little black patch of hair, at that pink war shield, at that long, long slit down the middle, reaching it seemed right round to her bottom. And then she stood up and walked away, with Anne climbing out of the pool after her. Anne turned and waved at the rest of us, calling, "Got to go now. See you later." I was too stunned to respond. What I had seen – if I was a millionaire I think I would have given my whole fortune to see that sight, normally forbidden to boys, that sight beyond imagination. This place was the gate of paradise itself. I felt a thrill beyond anything else I had ever known, and I clutched my penis under the water convulsively. I just wanted to spend the rest of my life enjoying sights like that. Sharon – what beauty! Absolutely awesome! I just couldn't believe I had actually seen what I did. A prefect, too, of all people! Not long afterwards Aunt Sue came down to the pool to invite us up to the clubhouse for a drink, and being Aunt Sue she had a turn on the slide, to everybody's amusement. I was thirsty by now, but still nervous about appearing naked in front of all those adults, although they were naked too. I felt very self-conscious as I followed Aunt Sue and Stephen and his brothers out of the pool area and across the grass, up a slope to the clubhouse where all the adults were. But somehow it didn't seem real. The sun and the colours seemed brighter than they had ever been before. The whole world seemed different somehow. It was as if I were back in the Garden of Eden. We had a drink and some biscuits with Stephen's family, and I had to share Stephen's towel as we sat on the ground next to their table, as mine was still wet. None of the adults seemed to be taking any notice of me, which suited me fine. (To be continued) THE DAY I BECAME A NATURIST (CHAPTER 7) After a while Aunt Sue noticed that I had left my hat in the pool area, so she sent me off to fetch it before anything happened to it. I found it, damp, and then investigated my towel. As it was drying rapidly I took it back with me so I would not have to share – and also to hide my penis on the return journey. Still feeling very vulnerable, but also as if I were on another, brighter, planet, I walked back to rejoin the others, trying to remain invisible. I was not successful. I heard a loud call, "Hey, Roy!" over to my left, and I involuntarily turned. It was Anne, sitting under a tree about ten metres away with her family group, smiling and waving at me. I wished I had pretended not to hear, but it was too late and it would have been hard not to. Most of those in the group were looking at me, making me feel more vulnerable than ever, even though I had my towel in place. "Come and join us, Roy!" Anne called, smiling and waving. "We've got strawberries!" Her mother also beckoned me over, so I slunk over as reluctantly as I had ever done to the head teacher's office, despite the lure of strawberries. Anne's parents were sitting on deck chairs, while the children were cross-legged on the floor. Sharon had her back to me, but she turned round and smiled at me as I approached, causing me to blush furiously. Rachel had arrived, and she too greeted me with a smile. My heart pumped desperately as I saw her sitting there naked, but from the side, so I was unable to satisfy my curiosity about what lay between her legs. "Roy, come and have a bowl of strawberries," her mother instructed me. She was a good-looking woman, with a smooth tanned skin and smaller, tighter breasts than Aunt Sue. She reached down to the basket beside her and I stole a glance lower down. All I could see was a patch of medium brown hair disappearing downwards. I choked out some thanks as she placed a large bowl of strawberries with cream in one hand, my other still desperately clutching my towel. I wanted to look at the girls but did not dare, as I could tell they were all looking at me. "Sit down with us and eat them here, if you can spare a moment," Anne's mother invited me. "You're welcome to join us. What brings you here today?" I stared at the strawberries, which normally I loved, but I felt too desperately excited to want food at the moment. I looked down at Anne and Rachel, smiling up at me, but didn't dare to look below face-level. Then disaster happened. I moved my hand and the spoon in my bowl of strawberries fell out. Instinctively I tried to catch it with my other hand, and my towel fell down. As I tried to catch my towel, I almost dropped the bowl, and to save it clutched it tightly to my chest. The towel fell and the open end of the bowl pressed against my skin, so I could feel the cold strawberries and the sticky cream on my chest. I couldn't move in a hurry without dropping the entire bowl, and in my current state of mind I was sure that was what I was going to do if I moved at all. My worst nightmare had come true. There I was, stark naked in front of all those girls, with my towel fallen and strawberries all over my chest. I awaited the inevitable squeals of laughter and ridicule. It didn't happen. There were squeals, but just of surprise at my accident. Rachel reached forward to pick up my towel. With an exclamation of sympathy, Anne's mother stood up and rescued the bowl for me. Using a spoon, she cleaned up my chest. There was no laughter, despite the fact that my penis was now on public show and, I later discovered, even had a blob of white cream on the end. "There, now, are you all right, dear?" laughed the mother, but it was a laugh of sympathy. "I'll hold the bowl for you until you've sat down, then just enjoy it. There, just sit next to Rachel." Looking down, I saw Rachel was spreading my towel out for me on the ground between her and Anne's mother, left knee down, right knee up, and such a sweet little vagina in between. I glanced away as soon as I could, feeling very guilty about staring at it when she and the others had not so much giggled at my sudden self-exposure. I sat down on the towel, forgetting to thank Rachel, and placing the bowl immediately in front of my penis. It was in fact the best possible seat I could have asked for. On my right were Rachel and Anne, both half-facing me as they showed an interest in me – and right opposite me was Sharon, sitting with her legs crossed only about three metres away and everything visible. "There you are," said Anne's mother kindly, giving me the bowl and the spoon. "Roy, you know Sharon from school, don't you?" "I'm sure he does," came Sharon's friendly voice as I desperately avoided looking at her. "Hello, Roy." I mumbled something in return, desperately looking down into my bowl and afraid my cheeks were burning furiously. Sharon laughed, but it was a friendly laugh. "I'm not a prefect here, Roy, so you don't have to worry about me," she said kindly. But I was too overcome to reply coherently, and I suppose the others thought I was just shy. Actually I was still overcome with the shock of seeing her naked body. Seven-year-olds just don't realize that the dignified and greatly respected prefects are human too. "So what brings you here today, Roy?" Anne's mother asked again. I replied that I had come with Stephen. "Have you ever been to a naturist place before?" asked Rachel. I nodded unconvincingly, looking down and starting to eat my strawberries. Of course, the next question asked me where, so I said I didn't remember, even less convincingly. They chatted to me for a while, and I just wished they would leave me alone for a while. Then Sharon waved and called out, "Maria!", spotting a friend. Maria was actually another girl at our school, a local girl of Mediterranean stock, although she was not a prefect. I knew her only by sight, and probably Stephen had not realized she was at the school or forgotten her, as he had not mentioned her to me as one of those who came to the club. Maria came over shyly to join us. She was always a quiet, shy girl, but pleasant and quite pretty. Like all the locals, she had black hair, rather curly, which was cut short above the shoulders. She had the narrow Mediterranean nose, not prominent but straight and forming an acute angle with the face. I was fascinated to see the same acute angle from her neck downwards, in a straight line until it reached the tip of her little breasts, and then there was a little rounded overhang as it joined her stomach. Instead of the patch of pubic hair, such as Sharon had, there was a little vertical ridge of black hair, with the black lips of a soft broad vagina still just visible at the bottom. As the others were all looking in Maria's direction as she came towards us, I quickly dared to look at Sharon. Her head was turned over her shoulder as she greeted Maria and one knee was raised, but I had a full, unimpeded view of her beauty. Again there was that patch of black hair at the top, and the black slit emerging at the bottom. It now seemed to be shortened and opened out somewhat, in a way I couldn't understand, with little folds of rounded flesh as it sat on that darker pink area between her legs. Then Maria came into the middle of our group, to be offered some strawberries by Sharon's mother, so I quickly averted my eyes from Sharon and stole another glance at Maria. There was no way I wanted anybody to know I was gazing at Sharon. Anne and Rachel were chattering away with their heads together next to me, and I stole a glance at Rachel. She was a pretty girl with a round face, rosy cheeks and big blue eyes. She had short fair hair that hung rather untidily over her face. And down between her legs, her little vagina hadn't yet lost its puppy fat. It was chubby and the lips were well rounded. I could even see the tiny fair hairs on her body. There was a little rounded `buttonhole' at the top. I suddenly felt ashamed of myself for hiding my penis when the others were so willing to share their nakedness with me. I finished my strawberries and gave back the bowl to Sharon's mother, and then sat next to the girls with my knees up and apart, so that my little penis hung down the middle in full view. I still felt very uncomfortable about doing this, but I felt I wanted to give something in return, to share myself with them. Nobody seemed to notice. I felt relieved, yet strangely disappointed. I listened to Rachel and Anne talking. "My mum had visitors yesterday," I heard Rachel say with a giggle. "I didn't know they had come, so I hadn't put my clothes on. I just walked into the lounge when they were there and they looked so surprised!" "Sharon had something like that happen to her last year," replied Anne. "She was in the swimming pool when they came, and she had to call me to fetch her swimming costume and towel before she could get out." I was amazed. These girls actually went around their own homes and swam in their pools naked, by the sound of it! To me, just beginning, nakedness was something you did at this wonderful place I had just discovered, but at home clothes were always expected to be worn. I would no more have imagined, even now, walking round my house naked than I would have gone for a bath with all my clothes on. "Do you – go round your houses naked?" I blurted out unbelievingly. "Oh, yes. Don't you?" replied Anne, sounding amazed in turn. I hardly knew how to answer. Then I finally said," My parents won't let me." "Oh, poor you," they sympathized, as if I was being denied a wonderful everyday experience. I began to think that I was. I was still thinking about it when I suddenly felt two chubby arms round my neck and a damp yell into my ear. Shelley had arrived, sent by my aunt to find me. Everybody turned and looked as Shelley, standing behind me and arms still round my neck, expressed her delight at finding me. "Oh, isn't she sweet? Is that your sister, Roy?" asked Sharon. So I introduced Shelley to them, and she was immediately introduced to the strawberries, which she received with shrieks of glee. She did a tour of the group, eating and spilling strawberries while she chattered away and enjoyed the attention. Before very long, we decided we wanted another swim, so off we trooped to the pool again. I was feeling much less self-conscious now, although it still seemed to me as if I was on another planet. I was virtually forgotten by the others, who all wanted to look after Shelley, who collected her water wings from her mother and was bubbling with excitement. I didn't mind at all, as I was still adjusting. As I was splashing around by myself in the busy pool, a girl swam into me. "Hey, watch where you're going," she frowned at me, which I didn't think was fair as I was sure it was more her fault than mine. I didn't reply, as to my dismay I recognized Sarah Joslin, the other girl from my school and the one I had hoped to avoid. "Hey, haven't I seen you before?" she challenged me. I could see recognition dawning in her freckled face. "Aren't you the one the girls were all teasing at school because your swimming costume fell down?" she asked me. I went through shock. Even at this place, it seemed, I was going to suffer more ridicule as my mishap of the past caught up with me. I was dumbstruck. Fortunately Sarah didn't demand a reply of me. "Stupid little ticks," she snorted. "I bet they'd squeal loud enough if their precious little fannies ever saw the light of day." And with that she swam on. I stared after her in the bliss of relief. Of course – she was a naturist and didn't see anything silly in what had happened to me. In fact, she was contemptuous of the girls rather than of me. I almost felt I liked her as I watched her climb out of the pool. Up went one leg over the side, revealing a little bulge of pale pink skin hanging down under her legs, with a line down the middle and two or three long brown wet hairs stuck together with a drip of water on the end. She stood up, and then turned to look back across the pool, but not at me. I was fascinated to see that her breasts were more developed than those of her peers Sharon or Maria, while her vagina appeared less so. Her breasts were like little rounded jellies with a cherry on top of each. Her vagina was quite easily visible, although there was a thin area of light brown fuzz at the top. Then she waved to somebody behind me and leapt in the pool again to swim across to her. I soon felt quite exhausted. All the excitement had used up all the adrenaline in my body and I had no energy left. But there was too much still to watch for me to think of taking a nap. I sat quietly under a tree with my knees under my chin and drank in the sights of paradise, my knowledge of female anatomy increasing by leaps and bounds. I had further education when one girl not far from me bent over to take her sandals off before swimming. Most girls would sit on the ground to do it, but this one bent over, bottom high in the air, so I could see between her legs. I could see a sort of downward bulge as the crack in her bottom seemed to meet her vagina, almost like a boy's scrotum. As I looked right underneath I was reminded of a zip fastener as her vagina, on what I later discovered was called a pubic mound, curved round, dark and almost jagged, out of sight round her front. I was interested to note something I thought strange about Rachel when she stood in a normal way. Her vagina was not centralised. Instead of appearing to come from directly between her legs, it seemed to come out of her groin a little to the right-hand side of the junction between her body and legs. Before the afternoon was out, I saw one or two other girls whose anatomy was similarly constructed. I wondered if they were a little deformed and thought it a fascinating phenomenon. (To be continued) THE DAY I BECAME A NATURIST (CHAPTER 8) Mostly I kept my eyes on Sharon. I felt sure I was in love with her. Even today, just simply seeing a girl naked can set my heart fluttering, with a desire to love and protect her in her vulnerability. I had to be careful, though, because I was sure she kept looking at me, and I was afraid she had noticed I was staring at her nether regions. I stared at her again as she climbed out of the pool near me, the little black patch soaked with water, an unclear kind of shadow where her loins disappeared between her legs and a couple of longer strands of hair hanging down and dripping water. Then she looked at me, and immediately I shifted my gaze away, afraid that I had looked for too long and she had caught me doing it. I froze with dread as she walked over to where I was sitting, scared that she would scold me. Instead, she crouched down next to me, smiled at me and asked, "Roy, has anybody shown you round the club grounds yet?" Dumbly I shook my head. "Would you like to come around with me and I'll show you everything?" she asked. I thought for a moment, and then silently nodded. She laughed. "Oh, Roy, you mustn't be so shy of me! I'm not a prefect here, you know." She took my hand as I got to my feet and led me out of the pool area. Within a moment we were walking into the woods, leaving the noise and the brightness behind. Sharon kept talking to me, but I was unable to answer much. She thought I was shy of her, and that was true, but only because I felt completely in love with her. It was also an unbelievable situation for me. In my wildest dreams in the few days beforehand I may have imagined something like it, but that did not enable me to cope with the reality of the situation. Here I was, walking hand in hand with the kindest and most beautiful of girl prefects, and she was quite naked – we both were. My eyes were level with her small breasts, and when I was able to look down . . . Even now I cannot describe the awe and wonder I felt at being privileged to share the nakedness of this older girl, and she didn't mind at all. She seemed totally unaware of my worship of her body, as she behaved as naturally in her glorious nakedness as she did in her school uniform – in fact, more so. I felt so guilty about feasting my eyes on her nakedness and desperate to give something in return. My penis was of course exposed to her view, but she obviously paid no more attention to it than she would to my feet or my ears. If I was younger I might have done what a five-year-old girl did to me not so long ago when she proudly invited me, "Look at my wee." But I had learned to be more subtle than that. So as we walked along I told her hesitantly, "I need to do a wee," and stopped by a suitable tree that looked as if it were in need of nourishment. Sharon politely turned her back as she waited for me to finish, but that was not what I wanted. I wanted to give it to her in trust. So after a moment's thought, looking at the back of her head, I announced proudly, "Look what I can do." That did make her turn round, and so I thrust my hips forward, pointed my penis upwards and urinated as hard as I could. The little stream of urine did not go very far up the tree trunk, and I think Sharon was rather embarrassed to watch it. But I felt ridiculously pleased with myself, feeling that I had shared something extra special with her as a sign of our mutual trust. I also had hopes in the back of my mind that she might return the trust – if prefects ever did urinate at all – but she didn't. My `gift' helped me to open up a bit more to Sharon and be a bit more chatty as she led me around, through the woods and up a small hill where we could stand naked in the sun and see for kilometres in every direction. She pointed out several landmarks, but I was too overcome with joy and wonder to listen. Then she showed me a little stream that bubbled down from the hill. As we reached the bottom we found a few of the children playing in the water and in the mud on the banks. Normally I would have loved to join in, but Sharon clearly in my opinion was too old to play in the mud – prefects could never play in mud! – so we moved on. There was even a small orchard at the club, but the fruit was not ripe, and a small field of growing wheat. We finally walked up the road with caravans on either side and arrived back at the pool, after what seemed an eternity with my goddess. Anne ran up to us, calling, "Sharon, where have you been? We were looking for you. Mummy says we must go now as we're going out tonight. Come to the caravan and get dressed." Sharon turned to say goodbye to me, but another thought came to me. "Please – can I see inside your caravan?" I asked. "Yes, if you like," agreed Sharon happily, and the three of us walked back towards their family caravan, which Sharon had already pointed out to me. I wasn't interested in their caravan. The `get dressed' call from Anne made me wonder – what kind of panties did prefects wear? I longed to find out. I soon had my wish. I went inside with the girls, through to their tiny bedroom, and they took their clothes from their beds as I pretended to show interest in their decorating. I was already familiar with Anne's underwear and I watched covertly as Sharon took her panties off her bed, where they lay with her dress, and stepped into them. They were plain and white, a rich deep white, and looked as soft and white as wool. I should have known that my goddess would wear the most beautiful panties of all. I longed to put out my hand and touch them, and the desire became too great for me. Sharon reached out to pick up her dress. Knowing nothing of bras, I had never wondered if she wore one, and she didn't – not yet. There was very little room inside their bedroom, and I squeezed past her, pretending I wanted to look out of the window. As I did so, my hand sort of accidentally brushed quite firmly against her panties at the back. I shuddered at the softness, the wool-like feeling, and at the soft, firm buttock underneath. Ever since then, I have loved this kind of panties best of all, and it still gives me a warm sensual feeling to see a pair. I felt a moment of terror as I thought I had gone too far, that Sharon must surely realize what I was doing. But instead she just tried to move out of my way and even said, "Sorry, Roy," when I was the one who should have been apologizing. Moments later she was dressed in an attractive red and yellow dress that came halfway down her thighs, and I suddenly felt shy of her again. She looked completely different now that she was clothed. I burst out abruptly, "I've got to go now," and headed for the door. "Goodbye, Roy," the two girls called after me, and Sharon added, "It's been nice talking to you today." At the same moment I thought to myself that if I had stayed for a moment instead of moving out so quickly, she might even have given me a goodbye kiss. Would she? I thought momentarily of going back, of saying something, just in case – but I didn't. Then I wished I had. But it was too late. After all my wonderful time with her, I left the caravan bitterly frustrated because I might have had a goodbye kiss if only I had waited, if only I had thought of it in time . . . I'm afraid I blundered out without even saying goodbye to the parents and thanking them for their hospitality. I returned to Aunt Sue, feeling utterly exhausted. This brilliant new Garden of Eden had suddenly become too much for me. I sat quietly beside her chair as she chatted and laughed with her new-found friends and even snapped at little Shelley as she wanted to play with me. Fortunately she like her mother had no difficulty in finding other friends. Finally Aunt Sue decided it was time to go, as she wanted to get back home before dark. Too exhausted to say much by way of grateful thanks to Stephen and his family and the other friendly people I had got to know during the day, I dressed and climbed into the car, and we had hardly left the property before Shelley and I both fell fast asleep. I vaguely remember arriving home in the half-dark and my father picking me up and carrying me up to my bedroom. I sleepily assured my parents that I'd had a wonderful time and was alert enough to call out to Aunt Sue, asking if we were going again the next day, Sunday. With a laugh, Aunt Sue said we weren't, but she would talk to me about it sometime later. Home seemed so dark, dreary and boring after that wonderful paradise that seemed as if it were on the other planet. I knew my parents had not really approved of my going, so I had to be careful of what I told them, but I did tell them what a wonderful place it was and begged them to join the club. They of course had no interest in joining at all, but might think about letting me go again after they had spoken more about it to Aunt Sue. I was still feeling exhausted the next day when Stephen came round, as we had arranged. With my parents there, there was no nudity and I found it disappointing. Everyday life had become very grey to me after the thrills of the club. As soon as I saw Aunt Sue again, which I think was on Monday evening, I begged her to go again. I knew she had really enjoyed it, but then Aunt Sue enjoys everything. I was delighted when she told me she was thinking of joining the club, and she told my parents what a wonderful place it was, what wonderful people there were, and I would be welcome to come with her whenever she went, and that they should be quite happy if I went there with Stephen's family and without her. So that is how it all started. Aunt Sue became a member, although she did not actually buy a caravan because my uncle remained uninterested and she always returned to him at night. Most weekends, when my parents would let me, I would join her and Shelley and we would go out to the club together. Later on Jenny came too, and she and Shelley thus had the great privilege that I didn't have of growing up in the naturist lifestyle and therefore never having any hang-ups about nakedness or any urge to see others naked, as this was so natural for them. I still remember that traumatic experience for me at the school pool, although the pain quickly wore off after a few weeks at the Orindo Sun Club, as it was called. If it happened to me nowadays, I don't think it would bother me at all. But I still have that desire to admire the beauty of naked bodies, and don't feel I really know anybody until we have seen each other naked. I looked forward to those early visits to the club with a desperate longing. It gave me a deep warmth inside as I meditated on what had now actually happened, on the girls I met there and befriended and played with and watched – and watched. Especially Sharon. I still felt very shy of her around school, but she was quite natural with me and sought me out to say hello quite a few times. I know now she really liked me, like an older sister. But it was never quite the same when we were at school and she was a prefect in uniform. It was hard to imagine that I had seen the beauty that lay hidden underneath. Fortunately I had the sense never to tell my non-naturist friends at school that I had actually seen one of the revered prefects naked. I doubt they would have believed me anyway. At the age of seven, prefects can't be naked. After several weeks all the strangeness about being naked had worn off. One day I almost walked out of the changing room at school swimming naked, forgetting to put on my costume. The other boys laughed at me, but by now I didn't mind at all. At home I felt frustrated at having to wear clothes, especially when the weather was hot. Jenny would at times do as I had done no doubt as a baby, and when I was a little older as well, crawl around the garden naked. When I asked permission to do the same at my age, I was refused. The furthest I could go was to wear only a pair of shorts, as my father did in the heat. I would sometimes strip off in the privacy of my bedroom. I would say goodnight to my parents in the evening, and then remove my pyjamas upstairs and sleep naked. It felt strange at first, and my penis would rub up against the sheets in an unusual way, before I grew used to it. I remembered Anne and Rachel talking about how they often went naked at home, and wished I could do the same. One hot Sunday morning, after spending the Saturday at the club, I decided to try it, and went down to breakfast, very nervously, quite unclothed. My mother stared at me as if I were the most forgetful creature on earth, and then began to laugh, which annoyed me. "Roy, go and put your clothes on," she smiled at me, speaking as if I had forgotten. "Do I have to?" I moaned. "It's so hot." "Your father and I don't walk around the place without any clothes on," she informed me. "It's not decent. Don't go getting any silly ideas to bring home from your club." So I had to cover up, much to my disappointment. I was hoping that at least my parents would admire my all-over tan that was just developing and of which I was becoming very proud. When Jenny became a year old, my mother decided to get a mornings-only job and do what many other mothers in the English-speaking community did by hiring a maid from a reputable local firm to look after the children. I saw little of the maid, whose name was Carmen, until the next school holidays. I often visited friends or had friends visit me, of course, but there were mornings when I was home by myself, with just the maid and Jenny there. Sometimes Shelley joined us as well, but not always, because Aunt Sue does part-time or supply teaching at the English high school and so does not go out to work during the holidays. I knew even at that age that the local people, of Mediterranean stock, were much more casual about nakedness than the stuffy British. I didn't try anything for two weeks until I got to know her better. Then one morning Shelley came round and soon decided she wanted a swim. She threw off her clothes, as she usually does, and as Carmen fixed her water-wings I decided I would make a break for my bodily freedom. Until then, I had always worn my swimming costume when I used our pool. This time, I took off all my clothes, trying to be as casual as I could but ready all the time for the command to use a costume. But Carmen didn't turn a hair as I marched naked over to the pool and jumped in. It was the first time I had swum naked in our pool, and I felt a wonderful sense of freshness and freedom. After that I never wore a costume when swimming with Carmen in charge, whether Shelley was there or not. A week or so later, I didn't bother dressing again after I had finished my swim, but played in the garden naked. Carmen didn't seem to see anything wrong or even unusual in that. Later on she would let Jenny play naked as well, but at that stage Jenny still had to crawl around in a nappy otherwise she would make frequent messes all over her legs and often indoors. I had another insight into Carmen's liberated approach to nakedness not long afterwards. I had a friend called Ryan playing with me one morning and we went into the kitchen to see Carmen standing by the sink wearing only her bra and panties, scrubbing away at her dress. She explained that Jenny had just vomited on her dress and she needed to wash it. Had he been a bit older, Ryan might have laughed. But instead he was quite fascinated, staring at Carmen while she seemed quite unaware of his interest. She was wearing the brief frilly panties that locals seem to prefer, a pale orange in colour and with a big hem of frills all around both legs. "You will have to excuse me while my dress dries," she said in her accented voice, but quite unconcerned that we could see her in her underwear. She took it outside, dressed (or undressed) as she was, to hang on the washing line. It only took an hour or so to dry, and in that time she quite happily wore only her flimsy underwear, with Ryan's wide-open eyes following her wherever she went. I had in fact seen Carmen's panties at times before, as local women are much less worried about how they sit than the stuffy British. In fact, they rarely cross their legs when they sit, and Carmen like others often sat with her legs a little apart. My best views were when I was in the pool and she was watching me, sitting on a chair by the side with Jenny on her lap. From my lower level I had some superb views of he frilly panties of various colours, from white to light green to sickly pink to black. Things went well until one day my mother came home unexpectedly and caught me swimming naked in the pool. She wanted to stop me, but fortunately my parents taught me, when I had any complaints, to make them quietly and reasonably, instead of whining or ranting like most children do. So we sat down and talked, while I explained that Carmen obviously didn't mind – in fact, she was visibly startled when my mother first reprimanded me - and nobody else could see me. I told her I felt much more comfortable naked in hot weather and again asked permission to be naked at home. That evening we discussed it with my father, and came to a compromise. They are very reasonable people, and explained they did not think naturism was really decent. However, they would allow me (and the same applied to Jenny as she grew up) to be naked upstairs and in the pool, as long as it was not in their presence. I was not to be naked when there were visitors. And things have largely stayed that way ever since. All the people outside my family mentioned in this story have now left the country. I did not get my goodbye kiss from Sharon for another two years, by which time my seven-year-old crush had largely evaporated. We were just good friends, as they say in Hollywood, and I was no more than happy to receive one by that stage. Rather I was sad at the occasion, for that was the time when her father's contract in this country came to an end and they left. But I can still remember as if it were yesterday Sharon's part on that brilliant day at the club, the most memorable day of my life, the day I became a naturist. (The End) ________________________________________________________________________ Yahoo! Messenger - Communicate instantly..."Ping" your friends today! Download Messenger Now http://uk.messenger.yahoo.com/download/index.html