First Nude Beach Exposure Ch. 02

FIRST NUDE BEACH EXPOSURE, Ch.02 - Her Point-of-View

More than a few years ago, my job as a lobbyist at the state legislature meant that I was clamoring for a vacation as soon as the session ended. This was in early June, and we had traded two weeks of timeshare on St. Thomas for two in St. Martin. June is off-season in the Caribbean, so it was easier find openings, and much less crowded than in the touristy winter months. I had been to St. Martin as a port-of-call stop on a cruise with my younger sister and our father and I'd loved the experience of seeing both the French and Dutch sides of the island. My husband, Dave and I were looking forward to having a lot of time for exploring the island and its lovely beaches. With two weeks we didn't have to hurry through our list of sites and activities at break-neck pace. We really wanted lots of time to relax on the beach together.

When I thought about St. Martin beaches, I remembered that on our cruise ship's stop we'd taken a shore excursion that included time at Orient Bay, with its clothing-optional beach. Since our dad was along, my sister and I didn't participate in any nude sunbathing, though it did open my eyes quite literally to recognize a whole different lifestyle.

I certainly had no moral problem with public nudity, and I certainly didn't judge others for participating. But I have always been very self-conscious, if not self-deprecating about my own body. Over the years, my weight has gone up and down, and when down, it always seems to come off my breasts first. I'd worked-out and slimmed down in the past few years and now comfortably fit into an A-cup bra. I'd grown up with the "Playboy, Hugh Hefner-inspired" media emphasizing large breasts as key to women's beauty and sexuality.

While Dave has relentlessly complimented me on my appearance and sexual appeal, when I look in the mirror, I see a woman who shouldn't be openly displaying herself on a nude beach.

When I'd been at Orient Bay on the Club Orient resort side, I saw a lot of buxom women who were parading along the beach and trying to exhibit that "Playboy" image. That experience had not buoyed my enthusiasm to the whole nude beach idea and certainly not my receptivity to participating.

As Dave and I planned our St. Martin itinerary, we talked about Orient Bay, and it definitely was a priority for him. When he asked me if I was willing to go and to get naked, the best I could come up with was, "I'll see." He knew pushing me any further would only strengthen my resolve to refrain. I had bought a new bikini for this trip, and it was quite a bit more revealing than all my other suits. This was my goodwill concession to Dave's goading me to be more daring in my dress, at least for this vacation.

I'd also gone to a tanning salon to build a base and tanned naked because I wasn't sure which of my swimsuits I'd all wear over the two weeks. I sure didn't want a bunch of overlapping tan lines showing. I also wanted to hedge my bet just in case I decided to test the limits of my modesty at Orient Bay. I'm sure my all-over tan gave Dave heightened, though likely overly zealous expectations for my St. Martin beach attire.

The first place we were to stay in St. Martin was called the Pelican. Arriving at night we didn't know until the next morning that it had limited beach space right on the water. There was a larger sandy area, but it was away from the water, fairly crowded, and not inviting at all. Dave's eagle-eyes quickly spied one woman in the far corner who was sunning topless, while I pointed out that everyone else was in swimsuits. Dave wasted no time trying to convince me to go to Orient Bay that afternoon. After another quick look at our options here, it was easy to acquiesce to his good-natured goading. I packed some beer, lots of suntan lotion, and our favorite beach towels. Orient Bay was a good hour-drive across much of the French side of the island.

We parked near the restaurants, bars, and tee-shirt shops, with a few hotels a block away. I remembered it was a fair walk to the far end where Club Orient, the clothes-optional resort was located. That was where I remembered many of the serious nudists sunned and strutted. I told Dave I wanted to stay in the more touristy western area, and I found a nice bar/restaurant that rented chairs and umbrellas. The lovely young French woman handling the rentals was topless, wearing only a small thong and quite comfortable with her chosen work uniform.

I was impressed how her deep all-over tan matched the color of her nipples; she certainly got more than a healthy dose of sun. When Dave asked her if it was OK to be nude on this section of the beach, she merely pointed out the array of people in every stage of dress and undress. While this appeased Dave, I was quick to notice there were many more people in swimsuits than naked, though a fair number of women were topless.

After we got our chairs, Dave decided to go for a short walk and test the water, literally, and assess the local atmosphere and customs. We both had been startled to see the number of families with children ranging from babies to teenagers. Knowing this was French territory, it shouldn't have been unexpected. I was taken aback seeing so many of their younger teenage daughters sunning topless. Many were clearly under 18 years old. While a few of their mothers were nude, it seemed the accepted rule for their younger daughters was to keep their "virtue" covered.

Seeing these girls conflicted with my American upbringing, not to mention our laws, and I could tell Dave was struggling with the same thoughts. Not long after we sat down, an American family with two 15, 16, or17-year-old sons took the seats immediately behind us; all of them in swimsuits. These boys were like kids in Willy Wonka's candy store, leering at the French girls and snickering and smirking over what was no doubt their first glimpse at bare female breasts, at least on someone their own age. Given their youth and knowing what fantasies they probably have, I wasn't about to give those boys a peek at my tits.

I knew Dave was set on me at least taking my top off, but this was not the place I'd be comfortable challenging my modesty. We both wanted to move somewhere else, more conducive for adults. But virtually all the chairs here were now occupied, and moving to another area would have meant paying another $30-$40. We decided to stay where we were today, and after seeing the young French girls and American boys nearby, neither of us felt much like getting naked, or even topless for me.

Dave soon got antsy and decided to take another walk. I opted to stay here to read, pulling my chair under our umbrella for some needed shade and welcomed solitude. Dave walked toward Club Orient, I assumed to both explore and look at the buxom beach babes sunning there. I'm almost never possessive of my husband or jealous of other women, but his wanting to scope out women for whom I'd acquired some skin-deep distain, was like kicking sand on my fragile body ego.

In 20 minutes or so, Dave returned looking exceedingly pleased with himself. My first reaction to his animated behavior was to think he'd seen a woman we knew from home and was overcome with excitement from seeing her naked. My second theory was he was just impressed with the big-breasted, overly tanned, and well-oiled nudist women at the Club; though knowing my feelings, I doubted he'd be openly crowing about them.

After he was back in his chair and calmed down, he proceeded to tell me that he found the ideal beach spot for us. On his walk, he'd discovered there were two areas on the Club Orient side of the beach. The closest area was used by what he described as regular people, like us, who just wanted to sunbathe naked. Further east and directly in front of the Club Orient cottages was the area used by the "hard-core nudists."

He told me the first part of the Club beach was occupied by mostly couples and virtually no children other than maybe a few babies. He added that the adults ranged from their 20s to probably their 80s with a full range of body sizes, shapes, and tan lines represented.

"Joan, everyone was minding their own business or having fun talking with their neighbors, Dave reported. "They were all enjoying the carefree and clothing-free atmosphere. This was definitely the area of the beach where we should have come."

He insisted I walk with him to see for myself how different the near part of the eastern beach was from the hard-core area. It was probably even father affield from the likely well-embellished memories from my prior cruise stop.

Once we passed the large Club Orient sign, I was immediately overwhelmed with the free and easy, and nonthreatening atmosphere. When we walked among the rows of people, I carefully noted their diversity, and how similar they were to the people we knew and met day-to-day. I could feel the congeniality, tolerance, and respect for each other's nude bodies. These feelings were so different from what I felt on the other part of the beach, and certainly from my previous visit. We readily agreed to return the next day.

When we arrived at 10:00 the next morning, we had our pick of beach chairs. We decided on two that were a row or two back from the water. This insured we weren't right in front of the main route used by the walkers. These often included the cruise ship passengers who ambled by just to gawk, like I had admittedly done with my family previously. And, yes, now being one of the sunbathers, I did feel a little guilty for my past sins. Those strolling by also included other curious tourists on the island and the "professional" nudists who often paraded by to flaunt their deeply tanned and well-oiled bodies.

When we first thought about a visit to Orient Bay, I was seriously worried we'd encounter someone we knew from our hometown, most likely there on a cruise. This would mean they'd most likely be clothed while I'd be naked which felt like a real imbalance of power to me.

While I had to admit there were very low odds of this happening, anonymity was a requirement for me to get naked here. The idea of being seen nude by someone we knew was more than embarrassing to me, who knew how many of our friends and coworkers they'd share that information with and tarnish our reputations.

Once settled in our chairs, Dave immediately got naked and slathered on the lotion. I looked around at the mostly couples sitting near us and except for one single, very shapely, topless woman all were completely naked. I'm sure I disappointed Dave by leaving my suit on as I struggled with conflicting emotions.

I caught Dave staring at the very well-endowed topless woman a little too long, and impulsively snapped at him with, "Quit looking at that woman's big tits." I couldn't immediately discern whether that barb was inspired by my comparing that woman's breasts with my own self-effacing body image, or rather simply feeling his looking was too invasive. While I knew those feelings were not necessarily mutually exclusive, I was well-aware that Dave knew his nude beach etiquette and would strive to obey it.

So, he challenged my assessment, saying, "If my inobtrusive looking at other women here is going to be a problem, let's head back to the condo right now." And to enhance my own body self-confidence, he added, "If you don't think every man here isn't going to look and admire every inch of your inviting body, you're trying to defy gravity."

He casually added that, "You don't go to a nude beach if you don't, at least to some extent, want to see and be seen."

He gently tried to explain, saying, "My looking wasn't meant to be invasive and unwanted voyeurism, but only my curiosity to see that people just like us were here and naked too." While I'm not sure I could make that distinction, he did remind me of the excitement I'd had felt on our walk yesterday and my genuine eagerness to return.

After I looked around and thought more about my feelings, I started to get what Dave was saying. Yesterday I had seen all different body shapes and sizes, and I was pleased with my recognition that each of them was truly beautiful, and I was equally impressed, if not envious of each of their own comfort levels with being naked in public.

I sat back in my chair and started putting lotion on; acknowledging to Dave as well as myself that I planned to stay here. When I finished lotioning my shoulders, I again looked at our neighbors, and after some deliberation reached behind and with my newfound confidence unhooked and removed my top.

Next, I applied lots of lotion to my breasts. Between my touching and my exposure to many men's gazes, I watched my nipples respond with vigor. Dave offered to help me and massaged the lotion into my aroused breasts. I told him to stop before we were cited for having sexual conduct in public. There was something definitely extra sensuous about exposing my tits publicly for the first time. But there was also something almost mystical in my newfound courage to make public my previously private parts. I felt like a long-hidden, daring alter ego had emerged and I was definitely liking her.

I decided to leave my bottom on while I reveled in my growing confidence in my body and my emerging sensual spunkiness. Instinctually I was reluctant to expose my pussy, but my new spirit knew I'd surely be naked before long.

After 10-15 minutes of increasing comfort and courage, I announced to Dave, "I can't believe how good it feels to take that top off. I feel so incredibly free."

"You'd feel even freer if you took off the bottom too," he challenged.

"Just give me a little time to adjust, will you?" I replied, and he knew better than to push when he could see my self-assurance and resolve evolving.

In a short time three people took the chairs nearest us. There were two women and one man, and they were clearly from the Princess cruise ship, the same cruise line Dave and I had used often. While we were uncertain of their relationships, it seemed like they may have just met onboard. All three kept their suits on while they assessed their neighbors' state of dress, giving Dave and me particularly close attention.

The younger woman wore a somewhat revealing bright red bikini, similar to the new one I had come in. She was in her mid-20s, tall and thin, with long shapely legs. The guy accompanying them seemed to be blatantly taken with her, but she didn't appear to return the sentiment. The other woman wore a stylish one-piece black suit and wore a sarong around her waist. She was likely 5-10 years older than her two ship mates, with a more mature and very appealing body shape, as confirmed by Dave's cautious glimpses.

I looked at Dave and asked playfully, "Do you want to make a little bet about who shows some untanned skin first?"

"It most likely won't be the guy," he said, "he's outnumbered and clearly not romantically attached to either woman. I think it'll be the woman in the one-piece," he added thoughtfully. "It's a still-waters run deep kind of thing."

"OK, I guess that leaves me the bikini girl," I said, not at all convinced he couldn't be right, but I was counting on the predictable odds that the young, slender, and more scantily clad one would prevail.

"What should we bet for?" I asked with suggestive curiosity.

"What else, your bikini bottom," he retorted with a poker face, making me smile wickedly.

The neighbor guy kept not-too-subtly peering at me, clearly infatuated by my no-tan-lines bare breasts. While I've always been pretty self-conscious about their smaller size, they are very shapely with very responsive nipples. The two women seemed to be taunting him about his roving eyes focusing on me, though they were equally obvious in scoping out Dave's exposed male parts. I was pretty sure this was their first nude beach experience.

I think Dave and I looked "normal" and non-threatening enough to be motivational role-models, and in no more than maybe 15 minutes, the woman in the one-piece suit casually slipped the straps of her suit off her shoulders. She slowly rolled the suit down to her waist exposing both of her modest-sized, shapely, and quite untanned breasts. "You win," I conceded, "I think you read the tea leaves very well."

A bet's a bet, I shrugged and immediately, began to struggle to slide my clingy damp suit off my bottom and down my legs all the while sitting in my chair. I knew my husband had to be incredibly excited to see me getting naked, and even more aroused when he realized how dramatically I had trimmed my pubic hair to fit within my new, scantier suit.

I caught Dave staring, and asked coyly, "So, do you like my new coif?"

"I absolutely do, and it appears someone else does too," he said softly while nodding toward the guy from the cruise ship. My new admirer's eyes were riveted to my naked body, boldly focusing on my pussy while I had spread my legs widely while immodestly continuing to wrestle my bikini bottom off and reposition myself.

That was all the encouragement the guy needed to reciprocate by abruptly pulling his swimsuit off. While he may first have intended to dazzle me with the more than generous size of his member, I suspect he was also trying to wheedle the younger woman into shedding her suit as well.

As I watched him, I was amazed by how attentively he was captivated by my nearly bare pussy. Flattering third party accolades are always welcomed by most women, and I'm not at all immune to being admired by a good-looking younger man. Surprisingly to me, those gratifying feelings increased geometrically when I was being appraised while naked. Maybe this was also enhanced by my watching this guy's measure of "appreciation" visibly grow right before my eyes.

His two women colleagues had ringside seats to see his bout of instantaneous arousal when seeing me nude. I wondered if the younger one was in any way envious of his sexual attraction to an older woman, or maybe they both just got aroused by the stunning size of his cock. No matter what the motivation, they both wasted no time getting naked.

I think Dave and I were both intrigued by these three's behaviors as we fell into our newly evolving roles as aspiring "students" of people's behavior at clothing optional beaches. We'd learned from our observation that when one person in the group gets naked, especially a woman, it either invites or puts pressure on the others to do the same. Among our neighbors, the young man's audacious performance no doubt express-mailed the two women gold embossed, personal invitations to participate. Being very lovey and sexy women, they caught Dave's attention instantly, and surprisingly mine too. Seeing a full range of women's naked bodies was giving me much enhanced self-assurance and regard for my own body.

I had discovered the magic of the beach and recognized that all of us were enjoying both seeing each other naked as well as being seen ourselves. Dave and I had discussed this corresponding relationship between exhibitionism and voyeurism and how psychologists often write about it in their scholarly journals. We'd moved our chairs to face each other, and the more we talked and enjoyed each other, the more Dave and I found ourselves loving the peace and freedom of this place and present company.

I was feeling new sensations, inspired by the relaxed, permissive environment, along with my newfound courage and playfulness of the moment. The five of us had become anonymous friends with all the freedom and permission it gave us to set free our inhibitions.

Later that morning many more people were walking along the shore. This included some of our neighbors, a good number of the hard-core nudists from the Club, and some of the tourists from where we were yesterday. I was also aware of the growing number of cruise ship and other land-based tourists coming here just to ogle our community of naked people. Those walking by who were nude didn't bother me one bit, but many of those who were clothed were being intrusive and didn't try to be even one bit inconspicuous in their leering. I was forced to mediate between two conflicting feeling. On one hand I felt my nude body was being preyed upon by nonparticipating selfish voyeurs. On the other, I felt offended that I should need to give up my freedom to enjoy being naked with my friends just to avoid my self-imposed sense of being exploited.