I can’t entirely blame my
Mum here, because in kindergarten at a different school I ran a “witch gang”
of girls who caught the lads for me to kiss. The teacher, the principal and my
parents believed we were horrid, but it was crying great pleasure at the time.
However, when a worse circumstances arose two years after this fifth-grade kiss, it
never occurred to me to tell anyone because I’d burned an important bridge
What happened is this: two
boys, Jack and Britt, ages 15 and 14, came to my house early one morning when I
was alone and still in my shortie pajamas. I had opened the door because my
friend Peggy had just called to say she was coming over. (Jack was her
boyfriend, and Peggy liked to draw pictures of organs, presumably his. Drawing
them with her was another example of interested indifference on my part.) Jack and
Britt had seen before, so although I was uneasy about it, I let them
in and started off to my room to get dressed. But they followed me down the
Jack grabbed me from
behind, wrestled me to the floor, put his hand between my legs and I froze at
that moment. Britt, standing over us, said, “Hey, she likes it!” I believe my
Apparent and extreme mortification was what stopped it from going any further.
But it went far enough to quite effectively short circuit the connection between
my genitals and my brain for several years. as soon as I lost my virginity, I had to inquire,
“Is it in yet?” and I do not think it was just the substantial quantity of alcohol I Had
consumed that had dulled my senses.
A couple of years after another
fifteen-year-old lad tried much the same thing with me, but this time on the
Pavement of a deserted street at night. Having already been desensitized,
literally, it was much less traumatic. Even better, I had the delight of
Getting him myself, with just a little help, and presenting him to the police.
So, how in the world was I
Capable to become a naturist? Well, if nudity were mostly sexual, or somehow
asexual or anti-sexual, or less than invigorating and delighted, I probably never
would have. And if I hadn’t desired radical change in my life I likely would
have gone on as I was, but more slowly. As it was, I managed and made horny nudist pic .
By the time I was thirty,
I had eventually beat disgrace and frigidity to the point of being able to totally
enjoy sex, so long as my partner attested he could be trusted
unconditionally. This meant that sex had to be taken quite seriously. My first
marriage had failed, partially for sexual reasons, and in between was hopeless. The
girl who ran witch gangs and experiments wrote dry-as-dust computer programs,
wore suits, spoke little, and dreamed too frequently of spiders and 15-year old boys
and their smiles.
Well, I managed to locate
someone I could trust and adore, and did so for a few quite joyful years,
until he died suddenly of a heart attack. The grief overwhelmed me for quite a
while. And then a good buddy — a jolly, bearded guy who organized the
after-hours shifts of co workers who babysat until I was ready to leave for my
empty house — encouraged me to visit a place in the Santa Cruz mountains called
“Getting In Touch.” This was aa massage school and nudist escape, now defunct.
And this was where I started to heal, partly because I ‘d to, and partially because
the environment made a beginning almost inescapable.
My first visit was for a
weekend massage workshop. I arrived early and there was no one available to show
me around or get me oriented. I was perfunctorily seen to the locker room
and invited to relax a while at the pool or hot tub. I think that not making a
big deal about it, assuming that I could manage getting naked in public for the
first time free of guidance, really made it simpler than otherwise. I stripped
down, alone in the locker room, stepped out the door and Wham! Two blink of an eye
miracles: no part of me was broken up from another and the wind in my pubic hair
tickled deliciously! I wished right then that I hadn’t made a point of having my
legs waxed, another awesome experience, the day before.
This felt so great, with http://nudismphotos.net/posts/i-had-an-experience-today-that-was-new-for-me/ of shame whatsoever, it was easy to dare the next move. So I traveled
around the building and took the long, long walk across the lawn to reach the
pool. When I got there, I noticed one young man nearby in the hot tub, not
looking my way. So far so great. But then there was the difficulty of making the
transition from a standing posture to a reclining position on the sofa. And
not understanding what was okay. I mean, there are fairly inscrutable rules
about not showing some of our clothing — our underwear — when we’re dressed,
so perhaps there were equally inscrutable rules about not exhibiting some of our
bodies while bare.
I managed to lie down,
Endeavoring my knee joints in order to be as decorous as potential. Eventually I
got a bit bored and a little more adventurous, and determined to get in the hot tub