My extended family has its own nudist contingent — something we always regarded having an oddity when I was growing up, until I actually grew up and realised it was perfectly normal. So when we were naturist around for things to do on our recent visit to Swanage, in Dorset, it seemed like an obvious choice. Naturists are campaigning for naked sunbathing fun in London parks.
The entire beach is two and a half miles long, but the nudist bit takes up less than half of that. You also have to walk to fun — the car park is some distance from the naturist section, which is clearly marked by signs.
When we eventually arrive, the place is quiet. A swift, hopefully unintrusive glance at the people in this area of the beach is enough to confirm that we naturist definitely, unambiguously in the right spot.
At first it simply feels weird — as if you forgot to do something, like get dressed. And you wonder if anyone is staring.
Your first reaction having disrobing is inevitable. Am I going to get into trouble? You keep imagining a police officer suddenly appearing out of nowhere, covering you up with his truncheon oo-erfucking caught on hidden camera by a public indecency prosecution.
Precisely, you are right
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