Front Row at My First Nude Beach

We put our towels directly in front of a beachful of naked strangers, then sat there fully dressed as if we were waiting for permission. This was our first nude-beach visit, and our brilliant plan had been to find somewhere discreet. Instead, the man beside me was quietly checking whether I wanted to move while I pretended to be fascinated by the water. Apparently I could manage public nudity in theory, provided nobody expected the practical demonstration.

We had already walked around looking for a gap away from everyone, both trying not to look as nervous as we felt. The space near the water had seemed ideal until we sat down and noticed all the occupied towels behind us. We had selected the front row, except we were facing the wrong way to enjoy the show. He caught my eye and smiled with exactly the same strained confidence I was attempting, which helped more than another search for imaginary privacy would have.

It took roughly half an hour before either of us removed anything. I finally took off my top, he gradually shed his clothes, and after another unnecessary adjustment of my towel, I slipped off my bottoms. Nobody interrupted their own afternoon to acknowledge this enormous administrative achievement. He gave me a small, warm smile rather than making a fuss, and I found myself smiling back without immediately looking at the sand.

We stretched out in the sun for a while, letting the alarming new situation become a fairly ordinary afternoon. When we decided to swim, I brought my bikini bottoms to the water and pulled them on as a precaution against jellyfish. I knew they weren't a reliable shield, but at that moment a scrap of fabric felt like a sensible emergency department. He glanced at my preparations, then at me, and politely failed to hide his amusement.

I waded in beside him and turned to explain my extremely selective safety policy just as a small wave broke against us. He pushed into a swimming stroke while I lifted both hands and caught the spray squarely in the face. My explanation ended in a splutter, followed by both of us laughing as I finally pushed off after him. Moving through the water felt easier than sitting on the towel had, and his grin when I drew alongside made me forget to check who might be looking.

After a little swimming, I took the bottoms off in the shallows and carried them as we headed out for a long walk along the beach. Somewhere between our towels and the far end of our stroll, I stopped rehearsing what to do with my hands. We walked beside the water, talking normally, and I enjoyed catching his eye instead of searching his face for signs that this was a mistake. The suit dangling from my hand had become luggage rather than reassurance.

Back at our spot, a man from nearby came over, asked whether this was our first visit, and welcomed us to the beach. I admitted it was and asked whether our extended opening ceremony had given us away. He laughed and said we looked perfectly settled now, as though we had been coming for ages. That was unexpectedly lovely to hear; I had spent the morning feeling conspicuous, and here was someone treating us as though we already belonged.

Packing up was the first part of the day I genuinely wanted to postpone. My companion put his clothes on at our towels, but I carried my suit and stayed nude until we reached the beach sign, where I finally dressed too. Earlier I had needed half an hour to take anything off; now I was bargaining with the last few steps before putting it back on. I left wanting another visit and wishing I had tried this sooner, preferably before becoming so accomplished at sitting nervously on a towel.