My name is Zoe. I’m from Spain, and I live in Valencia. I always thought I was a fairly brave girl. But now, when I read the stories from women on your site, I understand: no, I still have a long way to go before real courage.

I look at their photos and read how they first dare to take off their swimsuits, how they tremble with embarrassment at first, and then suddenly realize that nudity is not scary. It is freedom. Sunlight. Skin. A body without unnecessary borders. And every time I catch myself thinking: “I want that too.” That is why I am posting my first terrace photos here, in the closed gallery of your site. Not because I am already that brave. But because this is my first real step.

I have not made it to a nudist beach yet. In my head, I can imagine everything beautifully: the sea, a towel, calm people around me, I take off my swimsuit and suddenly stop being afraid. But the moment I imagine reality, the coward inside me wakes up. So I decided to start at home.

We have a large open terrace on the fourth floor. Ordinary, not luxurious: tiles, an old sun lounger, potted plants, a small table, a bottle of water, clothespins, a towel. Across from us is another building, quite far away, but the balconies are still clearly visible. My parents often go out on errands, and one day I realized: this was my chance.

When the door closed behind them, I spent another ten minutes walking around the apartment. I was checking whether I was really alone. Then I stepped onto the terrace in a light dress with a swimsuit underneath. The sun was already warming the tiles, and the air was dry, Valencian, summery.

First, I took off my dress.

Then the top of my swimsuit.

My heart started pounding as if I were not on my own terrace, but in front of a crowd. Even though there was no one around. Almost no one. Only the balconies across the street, other people’s plants, other people’s chairs, other people’s lives.

I understood that if I left my clothes nearby, I would lose courage within a minute. I would grab my dress, cover myself, sit in a corner, and be angry at myself. So I did something silly that still makes me laugh.

I gathered my dress, swimsuit, towel — everything I could have used to cover myself — and threw it back through the door into the apartment, away from the terrace.

Then I quickly took off the bottom of my swimsuit.

And that was it.

I was standing naked on the terrace, while all my “rescue clothes” were lying inside the apartment.

In the first seconds, I felt scared and very amused. On one hand, this was my home, my terrace, my sun. On the other hand, I had just set a trap for myself so I could not run away. Now, to cover myself, I would have to stand up, cross the whole terrace to the door, and do it fully exposed.

I lay down on the sun lounger on my stomach.

And almost immediately I understood why women on your site write so much about this feeling. The sun touched my back, legs, shoulders, and bottom. No straps. No white lines. No fabric dividing the body into “allowed” and “not allowed.” Only skin, warmth, and air.

At first, I lay there tense, like a person pretending to relax. Then gradually my body let go. I no longer thought every second: “I’m naked.” I simply felt how good it was to be without a swimsuit.

About half an hour passed.

And then the funniest part began.

I accidentally turned my head toward the building opposite and noticed movement on one of the balconies. The building was far away, but the balcony was clearly visible. Someone came out. A man, I think. He stood there for a couple of seconds, then disappeared.

I almost calmed down.

“Maybe I imagined it,” I thought.
“He just stepped out onto the balcony.”
“He wasn’t even looking my way.”

And then he came back.

Wearing glasses.

At that moment, I almost died from embarrassment and laughter at the same time. Because before that, I could still think the person had simply stepped outside by accident. But now it looked as if he had gone to get his glasses to better understand what exactly was happening on the distant terrace opposite.

And the worst part: I could not stand up.

All my clothes were inside the apartment. I had thrown them there myself so I would not chicken out. While I lay on my stomach, if he saw anything at all, he could only see my back and bottom. Awkward, yes, but tolerable. But if I stood up to go get my dress, he would see everything.

So I made the most logical decision: not to move.

I lay there like a statue. I pretended to be a calm, grown-up, confident naturist who was simply sunbathing on her terrace and had no interest whatsoever in neighboring balconies. In reality, inside me there was complete chaos.

He stood on the balcony. I lay on the sun lounger. Between us were distance, sunlight, the street, air, and a situation that would be impossible to explain normally if anyone asked.

I did not know if he could see me. Maybe he really had poor eyesight. Maybe he was looking at a bird. Maybe he had just come out to check laundry. But my imagination had already drawn the whole story: he came out, noticed something strange, came back wearing glasses, and was now trying to figure out whether a girl on the terrace opposite was really sunbathing without a swimsuit.

And the strangest thing was that I did not want to hide as much as I expected.

I was embarrassed. Very embarrassed. My cheeks were burning. But along with the embarrassment came another feeling: warm, alive, daring. I was not running away. I was not covering myself. I was not turning it into a catastrophe. I was simply lying in the sun and, for the first time, allowing myself not to disappear from my own fear.

After a few minutes, the man left the balcony.

I waited.

Then a little longer.

And only when I was sure he was gone did I slowly get up, quickly walk to the door, grab my dress from inside the apartment, and start laughing. So hard that I had to sit back down on the lounger.

My first “naturist practice” had turned into a comedy with a neighboring balcony, reading glasses, and my own brilliant idea of throwing all my clothes away from myself.

But after that, I felt lighter.

I understood that nothing terrible had happened. The world did not collapse. Nobody shouted. Nobody came running. Even if someone had noticed me, it was not the end of the world. It was simply a moment — awkward, funny, very human.

That same evening, I could think about only one thing: when would my parents leave again?

A few days later, that moment came. And this time, I did not walk around the apartment in circles. As soon as I realized no one was home, I almost immediately went out onto the terrace.

Dress — inside the apartment.
Swimsuit — there too.
Towel — also far away.

I already knew: if I left myself a way to retreat, I would use it.

I lay down on the sun lounger naked, this time without the same panic. Of course, the nervousness remained. I glanced at that same balcony opposite a couple of times. But now it even made me laugh. I thought: “I hope he has a day off from observing today.”

The sun quickly did its work. I relaxed. I lay on my stomach, then on my back, then sat on the edge of the lounger and simply looked at my skin, the light, the lines of my body. I liked that my tan would be even. I liked that the swimsuit would not leave white marks. I liked that I was not hiding from myself.

After about an hour, I set up my phone and made a little selfie session for the closed gallery of your site.

At first, it was terribly awkward. I did not know where to put my hands. Sometimes I looked too serious, sometimes too scared, sometimes like a person who had accidentally pressed the camera button. Then I started laughing. And that was when the photos got better.

I sat on the lounger. Stood by the wall. Turned toward the sun. Covered my face from the light with my hand. Laughed. In some photos, I was still shy. In some, I looked unexpectedly confident. And in one, I looked so alive that I stared at the screen for a long time and thought: “There she is. That’s me.”

Not perfect.
Not a professional model.
Not a girl who can already calmly walk onto a nudist beach.

But a girl who has taken her first step.

And I like that.

I still do not know if I am ready to walk onto a big nudist beach and take off my swimsuit among people. Maybe I will still stand there with a towel in my hands, pretending to look for a place. Maybe my inner coward will start giving orders again.

But now I have experience.

My terrace became my small personal nudist beach. Without the sea. Without sand. Without a crowd. But with sunlight, air, fear, laughter, a neighboring balcony, and one very important discovery: my body does not have to hide all the time.

For me, nudity is becoming not something forbidden, but something honest. It is about trust in myself. About the right to like myself without a swimsuit. About the pleasure of feeling the sun on all my skin. About the moment when you stop dividing yourself into parts that “may be shown” and parts that “must be hidden immediately.”

I want to meet open, respectful people who understand this feeling. People for whom naturism is not something strange and not a reason for dirty jokes, but a way to come closer to themselves, to the body, to the sun, and to freedom.

And the next step?

Probably a real nudist beach.

And if one day I finally take off my swimsuit by the sea, I will definitely remember that first day in Valencia. The terrace. The sun lounger. The sun. The balcony opposite.

And the person who possibly came back wearing glasses to get a better look at my first small victory.