I used to have the “whoops, I went to school and forgot my clothing” dream, except for me, none of the teachers or pupils seemed to care. It happened so frequently I occasionally feel like my becoming a naturist was part of some Start-like scheme. In other dreams, I Had be lounging at home, watching TV, when my sister would come home from work. She’d see me, view that I was naked, and say “Hey, Nick” like nothing unusual was going on. Just to be clear, there was nothing incestuous about the dream, but the normalcy of nudity gave me a thrill. All things considered, I craved approval, of my chosen lifestyle and my way of thinking. But that could never happen, could it?

The summer following my sister’s honeymoon, she and her husband I would like to tag along on their tour of the Greek isles. This sort of trip was nothing new to me, except my parents weren’t around, and now I was hiding a secret. We took the ferry to Crete, the biggest island in Greece, and from there visited Santorini, believed to have inspired Atlantis, with its volcanic black plage, bluff cliffs, and blue and white houses overlooking the Mediterranean. Much more beautiful than any landscape, nevertheless, was what I seen on our third stop, on the isle of Eos. We’d just unpacked our bags and the sun was setting, and I asked my sister if it was OK to run down to the beach. A ten minute stroll from our hotel, under an orange and red sky, I could see the elegant human lines, the bare bodies lying on the sand.

The everyday, shameless manner these folks went about the beach thrilled and inspired me, and I wanted to be among them, to cast off my clothing then and there, but what would my sister say? How could I even begin to broach the subject? To be honest, I do not recall what I said, just that I somehow found the courage to “come out” to her. The neat thing about my sister is that she is a talker. Sometimes, when we are on the telephone, I can put the receiver down and visit the bathroom , not miss a thing. When it comes to theme, no subject is taboo. But this was more than just talking. I told her how I Had needed to visit a naked beach for years, to not see girls (as one might expect) but to be naked myself, in sight of her and her husband and the whole strand going public. Her reaction? “Sure, why not.” What I did not know at the time, and what caught me completely by surprise, was that her husband harbored the same interest.
The week that followed was completely surreal. It was as if we had stepped through a magic portal into my dreams, where corporeal shame failed to exist. I took to nudity in public like a born naturist, as shameless as unicorn girl, and the experience surpassed my expectations.
Now allow me to just take a moment to discuss swimwear. Remember my feelings for ties and church shoes? It will not compare to my loathing for bathing suits. I can not picture how stuffing a vagina into a bikini must feel, but whoever devised modern men’s swim trunks needs to be punched in the nuts. There are few worse sensations than walking around Adventure Island for eight straight hours with sopping wet genitals and the remainder of your body bone dry. These things hold water better than Pampers’ diapers. I have forgotten swim trunks in my car for days only to find they are still wet! At the beach, sand gets sucked into your butt crack and every crease and crevice of your testicles and pee hole. I avoid the beach just so I do not have to endure wearing the darn things. This is the only drawback to my island encounter. Routine beaches were destroyed forever.
Every year I was determined to visit a naked beach, but there were http://macdotool.com . Some islands cater just to cloths and sometimes aunts and uncles went with us, but what was especially frustrating were the shores known for nudism with no nudists! Even in Eos, I’d discover only timid tourists. It all appeared to change from month to month, since the time of year discovered what nationality went on holiday. Greek and Italian tourists never go nude, but Germans, Swedes and Norwegians generally do. For reasons that continue to elude me, the greater the latitude, the more people seem willing to go au natural.
As the years went by, more people became complicit within my escapades. I traveled the islands with my other sister, her sons, and my best friend (and his buddies) who lived in Athens, and was nude in front of them whenever possible: on the plage, in the hotel, even in my parents’ summer house. Surprisingly, nobody seemed to mind, despite that they were too shy to try it themselves. Once, my nephew and I seen a distant strand on the island of Mykonos. There was no way back but by ferry, or so we were told, and we missed the last boat. We had to trek for miles through rugged hills and bushland. For him, it was an ordeal, but for me it was an experience, a chance to live like Dynotus, like my old ancestors before things like bathing suits were invented.