First Naturist Blog By Nick Alimonos About Becoming a Naturist

Become a Naturist - Anyone who knew me as a kid would not envision my writing this memoir. Let me tell you, I would have already been voted "least likely to become a naturist" if this type of group existed in my third grade yearbook.
You must begin with my mother, who was the polar opposite of hippie on the human spectrum of characters. She suffered from an extremely real case of OCD, and among her many fixations was proper appearance, and with how her family should dress. I occasionally felt like a doll. Shorts were a rarity in our household, except for use at the plage, and sandals made you seem "low class." Going barefoot on anything but carpet caused arthritis pain later in life. My cabinet was full of buttondown Polos, and also during sex, I had to seem like I was off to the queen's ball. Seriously, if I ever meet the man who invented long sleeve, button pajamas, I Will smack him. And for some reason my mother preferred two sizes bigger than was needed, so I seemed to be floating in a bag of clothes, like I was preparing for a wing suit dive. If the temperature hovered anywhere below 75 degrees, my outfit included coat and jumper.
None of this helped my overly scrawny to be 3-dimensional look, but my ego did not matter. Being of Greek descent, my parents were dedicated to seeing the motherland in summer time, and of course, new shoes were demanded for every darn trip, so my mom could prove to my aunts and uncles how upper class we were. Walking through JFK airport was absolute torture.
At all times we were required to wear light blue button shirts, navy blue pants and, wait for it . . . TIES! Is there any piece of clothing more heinous than a tie? It is essentially a choking hazard and it cuts off circulation to the brain. I cannot picture showing up at the Pearly Gates and Saint Peter reprimanding me for my dearth of neckwear. Our teachers adhered to the dress code with a Nazi-like passion. Once, when my mom couldn't discover my tie, I sat for hours in the principal's office, merely staring at walls, as my classmates learned section and when to use adverbs. God forbid I be allowed to learn anything that day sans my oxygen-depriving tie!
A Young Nick Alimonos: Become a Naturist
Right now you might think I might have learned to despise clothing, that I rebelled and became a naturist, right? No way! Despite my baggy Polos and shoes made for Geishas and ties suitable for auto-asphyxiation, I despised attention considerably more. Clothed or otherwise, I was extremely self-conscious, and introverted to the point that individuals in high school only assumed I was using drugs (never did), which is why I dreaded "physical education." The year was 1983 and this was private school, and it was still O.K. to hit kids' with wooden paddles and embarrass them through forced nudity. Our locker room did not have drapes or private small booths like you find at a water park. No, it was one large square, with lockers on one side and nozzles on another. Nowhere to be discreet!
Showering became this type of difficulty for me that I cried to my mom, until Coach So and So announced to every third grade boy, "O.K. now, nobody make fun of Nick when he takes a shower." This, as anyone who went to elementary school can tell you, had the precise opposite effect. In short, there was no escape for me. Complete Monty showering was as required as ties on Wednesdays. Oddly enough, no one had any difficulty exposing their member but me. I eventually developed ways around the system, like showering within my panties, which gave me a moist wedgie for the day; or waiting until I was alone, which made me late to every class following P.E., and dripping wet in my now sticky button down shirt.
Heck, I didn't even look at myself, so bathing in my own toilet became a ridiculous, obsessive-compulsive ritual. It began with telling my family, "O.K., I am taking a shower now! https://www.umn.edu/logout?desturl=https://beachspy.xyz do, don't come in!" Subsequently barricading my sister's bedroom door (the room we shared), double checking the door leading to the bathroom was also locked, and as if that wasn't enough, keeping a hand over my crotch at all times, which made soaping and using the shower head difficult.
Me? Become a naturist? Never in a million years! But then, obviously, I became one. Learn why in Part 2 of this storyline, coming next week!
Now take a look at Part 2: Boobs, Boobs Everywhere.
My Naturist Narrative Part 1: Least Likely to Be A Nudist was published by - Young Naturists and Young Naturists America FKK
Tags: body shame, modesty
Group: Nudist Site
About the Author (Author Profile)
By age six, I knew I was born to write, and by 12, discovered that clothes was unnecessary. Please visit my blog 'The Writer's Disorder' to learn more: http://writersdisease.blogspot.com/