Purenudism & Families: Growing Up
Mom Told Me I Had To Be A Nudist
IT'S NOT ALWAYS A MATTER OF JUST SAYING, "LET'S BE NUDISTS." YOUR TEEN KIDS MAY NOT AGREE. AT LEAST AT FIRST. IN THE END AS IT'S NATURE'S WAY, REALLY, THEY'LL GO ALONG.
Basically, my mother was a nut job. Also, a wine drinker. She never got dead drunk but always seemed a little topped-off and often got sloppy, especially with her thinking. The nutty part was her addiction to having a man around, which became acute when she and my dad divorced. I was fourteen at the time, and bursting with hormones and boobs and pubic hair. I had my own problems. I didn't need a crazy mother. That was twelve years ago…
Or about the time that online dating was really taking off. My mother met a string of “nice guys” and was sure with each that they were the one. If they listed “hiking” in their profiles, she would head to the sporting goods store and come back with proper boots, packs and other hiking paraphernalia. Was he a camper? Suddenly, sleeping bags and a tent would appear. A bicyclist? Make room for the 18 speed racing bike, which was never really used. None of those men worked out.
She was getting pretty frustrated. She was and still is pretty, and has always watched her figure. She has a girlish body. But the men weren’t sticking around. Oh, it was probably the wine.
Then she met a Dutch guy online. He was coming to America, was handsome, and had a good job waiting for him. Mom went nutsy for him too. Suddenly, all she could talk about was Dutch history and customs. She developed a taste for bright, pine, furniture. She tried the language, but that was a bridge too far. Fortunately, he spoke excellent English.
They got married three months after he arrived. That was during winter, and all was bliss in the household. Then, summer arrived, and I found mom and her new husband sunbathing naked on the back deck. As I was heading out there I stopped and backtracked and called out to my mom to come talk to me. She said, “Come out here! We’re sunbathing!” Well, I knew that, which is why I wanted her to come in.
I decided to leave them alone and went out to meet my friends on foot, rather getting a ride. But why were they naked? I never saw my mom and dad naked before the divorce.
Later, before dinner, after mom had had her usual couple of 22oz Chardonnays (she bought the glasses special from Crate & Barrel to save on trips to the fridge), I asked her about the nude sunbathing.
“Well, we’re nudists,” she said. When the hell did that happen? I wondered.
“They’re all nudists over there,” she continued, off-handedly. She was referring to Europe. However, she was from a Methodist family and grew up in Ohio. There weren’t many nudists there at the time. But in her mind, if her new husband was a nudist, of course she was too, just as she with the hikers and campers and bicyclists before him, taking all of their “hobbies.” Her tone indicated I was stupid for being so dense as to not know that all along she had been a nudist. She wasn’t. Up until that moment when I saw them naked on the deck, I’d only seen her nude a couple of times.
“So,” I said, “Does that mean we’re all nudists now?”
That caused her to lose her bearings for a moment. She took a few healthy swigs of her Chardonnay.
“Well, that’s up to you and your sister, honey. We don’t mind. It’s natural.” She looked as if she couldn’t quite figure out why she had a big wood spoon in her hand, from Holland no less, and then remembered she was cooking.
I let it go for a while after that for about a month, when they installed a hot tub on the deck. Mom had a few other couples over to celebrate. They all got naked and, from what I could tell, a bit drunk, but I didn’t notice any untoward behaviors. I had been ignoring the deck on weekends when they sunbathed nude, but with the installation of the hot tub, my sister and I ventured out one evening after dinner to enjoy it. We were wearing bathing suits, of course, not having been persuaded by mother’s nudism arguments.
We were having a good time. We both giggled about our new stepfather’s uncut penis. That was unexpected, being American girls. It’s odd that that was our first introduction to a new man’s penis – European style, we called it.
Then the sliding door opened and out came mom and her new husband to join us. They were wearing towels, then dropped them on deck chairs to reveal they were naked and headed into the tub. My sister instinctively moved toward me on the other side and we cuddled. My sister said, “MOM!!!” In my head I said, “Oh fuck.” It wasn’t a word I vocalized back then.
As per usual around seven at night, mom was pretty tipsy. She told my sister not to be a prude, inferring she herself was a highly liberated woman (except for needing a man, of course). My stepdad just smiled and acted like everything was groovy. (He is in fact a sweet man who never gave me a reason to fear him, so all was cool there, then and now.)
My mom started to get really annoying. “Oh, go on kids, take off your suits. Its much better that way.”
“Oh, you’re so American. It’s perfectly natural. We all have bodies.” Well, duh, mom on all your fine points. But your daughters might not want to get naked with your new husband.
She moved over to me and starting tugging at my bikini top, saying, “Oh come on, dear, take it off!” I stood up to get out of the tub and my sister followed. I heard my stepdad telling my mother not to push it, that getting naked was up us, not her. I was out of earshot before I could hear her reply.
Let me say here I was a fully developed girl by this point with fine equipment in all the right departments. My sister was coming along too. Not getting naked was not a self-esteem issue. Mom’s pushing it was the issue. And I wondered what she’d really do if I did get naked in front of her new husband. She was thirty-five, after all, and my sister and I were prime. Did she think of that too?
Things came to a head one weekend when my sister and I had a party planned with our friends. It was themed around the hot tub (“bring your suits!”). It was the end of summer. My mom’s sister and her husband and teenage boys would be over for dinner the following day.
There were about eight of us girls goofing off in the backyard, getting in and out of the hot tub, enjoying the usual treats, having a great time generally. Mom had been serving us food but also tippling the Chardonnay all afternoon, so that by around four she was getting tipsy.
But she seemed in control. That was until she got the idea in her head that we should all have a lesson in nudism. She came out of the house with her wine glass full and moved toward the tub. She was wearing a suit and I thought, oh, God, thank you for that, but as she stood by the tub she pulled it off. On top of that, she had shaved off her pubic hair. Shock and awe was the mood, along with shouts of “MOM!!!” and gasps from my girlfriends. My mother just scissored her legs in an open fashion getting into the tub like all was copacetic.
“Didn’t you know we were nudists, girls?” She said, oblivious to the fact that only she was, which was really standing out at that moment. My friends didn’t know what to do, but they did start getting out of the tub.
The noise drew my stepfather, who just looked sad when he saw my mom. He come over mouthing “sorry” to us while grabbing a towel for his new wife before leading her inside. The party sort of went downhill after that.
Just a couple years later when every girl on the planet had a cell phone with a hi-def camera, there would have been pictures of my naked mom all over the internet. In some areas, when you're growing up, timing is everything.
That was the last straw for me, both with mom’s drinking and pushing her girls to get naked with her and her husband. You have to admit, it sounds creepy, but context is everything. She was speaking as a new, liberated nudist spreading the gospel. I get that now, but at fourteen it’s a bit much to absorb, especially if you grew up another way.
So, my mother wanted a little nudist in the family? I dediced to give her one, but under my choosing, in terms of time, place and propriety. Crash a kid’s party by getting naked? You might see where this is going.
The next evening my relatives arrived, my aunt with her husband and two boys, ages then around fifteen and seventeen. Both of them were a bit dorky but nice otherwise. As was their custom, they all hung out in the kitchen sipping wine while they took forever to get dinner assembled. I held my entrance back until it was time for every to sit down.
In my bedroom, I slipped out of my clothes, brushed my hair, rubbed my skin all over to freshen up the circulation, took a deep breath, then wandered very casually out into the dining room buck naked.
My aunt saw me first and gasped, then her oldest son sitting next to her saw me, who’s jaw disassembled. Then I was in the room proper with all of them and, of course, I was standing completely naked. I pretended to be looking for my seat, which was the only one left, next to my uncle, who seemed to be having a fit of some kind. Maybe that was how he experienced orgasm. How would I know? I was still technically a kid, the daughter of a Methodist woman from Ohio with what was now a shaved vulva.
I, however, was not shaved, but instead brimming with a full pubic arrangement. My breasts were more than ample for my age and what purple novels call “pert.” Already quite tall, I was kind of hard to ignore, especially naked.
My stepfather said, “Oh, hi Kathi. We’re just getting started.” Perhaps he assumed this was some sort of Labor Day tradition in America. I sat down.
My mother, who looked like she’d run out of oxygen, pleaded with me with her eyes. What the hell was I doing? My aunt finally said, “Kathi! What are you naked for?,” doing her best to imitate an hysterical person. She stood up and sent the boys outside.
“Didn’t you know, aunt Joan, that we’re nudists here? It’s very natural,” I said.
My aunt looked to my mother, who was having a hard time pulling herself together. In the meantime, I think she drained a full bottle of Chardonnay, as the one in front of her was empty.
“Well,” she finally slurred. “We’re experimenting with nudism. It’s a new thing, really. Toben is a nudist, of course, as they all are in Duck, Duh, Dutchland. I mean Holland.” She was surveying the table for another bottle.
“But not at dinner?” said my aunt, turning to my stepdad.
“Not particularly. No. But in summer on the terrace Dutch people do it, if it is warm. But it is not my practice,” he said, just matter of factly.
“We should all take our clothes off. It feels nice,” I said.
My uncle seemed agreeable to this. My cousins had been staring in the window this whole time.
My mother didn’t know what to do, or what was required of her at this moment. She was surely hung-over from her escapades of yesterday, already half in the bag this evening, and probably as willing to take her clothes off as my uncle.
My aunt finally broke the mood. “I think it’s time for us to go, honey. I don’t think this is right.” My uncle demurred a bit before standing up and saying, “Well, so long, folks.” My mother followed them to the door not quite understanding what was going on. My stepdad, who was calm throughout, looked at me with a smile on his face.
“I think I get it now.” He chuckled. “Your mother spoiled your party, so you spoiled hers. But I’m afraid she might not remember exactly what just happened. It’ll probably be a bit fuzzy for her tomorrow.”
I suddenly realized that I had been sitting in mixed company for a good ten minutes or so completely naked. It did feel natural after all. Who would have thought?
With the show over, the fact that I didn’t jump up and run to get dressed shocked even me. I did feel comfortable lingering there without any clothes on. The idea of it did give me what was now becoming a familiar tingle. I guess I'm admitting that I found it arousing.
My mother returned to the table and didn’t say a word. She’d brought in another bottle of wine and was having troubling aiming the thing at her glass. My sister, who had been trying to suppress giggles the whole time, asked if I wasn’t going to get on some clothes now. I looked down and once again had to reregister that I was sitting there nude.
I got up from the table, though this time I did feel a shyness come over me. I was no longer strengthened by making a point, but simply walking around a full house of people naked.
In the aftermath, I, along with my sister, did become nudists, and ended up hot tubbing with Torben and mom plenty of times without shame or strangeness. We were thereafter casual around the house with the nudity and, when we visited Torben’s relatives in Holland, we all went to a nude beach and I had no problem being naked with his relatives. At their beach cottage, I barely saw Torben’s sister clothed.
When I brought my first boyfriend home from college we all got naked in the hot tub. He told me afterward it was his first time getting naked with anyone’s parents and I could understand how it’s not a common thing.
Now, ten years later, my mom has sobered up. We all laugh about my “nudist” protest. When I’m home we all hot tub and sun bathe together nude, even walk around the house naked, and it does feel natural. It still gives me a "tingle" to walk around naked with other people around. That's never abated. My aunt has forgiven me, and my uncle has never looked at me the same again. I guess I made an impression there. KathiB, Contributing Editor Growing Up Nudist, Eventually Nudist Life Stories: Family Nudism
KATHIB IS A CONTRIBUTING AND AVID TRAVELER/PHOTOGRAPHER. HER WORK APPEARS THROUGHOUT THIS SITE, AS DOES SHE ("BUT'S LET'S KEEP THEM GUESSING"). HER STEP FATHER TORBEN IS ALSO A CONTRIBUTOR.
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