Meet Chris. He is English and semi-retired on the East Coast of England. His greatest pleasure is a local beach which is quiet enough for him to wear very little – or nothing at all. The rest of the story is his own words.
Let me go back to the beginning. I was brought up in rural England at a time when male nudity was a taboo subject, but I was always fascinated by nudity (I guess most boys are) and got into lots of scrapes when I took off my clothes at inappropriate moments. My father believed that young boys were naturally rebellious and needed clearly defined behavioural boundaries backed up by firm discipline. The firm discipline was administered very infrequently, but when it was it took the form of a heavy leather strap applied with some force to my bare bottom. As happened when I exposed myself completely naked at my bedroom window and the lady next door was not amused. Neither was Father, who put me over the end of my bed and thrashed me – still bare after my display. After the beating he took me in his arms and held my naked body close to his until I stopped crying – and I knew that he loved me.
As an older boy we used to take family holidays in South Devon. I suppose I was twelve when my father took me to a quiet beach (Pilchards Cove) where nudists gathered. We sunbathed nude – and for the first time I saw men and women totally unfazed by their nudity, even when the men came out of the cool water with obvious erections. Somewhat to my surprise Father was unfazed too – he stripped without hesitation and stretched out naked like everyone else. I found that swimming naked gave me an erection, and encouraged by what I had already seen I walked back to where Father lay on his towel with my hard penis bouncing as I walked. By then I was well developed and it was a blatant display. He looked at me – then my erect penis – and smiled. I thought that was the best thing I’d ever done and from that moment I had no inhibitions whatever. It was his way of teaching me that there is a time and a place for everything. It was then that I noticed that he, too, had become deliciously aroused. No question where my nice cock came from – or my sexual interests!
At public school I was fortunate in having a mentor in the classical sense of the word – a young master who lived in an apartment within the school buildings. During our long evening conversations I became more and more relaxed as he helped me understand my developing sexuality. I felt completely at ease sitting with him on that big leather settee in front of a log fire, always dressed informally and sometimes not dressed at all.
He taught me to be proud of my body and to develop it by constant exercise in a variety of sports. I was never terribly successful at any of them, but the effect on my physique was gratifying. He taught me that the same principle applied to my sexual parts and encouraged me to masturbate every day – not to worry about not ejaculating because I soon would. That was something I really enjoyed doing – either alone or with other boys, and once I started to ejaculate found that I could do it at surprisingly short intervals! Even then I had a somewhat unusual penis – very small at rest but increasingly impressive when fully erect. I became sexually active and found that my nice penis was a mixed blessing – hugely attractive to some but somewhat intimidating to others. My intact foreskin meant that the head of my penis was exquisitely sensitive and with the over-excitement of youth I often suffered premature ejaculation – not that it was a big problem because I was soon ready to go again. My mentor taught me to retract my foreskin whenever I was naked – “let it feel the air and it’ll become less sensitive”. He was right, and gradually, in his expert hands, it ceased to be a problem.
He also taught me to obey the rules – when I was sent to him for punishment there was no ‘Mister nice guy’ but the voice of authority ordering to remove my clothes and to put myself over the arm of the settee to be caned – six and sometimes twelve strokes that left me in floods of tears and in desperate need of comfort. He provided that, too.
At the age of sixteen and encouraged by my mentor I decided that pubic hair was an encumbrance and after some hesitation, shaved. The effect was amazing. The penis that had poked somewhat tentatively from a forest of hair now stood big and proud from a campletely bare body. Even better was the sensation – my bare pubis suddenly became acutely sensitive to stroking fingers! I loved it, and there would be no going back. It wasn’t long before other areas followed – I learned to shave my bottom right to the anal margin, and loved the stream of delicious sensations that happened when I moved – or was touched in that most sensitive place. I did get a lot of ribald comments in the communal showers – not all of it kind. Some bullying too, by older boys who saw me as someone to humiliate. They took me into the woods to be stripped, mocked and beaten, but in truth I rather enjoyed it and continued to shave.
As I developed to manhood I found that a 7″ erect penis was a nice thing to have. Certainly nice to masturbate and in male nudist company something of a magnet. Some declared it perfect while others worried that they might be injured. They all wanted to touch! On balance, I decided that I was very lucky – and still do.
In adult life I yearned for recreational nudity and found it in the form of nudist clubs and resorts of one kind or another. I adored being naked with others and re-discovered the joy of swimming completely naked. However I did find most of those places somewhat unfulfilling because of numerous rules as to what was allowed and what not. Most of the things I wanted to do on the beach were strongly discouraged – unlike Pilchards Cove where there had been no inhibitions whatever. In the North of England, where I lived, the age of ‘let it all hang out’ nudism had not yet dawned!