Nude beaches written by Amber

(This is a magazine article Amber wrote years ago. It was published in Naturist magazine) This doggie loves to dig through Ambers old files and put articles, essays, etc. out there.My paws are tired from clearing out her computer)



Nude beaches have exploded in popularity. Sexuality has always been the stereotype affiliated with naturist nudism. When my male friend invited me to join him and other working professionals in a “windmill project” at a nude beach I was intrigued. I thought that this might be a good opportunity to do some field ethnography research. Recent surveys confirm that the majority of Americans are becoming more and more receptive to nudism, which was once considered a carnal and taboo lifestyle. It has been commonplace in Europe for over 50 years. However there still seems to be a lot of misinformation and unanswered questions about the nudist subculture. I counted my objections. I have stretch marks, my own idea of what I call “baby fat” and scars from various accidents throughout the years. Most embarrassing is my “waxadent” scarring from my latest visit to the “other” beauty salon.

The hardest part for me was making the decision about having my child join me in this “naturist” environment. I made the decision that this adventure would be ethically moral when my neighbor trusted her twelve-year-old daughter to join us. She said that when she was young her parents took her and her sisters to nude beaches often. After much consideration, I packed my sunscreen, explained the difference between “freedom of clothing” and “sexuality” to my eleven-year-old daughter and we all headed to the nudist beach.

My daughter asked me the day before if she could buy a pink wig to wear. Perhaps this was a subconscious decision that she wanted to be disguised and not held accountable in this atmosphere. Or perhaps instead she saw our adventure as a party where she could express herself fully. When we arrived at the beach as flashy newcomers, I felt like I was prepared. I wore a full piece 1960 short swimsuit I bought especially for the occasion. I felt especially sexy covering the flaws on my body that are unattractive and accentuating the assets that I am especially proud of such as my breasts and bottom. It’s funny that I bought something to wear that was more modest than what I would regularly wear on a public beach.

Another dynamic to this adventure is the fact that I had worked as a stripper in my past. It has been several years since I entertained in this way but my new shy outlook even shocked me. Covering my flaws with makeup, I took my clothing off publicly in a seductive way entertaining men nightly. I supported myself by the physical appearance of my body and by using my sexuality. Flaunting my body for money and attention had never been an issue for me. And having long conversations and the occasional cry while in the dressing room naked seemed completely normal and comfortable. However I decided to stay modest in this new “naturist” environment. Was I trying to set a modest standard for my daughter? I still don’t know the answer to my newfound modesty in this situation. My daughter and her friend were dressed up with hula skirts over their swimsuits, and both had expressed that they were not going nude and that they were not going to look at the “gross naked people”. I completely agreed with them and gave them their own adolescent rules: no removing any clothing. Period.

After driving behind a caravan of friends, about an hour and a half out of Los Angeles we arrived at our destination. We met our party in the parking lot and after loading all of our drinks, snacks, sand tools and windmill equipment into carts we trekked down the 300-foot cliff to the beach. I walked ahead of the children like a mother bear on the lookout, paving the way. A park ranger walked beside me casually talking about the weather. My first thought was “Does this fully dressed officer of the law think we are a strange bunch?” Then I experienced my first reaction to the nudity.

A number of naked adults were playing volleyball. I wanted to stare. They all seemed so comfortable in their nudity that they seemed to really ignore the fact that everyone was naked. They actually were scoring points and keeping track. I looked behind me as we walked by the players to check my daughter and her friend’s reaction. Both walked by the volley ball game as if they would be struck with lightning for looking. Heads down and holding back awkward giggles the girls followed me further up the beach, passing naked men, women, and thankfully, other children. My fears of “bad parenting” felt more justified. Children played alongside the adults in a manner of serenity. Was it a cultural difference?

When we stopped to set up camp I still was not used to what was going on around me. Still clothed and sober, I tried to act natural as other naked beachgoers gathered around our especially large party to see what it was we were up to. After the discovery of our “windmill project” everyone seemed to accept us as part of them. My daughter and her friend teamed together in efforts to ignore the naked adults, and I layed down my towels, and immediately took out my internal energy by pounding on a drum that I brought for entertainment. The children immediately ran and jumped into the ocean, my friends started organizing the bamboo for the windmill as I kept up the drumming for an extended period. The “naturist” environment seemed to indeed, be very natural. So natural in fact that I felt like I should have brought my grooming scissors to cut back the overgrown “ jungle like” pubic hair on several penis and vagina areas. The nudity that I was accustomed to was different here. There were no plump breast jobs, or perfected bikini waxes, but instead a comfortable amount of wrinkles, natural body scars, stretch marks, and “cold water” penises.

As the day progressed my comfort level progressed as well. I stopped my own gawking and even felt comfortable enough to remove my full piece swimsuit and wear a wrap around my naked body instead. However, I maintained my self-consciousness and never allowed my vagina to show. I felt especially beautiful with my colorful cover up, and wild hair blowing in the salty breeze. I felt a sort of sexual energy around me as the men were building the windmill and the women were gathered in a clan working together preparing food, watching the children and supporting the men in their building endeavor. The only sexuality was the thoughts I related with nudity, and the dynamic of masculinity and femininity expressed in a fashion that isn’t shown much in daily Hollywood life. Any expectancy of independence was stripped away as we worked as a group or tribe. I really enjoyed feeling like a feminine and almost weak woman amongst the other women. The men had their place in this society and so did the women. I was happy being the weaker of the sexes. I wasn’t expected to help with the men's heavy work, as the men were not expected to help us with ours. It was an unplanned ritual that just formed itself naturally. I noticed that everyone around me also looked content with this set up. We were the Windmill tribe and we belonged here. The men appeared especially strong and the women seemed spiritually beautiful working alongside the children. Everything was perfect.

My friends Greg and Lisa showed up in the middle of the afternoon. Both of them are highly educated and moral people. Not to say that what we were doing was immoral but I felt a twinge of guilt when they joined us, as if I was “caught in the act”. I covered up even more. Not for modesty but as some sort of ethical belief I must have brought with me. By looking at their faces, I could visibly see the culture shock. The rest of our “tribe” had spent several hours together bonding in a family sort of way by the time they arrived. Everyone welcomed them with open arms, excitement at their late arrival, and a nice cold alcoholic beverage to relax them. What seemed interesting is that no one ever discussed the nudity. Everyone knew that nudity was a key element here and no one felt they needed to talk about it. After about an hour of absorbing the environment Greg and Lisa became members of our tribe. They never disrobed but Greg joined the men working although no one asked him too, and Lisa began to paint colorful flowers on women’s breasts. She even braided my hair in a loving motherly fashion as I lay in the sand listening to the drumming around me. At this point I was part of a mysterious tribe and I was in love with my people.

Another interesting factor was the drug ritual that was going on at our camp. While the children swam freely in the ocean the adults hid in a tent and smoked pot, did bumps of cocaine and shots of hard liquor. Then we would come out of the tent as if nothing was going on, and we would continue with whatever project we were working on. No one did too much. We all maintained a slight high, instead of a drug overload.

There are unwritten rules on behavior at nude beaches. In my invitation to the “windmill project” I was warned that there may be gawkers, no cameras were allowed and that sexual activity is illegal and offensive. In the Los Angeles county laws on “Nudity and Disrobing” are this: No person shall appear, bathe, sunbathe, walk, change clothes, disrobe or |be on any beach in such manner that the genitals, vulva, pubis, pubic symphysis, pubic hair, buttocks, natal cleft, perineum, anus, anal region or pubic hair region of any person, or any portion of the breast at or below the upper edge of the areola thereof of any female person, is exposed to public view, except in those portions of a comfort station, if| any, expressly set aside for such purpose. B) This section shall not apply to persons under the age of 10 years, provided such children are sufficiently clothed to conform to accepted community standards. C) This section shall not apply to persons engaged in a live theatrical performance in a theater, concert hall, or similar establishment which is primarily devoted to theatrical performances.

The windmill was finished and as the sun set over the ocean. We all celebrated with photographs and we packed up our sunscreen, towels and sand buckets and headed to my friends house to continue our party.

The sexuality stereotype affiliated with naturistic nudism is not completely inaccurate. Once we reached our party destination, the tensed up sexuality was unleashed. The host of our party had food and more drinks waiting for the tribe at his home. Once there we all stripped our clothing off again to swim in his pool, and lounge in the hot tub. The children were tucked safely into bed and the adults began to make out with their dates, and some with other peoples dates. I was only an observer. My “mama bear” mode was in high gear watching my friends participate in what became a small orgy. For those of us that were not involved, we just carried on with conversations and drinks as if nothing was happening. The mood was one of exctacy, and the freedom from clothing at the nude beach was indeed the factor in this scenario. I am still a bit shocked at the behavior on this day and night. However, if I was invited again, I’m sure I would attend.