Chapter 1 - Wwrgd

Kate's Exhibitionist Journey

Chapter 1 - WWRGD

In which Kate starts off watching Netflix and ends up on a nude beach in very little time at all, all things considered.

I blame Jennifer Aniston.

Ok, that's not quite fair. More accurately, I blame Rachel Green.

Ok, that's not fair either. But she was the one that lit the touchpaper inside me, that caused me to realise something about myself I'd never known about. That sent me on a journey of self-discovery that I'd never have thought possible.

I should probably explain.

Being born in 1999, I'm not old enough to remember Friends from its first airing, but thanks to the miracle of streaming services, people like me now have the chance to binge the whole series on Netflix. Truth be told, I wasn't blown away. It was fine, funny enough for the most part. But I guess after hearing my parents talking about what a seminal TV experience it was for their generation, I guess I was expecting something more than what I got.

Except for what I got in Season 5, Episode 23.

In one particular sequence in that episode, Rachel finds herself alone in her apartment for the night. And, after having had the idea suggested to her by Phoebe in an earlier scene, she decides to have some fun and experiment with being naked in her own home.

In a flash (no pun intended), she pulls off her bathrobe, and starts to walk around the apartment nude. Of course, this all leads to a 'classic sitcom misunderstanding' with Ross, but that part of the episode didn't interest me all that much. Instead, the scene of her, alone in her apartment, just hanging out in every definition of the word, had the weirdest effect on me.

For days afterwards, I could barely think of anything else. About the idea of being so completely and so casually naked like that. I had no idea why a silly sub-plot in a random sitcom episode had apparently affected me in this utterly profound way. But I couldn't deny that it had. Whenever I thought about it, I felt a distinct tingle of excitement deep inside.

So, I began my own experiment.

It actually started as a complete accident. One morning, with the curtains of my apartment still mercifully closed, I was getting ready for work as usual. I finished showering, wrapped a towel around myself, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Then, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a bowl of cereal in the other, I headed for the living room. Only for the knot in my towel to slip. With both hands full, I was powerless to stop it from falling to the ground, leaving me standing naked in my own hallway.

I felt myself blush, despite the fact that I lived alone and so was sure there was nobody around to see my predicament, and turned back to the kitchen to set the cup and bowl down and free my hands in order to rescue my towel and reclaim my modesty.

And then I stopped. My mind immediately went to that scene, the one that had stayed with me so much over the last few weeks. In my mind, a silly question popped into my head. What would Rachel Green do? WWRGD?

And in an instant, I went from feeling slightly embarrassed at my clumsiness to intrigued at the opportunity to act on my recent urges that had presented itself. So, I headed to the living room, breakfast in hand, leaving my towel where it was. I happily ate my breakfast on the sofa while I watched TV. Completely naked.

It was an odd sensation. And I don't just mean the feeling of the rather coarse material of my rented flat's old sofa on my bare skin. But the simple act of being nude while completing such a mundane daily activity felt strangely freeing. Almost liberating.

And so, that became my new routine. Every morning, I would wake up, shower, and towel myself dry. Then I would walk down the hallway to the kitchen naked, fix breakfast naked, walk to the living room naked, and eat breakfast while watching TV naked. For twenty minutes or so every morning, I had a little bit of Rachel Green-style nude time.

Sometimes, after I'd gotten substantially more clothed, I'd question what I was doing in those moments. Because actually, what the hell was I doing? Was this a sign that I was a closeted nudist? Had an episode of an old 1990s American sitcom unlocked some sort of innate desire for a huge lifestyle change from deep inside me? Was I some sort of deviant? Someone who got some sort of perverse kick from being nude like that? Or was I just a simple kooky weirdo who, for some reason, liked to eat cereal with her boobs out?

As the weeks went on, I got no nearer to figuring out the truth. Initially, I'd been sure it wasn't a sexual thing. But then I couldn't deny that recently, when the mood took me, my thoughts as I pleasured myself were increasingly diverting into scenarios revolving around healthy amounts of my own nudity.

I pictured myself seductively dancing nude in front of my (sadly fictional) boyfriend. I imagined myself answering the door for a delivery guy in a towel, only for it to fall and leave me completely exposed. Oops! I even imagined myself volunteering at a life drawing session. Being asked to assume a dizzying array of revealing poses while the entire class sketched me, their eyes taking in every inch of my bare body.

What was I doing? I had no idea. All I knew is that I wanted more.

Living alone, in a third floor apartment in London, I didn't exactly have a lot of options to explore this new side of me safely. So initially, I simply spent more and more time in the nude at home. Now it was more than just twenty minutes over breakfast, it was entire evenings as well. I would cook dinner in the nude, or do my ironing in the nude, or clean the bathroom in the nude. One weekend when I had nothing better to do, I even challenged myself to spend the entire 48 hours with no clothes on. And I succeeded with ease.

But I was disappointed to find that none of that was really doing anything for me. It was all just variations on a familiar theme, after all. The liberating had returned to being mundane. And on top of that, with another block of flats directly opposite mine, I was far too nervous to even attempt any of this with the curtains open. Meaning that my exciting long weekend in the nude was really just two days spent inside my own apartment with the curtains tightly drawn. My neighbours across the street must've thought that I'd become a recluse.

As I became more frustrated, I couldn't help but feel a little jealous about my friends who had opted to leave the city during the pandemic. I thought about my friend Nicole, who had moved to a cottage out in the country with her husband Simon. I'd visited there a few times, and it was the picture of perfect seclusion, miles from the nearest built-up area. If I lived there, I'd have ample opportunity to escalate things by walking outside in the nude. If I tried that where I actually lived, I'd be arrested within minutes.

I began to brainstorm other ideas, even considering acting out some of my masturbatory fantasies in reality. But sadly, I had no boyfriend to dance for. And the whole 'dropping my towel in front of a delivery man' bit felt like something that definitely should stay on the fantasy side of things. There were surely a lot of different ways a random man might react to a woman suddenly exposing herself to him like that, and none of them seemed good. Out of curiosity more than anything, I even googled life drawing classes in my local area. But that felt like too big of a jump in one go.

And then, I discovered the videos.

*****

I can't remember exactly how I first found them. But it had to be thanks to some random google-based nudity rabbit hole or other that I disappeared down one evening. I clicked on one particular link, and as happens far too often on the internet, the next thing I knew, I was watching porn.

Actually, I'm not sure it even counted as porn. No sexual acts were performed. Nobody even really touched anyone else. Instead, it was a forty minute video shot in the middle of a city I eventually discovered to be Prague, featuring a young blonde woman being filmed wandering around the city streets. Completely nude.

Understandably, given her state of total undress, she attracted plenty of attention. But she dealt with it all effortlessly and cheerily, as random passers-by made excuses to talk to her, walked alongside her, and even asked her to pose for selfies with them (she was always accommodating to those requests). All the way through those minor distractions, she kept smiling, giggling and reveling in the attention she was getting.

It was one of the most powerfully arousing things I'd ever watched.

Not because of the naked woman herself, per se. I mean, she was absolutely stunning, there was no question of that. But I was sure I didn't swing that way. Or I didn't think I did, at least. No, I was aroused by the idea of picturing myself in her place. Walking nude through the streets of a major city, freed from the confines of my stuffy apartment, behind closed curtains. I imagined the warm sun caressing my bare skin as I laughed and smiled at each random stranger that passed me by, and felt their roving eyes eagerly devouring my completely exposed body.

If Rachel Green had lit the touchpaper of my new fascination, then this nude Czech girl was the accelerant for the fire that was taking hold inside me. And it didn't take much work to find a whole range of other videos in the same genre. Each one followed the same playbook. A naked woman, walking around a public place, gleefully interacting with amused, confused or often just downright delighted passers-by.

Sometimes, as in the first video, they were set on the streets of a European city. Sometimes they would be inside a cafe or a bar, where the woman would casually sip coffee or beer with the locals. Sometimes, in what I felt was a clever level of irony I hadn't been expecting from what was still effectively a piece of smut, they were in an outdoor market setting, featuring a naked woman idly browsing rack after rack of clothing with her body bared to the world.

One particular video quickly became my favourite. It was set inside a busy nightclub, and saw a beautiful brunette spending the best part of an hour cavorting around the dancefloor, her nude body moving and swaying to the music, the lighting illuminating her curves, watched on by an appreciative crowd of men, and even several women. And despite the alluring sight, the crowd kept things respectful. Men would dance with her, eagerly allow her to move in close if she wanted to, but kept their own hands to themselves. Likely just because it was clear that the whole thing was being recorded, but still, that aspect of respect and safety added another layer of joyous eroticism to the piece for me.

Almost every time I reached for that video, I felt the need to lie back, close my eyes and masturbate. Imagining myself in her place, completely nude in a sea of people, dancing rhythmically to the beat of the music and feeling every pair of eyes in the room following my every sensual movement.

But while the videos gave my fantasies a shot in the arm, they brought me no closer to a practical way forwards in reality. I wasn't about to jump on a plane, fly to Eastern Europe by myself, and then strip off all my clothes in the first nightclub I happened across. But equally, just lying on my somewhat itchy sofa watching TV in the nude wasn't doing anything for me either anymore. I still craved more.

I started flirting with the idea of leaving the curtains open during one of my many nude sessions at home. But every time I got near to stripping in a room still bathed in natural light, I panicked. What if one of the people opposite started filming me? I craved the sensation of being nude around others from a fantasy standpoint, as a one off stolen moment of eroticism. But the invention of the cameraphone meant that nothing was ever really a one-off moment any more. And the idea that I might unwittingly join all those women from my favourite videos online, in a significantly less consensual way, filled me with dread.

That, I realised, was the problem. Why all my fantasies really had to remain that way. In real life, I couldn't just drop my towel in front of a stranger, or walk naked through the streets of London, or dance nude in my local nightclub. Because there were way too many risks. Too many people to get the wrong idea, or overstep a boundary, or even just get offended and call the police. In my mind, I was as safe and carefree as the women in those videos, protected by an unseen power. Everyone kept their distance, and had some respect.

And then, it clicked. I needed to find somewhere in real life where people would keep their distance, and have respect. A safe space. Somewhere where I could relax and take the next step in exploring this naked phase I had found myself going through.

Within minutes, the browser tabs of my laptop were filled with pages for a dozen or more nudist resorts, retreats, special getaways. I was actually shocked to find just how many there were to choose from. But all of the recommended ones were abroad, dotted across Europe and beyond. Most seemed to be in Germany, of all places. And no matter how I tried to justify it to myself, booking an entire vacation abroad on my modest salary, based on an episode of Friends and a few nude breakfasts seemed to be the definition of a wild overreaction.

Eventually, more by luck than anything, I happened across the perfect compromise. I found a well-reviewed nude beach, right here in the UK. Admittedly still the best part of a three hour drive from London, but the more I read about it, the more it seemed perfect. Apparently it consisted of a stretch of space right on the coast, separated from the rest of the beach by a natural formation of sand dunes, keeping the nude folks safely away from the prying eyes of the rest of the beachgoers. And, being a public beach, I could just show up anonymously. Unlike the resorts and retreats I'd researched, there was no paperwork to fill in, no financial transaction to complete. Even if I went there and hated it, there would be no evidence left behind that I'd ever been there. Apart from in my own memory.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I chose a date there and then. I specifically picked a day several weeks from now, when the weather should be warmer, and decided to go in the middle of the week to hopefully make sure it wouldn't be too busy for my first time. I even burned a day's holiday at work on my nude adventure.

And with that, I closed my laptop and smiled in satisfaction. A fresh tingle of excitement rising up deep inside me.

*****

The day before my beach trip, I stood naked and nervous in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, casting an eye over my body.

I hadn't done anything like this since my awkward teenage years. When a combination of low self-esteem and high societal expectations had led me to spend hours studying my own body, comparing it to the woman I saw in magazines, or on TV, and constantly worrying whether parts of me were getting too big. Or staying too small.

Mercifully, I'd eventually made peace with how I looked. But with my big nude public debut now less than 24 hours away, I felt compelled to give myself one last once-over.

Not least because something odd had been happening to me. Ever since I'd confirmed my date with destiny, I'd been hitting the gym twice as hard, sticking to a more rigid diet than usual, determined to shed a couple of extra pounds and tighten up my body as much as possible. The gym staff who knew me even complimented me on my renewed dedication, though they would never have guessed the reason behind my sudden desire for exercise. And while none of it had been enjoyable, I had to admit that the results were plain to see. Even if I did say so myself, I was looking good naked. True, I wasn't exactly as stunning as the women I'd seen in the videos online, but who was?

Not bad, Kate, I smiled to myself. Not bad at all.

I stood a fraction over 5 ft 4 inches tall, though I looked a little taller right now, with my long blonde hair tied up in a tall bob to give me an uninterrupted view of my body. My healthy b-cup breasts were still happily perky, topped by my small and especially sensitive nipples. In the past, I'd had to caution more than one ex-boyfriend to be gentler with them, even though they usually hardened under the slightest provocation in a way that suggested they were fiercely demanding attention. Further down, my gym work had paid clear dividends. My flat stomach was even tighter and firmer than usual, and my thighs and legs looked nicely toned from any angle I chose in front of the mirror.

And then there was the finishing touch I'd bestowed on myself earlier in the day. Usually I liked to just keep my hair down there trimmed and tidy, but on an impulse, I'd booked into a salon and, for the first time in my life, opted for a full wax. Every trace of hair had been expertly (not to mention painfully) removed. I studied my completely bald pubic region and felt a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. Somehow, looking like this, I felt even more naked than ever before. With even more of me on display.

After a few more mildly indulgent and narcissistic minutes studying myself from every angle, I felt satisfied. True, if I was to channel the self-critical teenager inside, there was a lot about my body that I still didn't like. While I loved how perky my breasts were in my mid-20s, I still wished they were just a little larger. Though I was happy with my toned stomach and thighs, I wished there was more of a curvy shape to my hips and waist. And as I turned myself to an angle, I noted that my bum was still a little flat. Sadly, it seemed like no amount of squats and lunges at the gym seemed capable of making it as round as I'd have liked.

But, overall, I was satisfied with my work. And my skin started to crackle in anticipation of what was to come. Walking onto the beach tomorrow, completely undressed. The image I had in my head, of me triumphantly walking across the sand in the nude, feeling the wandering eyes of dozens of strangers staring at me, began to arouse me. My exposed pussy began to moisten.

Actually, in the research I'd been doing into nude beach protocol, I knew the reality wouldn't be like that. For one, every site I'd checked on the subject affirmed that, understandably, there was no sexual component to nude beaches. It wasn't some sort of horny naked free-for-all. It was just a place for people of all ages to relax, free of their clothes. And on top of that, another big no-no was staring. It was natural to look, but not to stare.

Still, my inner fantasy had plenty of people staring. At me. With my thoughts turning ever more thrilling, I left the mirror behind and retreated to my bed, settling down and starting to rub my wet pussy with increasing intensity as I continued to fantasise about my big nude day out. I came almost immediately, and I fell asleep on a wave of post-orgasmic bliss.

*****

The morning after, the butterflies in my stomach were there as soon as I woke up. After a shower and a now-traditional nude breakfast, I eagerly dressed for my day at the beach. I opted for a light patterned summer dress, and wore my plain white bikini underneath, figuring that even if I eventually chickened out of my plan, I could at least do some sunbathing of the non-nude variety while I was there. I had a tiny pair of flip-flops for the beach itself, but initially wore my gym shoes for the car.

On the drive down there, I was a knot of excited nerves, barely able to concentrate on the road in front of me. It's a miracle I didn't end up having an accident. The sat nav directed me all the way to a car park directly on the seafront. I wasn't right by the area that I understood to be the designated nude beach, but it was only a short walk away down the sand.