Esme's Rambles
Author's Note: In this world, all characters are 18 or older. There are no unplanned pregnancies. STDs don't exist. Any mention of a specific product doesn't constitute an advertisement or endorsement, and I have no financial connection with the manufacturer or any retailers. I acknowledge beforehand that naturalists don't make the same connection between nudity and sex that "textiles" often do, but this is a Literotica fantasy after all.
*****
Esme sat cross-legged on a groundsheet in the shade under the broad canopy of an old oak, her back against its gnarled trunk. Her hiking pole leaned against the tree to one side and her rucksack lay among the roots on the other. The oak itself was on a rise and set back from the footpath that demarked a public right of way. She could see in both directions along the path and would notice any other ramblers coming from either direction. She gazed across the open terrain of the English countryside. Farm fields were randomly divided into a patchwork by orderly lines of ancient trees. Thicker wooded copses lined streams and filled several valleys. Just below the horizon, a church steeple pierced the sky, a visual cue for her looping ramble's start and destination village. On this sunny 32-degree day, Esme wore her broad-brimmed crushable mesh sun hat, a linen Liberty print scarf knotted at her neck, and her trainers. Nothing else. A gentle breeze cooled the light sheen of sweat across her chest causing her nipples to swell; that and the pleasant freedom of being naked outdoors.
Esme was taking a lunch break. She searched in her rucksack and took out the bento box she'd packed. She opened it to reveal a Jamon Beurre sandwich, celery and carrot sticks, cornichons, and apple slices. One pouch on the side of her rucksack held a water bottle. The pouch on the other side was stuffed with a bottle of white wine. She opened the piquepoul blanc and poured a generous serving into a plastic stemless wine cup she produced from her rucksack. As she sipped and nibbled, she savored the view and reminisced about arriving here.
*****
Germany
Esme spent a year at a German university as an exchange student. Back then, she was slimmer and tighter, her full but moderately sized breasts were firm and perky, the right one a little larger and it settled a fraction lower on her chest. Her nipples were mostly center forward, pointing slightly upward and surrounded by darker pink areolae. When cold or excited, they would stiffen into taut puffy gumdrops at the peaks of her fleshy mounds. Her curvy torso was softly feminine. She thought her hips were too wide and her round arse too big, but "nice."
On a free weekend in Berlin, her German friends took her for her first spa experience where she discovered that the pools and saunas were all "textile-free." She still remembered her companion's exclamation as Esme started to step into her one-piece bathing suit in the dressing room, "Kein Badeanzug, du musst nackt sein!"
"What do you mean I have to be naked!?"
"That's the way it is here."
Esme eyed the neatly wrapped bundle the attendant had given her: a fluffy robe, a towel, and sandals. Apprehensive, she sheepishly nodded; they were all girls after all. Sliding her feet into the sandals, she slipped on the robe and reluctantly followed the group into the anteroom of a nearby sauna. Following everyone's lead, Esme doffed her robe and hung it on a little peg before entering a room with tiers of wooden benches along three walls.
"You should sit on your towel, so you won't burn your butt."
She quickly spread her towel on a spot on a bench, not wanting to linger on thoughts of how much of her backside she showed to her companions. At first, she sat with her crossed arms over her breasts, nervously covering her nipples. She kept her legs tightly squeezed together, not looking comfortable at all. Soon, however, heat relaxed her and light banter on mundane subjects - music, boys, classes, favorite foods, and where to eat - distracted her. She watched, fascinated, as one of the girls raised her leg to her chest, completely exposing her shaved pussy to Esme's view. As the conversation progressed, she casually began brushing her fingertips along her slit. She wasn't obviously masturbating, rather she absentmindedly pleasured herself, a diversion from the conversation. No one else seemed to notice. The young woman dipped a finger between her nether lips and brushed across her clit. She caught Esme watching and gave her a cheeky wink.
The same girls who persuaded her to go in the altogether at the spa also convinced her she should shave her pussy. This exposed Esme's slit and the little ridge of flesh above her clit that peeked from between them. When the group suggested they do the whole FKK thing at a nearby park, Esme was at first embarrassed but, as at the spa, she went along. Esme came to accept that her body was okay and being naked in public wasn't so scary. It was okay to be there even though she mostly stayed prone so any men walking by could only view her arse and catch a glimpse of her cleavage while reading, propped on her elbows. She came to appreciate that nudity wasn't just for sex. Her body was different from everyone else's; she had all the same parts where they were supposed to be. Naked, she looked no better or worse than everyone else notwithstanding airbrushed super models. She secretly reveled in catching the numerous subtle glances in her direction; they fed her ego and boosted her confidence.
*****
She Begins Rambling
As a personnel manager for a local affiliate of one of the London department stores, Esme had a satisfying career. She mentally tucked public nudity into her more reckless past and traded for a business suit. She married and had children who were now of the age to attend university themselves. She had caught her husband
in flagrante delicto
with his secretary. The generous divorce settlement combined with her salary and investments earned her a comfortable life. It was a London Times lifestyle piece that caught her attention. The article was by and about a female editor who joined in a nude rambling event. The article was accompanied by a photo of an attractive youngish woman (the author) on an idyllic wooded footpath looking back over her shoulder. She was naked except for a blue rucksack and trainers, not exposing even the Page 3 bits (it was The Times after all).
Esme remembered the exhilaration and freedom of the forays into public nudity in her youth. The article stated that the UK College of Policing had issued a public nudity advice and decision aid that indicated nudity in public was a lawful activity if the person wasn't engaged in lewd or disorderly conduct or was causing actual harassment. Activities like gardening, home maintenance, swimming, cycling, walking, and hiking in the nude were all fine. She supposed that's how the no trousers tube ride in London worked. Combined with the Right to Roam and designated public Open Access Land, it all piqued her curiosity to find some nude rambling groups. She decided she wanted to try full body exposure in the English countryside. The Times article included enough clues that a quick web search provided her with information on several societies where she discovered both guidelines and events. It all struck her as a surprising and refreshing niche British pastime in stark contrast to often-stuffy stereotypes.
Her first naked ramble started with meeting the other naturists for pints in the outdoor garden of a local pub. There were four couples in the group, three single men, and Esme, the only newbie. Esme had emailed the group leader, Eddie, but knew no one else. Eddie stood and introduced Esme. Everyone in turn introduced themselves but Esme promptly forgot who was who. The group began the walk, clothed, leaving the pub and taking a path along a lane to a gap in a stone fence that included a stone step stile. Everyone crossed, and when on the other side of the fence away from casual view by anyone in the lane, everyone disrobed. In addition to her rucksack, Esme wore a wide-brimmed mesh hat; the one she used while gardening to keep the sun off her face. Her kit also included a loosely knotted linen Liberty print neckerchief knotted about her neck and a short, powder blue sleeveless cotton wrap dress tucked through one of the shoulder straps of her rucksack. If needed when meeting textiles, she could quickly cover up by putting on the dress, but she would follow the lead of the organizers of the walk. She could soak the neckerchief with water to help keep cool on hot days. A stout one-and-a-half meter walking pole completed the kit that became her go-to rambling ensemble.
Since her Uni days, pregnancy had inflated her breasts, and gravity had slackened them a bit. Her aureolae still puffed into gumdrops each capped by a taut nipple. Days at the gym helped to keep all her parts mostly up, firm, and properly round. She discreetly observed her companions. There were all varieties of boobs, bellies, and bottoms small to large, firm, bouncy to jiggling, swaying, sagging, shaved (like herself), topiary, or hirsute. She felt good about all her goodies.
