FIRST NUDE BEACH EXPOSURE, Ch.02 - Her Point-of-View
More than a few years ago, my job as a lobbyist at the state legislature meant that I was clamoring for a vacation as soon as the session ended. This was in early June, and we had traded two weeks of timeshare on St. Thomas for two in St. Martin. June is off-season in the Caribbean, so it was easier find openings, and much less crowded than in the touristy winter months. I had been to St. Martin as a port-of-call stop on a cruise with my younger sister and our father and I'd loved the experience of seeing both the French and Dutch sides of the island. My husband, Dave and I were looking forward to having a lot of time for exploring the island and its lovely beaches. With two weeks we didn't have to hurry through our list of sites and activities at break-neck pace. We really wanted lots of time to relax on the beach together.
When I thought about St. Martin beaches, I remembered that on our cruise ship's stop we'd taken a shore excursion that included time at Orient Bay, with its clothing-optional beach. Since our dad was along, my sister and I didn't participate in any nude sunbathing, though it did open my eyes quite literally to recognize a whole different lifestyle.
I certainly had no moral problem with public nudity, and I certainly didn't judge others for participating. But I have always been very self-conscious, if not self-deprecating about my own body. Over the years, my weight has gone up and down, and when down, it always seems to come off my breasts first. I'd worked-out and slimmed down in the past few years and now comfortably fit into an A-cup bra. I'd grown up with the "Playboy, Hugh Hefner-inspired" media emphasizing large breasts as key to women's beauty and sexuality.
While Dave has relentlessly complimented me on my appearance and sexual appeal, when I look in the mirror, I see a woman who shouldn't be openly displaying herself on a nude beach.
When I'd been at Orient Bay on the Club Orient resort side, I saw a lot of buxom women who were parading along the beach and trying to exhibit that "Playboy" image. That experience had not buoyed my enthusiasm to the whole nude beach idea and certainly not my receptivity to participating.
As Dave and I planned our St. Martin itinerary, we talked about Orient Bay, and it definitely was a priority for him. When he asked me if I was willing to go and to get naked, the best I could come up with was, "I'll see." He knew pushing me any further would only strengthen my resolve to refrain. I had bought a new bikini for this trip, and it was quite a bit more revealing than all my other suits. This was my goodwill concession to Dave's goading me to be more daring in my dress, at least for this vacation.
I'd also gone to a tanning salon to build a base and tanned naked because I wasn't sure which of my swimsuits I'd all wear over the two weeks. I sure didn't want a bunch of overlapping tan lines showing. I also wanted to hedge my bet just in case I decided to test the limits of my modesty at Orient Bay. I'm sure my all-over tan gave Dave heightened, though likely overly zealous expectations for my St. Martin beach attire.
The first place we were to stay in St. Martin was called the Pelican. Arriving at night we didn't know until the next morning that it had limited beach space right on the water. There was a larger sandy area, but it was away from the water, fairly crowded, and not inviting at all. Dave's eagle-eyes quickly spied one woman in the far corner who was sunning topless, while I pointed out that everyone else was in swimsuits. Dave wasted no time trying to convince me to go to Orient Bay that afternoon. After another quick look at our options here, it was easy to acquiesce to his good-natured goading. I packed some beer, lots of suntan lotion, and our favorite beach towels. Orient Bay was a good hour-drive across much of the French side of the island.
We parked near the restaurants, bars, and tee-shirt shops, with a few hotels a block away. I remembered it was a fair walk to the far end where Club Orient, the clothes-optional resort was located. That was where I remembered many of the serious nudists sunned and strutted. I told Dave I wanted to stay in the more touristy western area, and I found a nice bar/restaurant that rented chairs and umbrellas. The lovely young French woman handling the rentals was topless, wearing only a small thong and quite comfortable with her chosen work uniform.
I was impressed how her deep all-over tan matched the color of her nipples; she certainly got more than a healthy dose of sun. When Dave asked her if it was OK to be nude on this section of the beach, she merely pointed out the array of people in every stage of dress and undress. While this appeased Dave, I was quick to notice there were many more people in swimsuits than naked, though a fair number of women were topless.
After we got our chairs, Dave decided to go for a short walk and test the water, literally, and assess the local atmosphere and customs. We both had been startled to see the number of families with children ranging from babies to teenagers. Knowing this was French territory, it shouldn't have been unexpected. I was taken aback seeing so many of their younger teenage daughters sunning topless. Many were clearly under 18 years old. While a few of their mothers were nude, it seemed the accepted rule for their younger daughters was to keep their "virtue" covered.
Seeing these girls conflicted with my American upbringing, not to mention our laws, and I could tell Dave was struggling with the same thoughts. Not long after we sat down, an American family with two 15, 16, or17-year-old sons took the seats immediately behind us; all of them in swimsuits. These boys were like kids in Willy Wonka's candy store, leering at the French girls and snickering and smirking over what was no doubt their first glimpse at bare female breasts, at least on someone their own age. Given their youth and knowing what fantasies they probably have, I wasn't about to give those boys a peek at my tits.
I knew Dave was set on me at least taking my top off, but this was not the place I'd be comfortable challenging my modesty. We both wanted to move somewhere else, more conducive for adults. But virtually all the chairs here were now occupied, and moving to another area would have meant paying another $30-$40. We decided to stay where we were today, and after seeing the young French girls and American boys nearby, neither of us felt much like getting naked, or even topless for me.
Dave soon got antsy and decided to take another walk. I opted to stay here to read, pulling my chair under our umbrella for some needed shade and welcomed solitude. Dave walked toward Club Orient, I assumed to both explore and look at the buxom beach babes sunning there. I'm almost never possessive of my husband or jealous of other women, but his wanting to scope out women for whom I'd acquired some skin-deep distain, was like kicking sand on my fragile body ego.
In 20 minutes or so, Dave returned looking exceedingly pleased with himself. My first reaction to his animated behavior was to think he'd seen a woman we knew from home and was overcome with excitement from seeing her naked. My second theory was he was just impressed with the big-breasted, overly tanned, and well-oiled nudist women at the Club; though knowing my feelings, I doubted he'd be openly crowing about them.
After he was back in his chair and calmed down, he proceeded to tell me that he found the ideal beach spot for us. On his walk, he'd discovered there were two areas on the Club Orient side of the beach. The closest area was used by what he described as regular people, like us, who just wanted to sunbathe naked. Further east and directly in front of the Club Orient cottages was the area used by the "hard-core nudists."
He told me the first part of the Club beach was occupied by mostly couples and virtually no children other than maybe a few babies. He added that the adults ranged from their 20s to probably their 80s with a full range of body sizes, shapes, and tan lines represented.
"Joan, everyone was minding their own business or having fun talking with their neighbors, Dave reported. "They were all enjoying the carefree and clothing-free atmosphere. This was definitely the area of the beach where we should have come."
He insisted I walk with him to see for myself how different the near part of the eastern beach was from the hard-core area. It was probably even father affield from the likely well-embellished memories from my prior cruise stop.
Once we passed the large Club Orient sign, I was immediately overwhelmed with the free and easy, and nonthreatening atmosphere. When we walked among the rows of people, I carefully noted their diversity, and how similar they were to the people we knew and met day-to-day. I could feel the congeniality, tolerance, and respect for each other's nude bodies. These feelings were so different from what I felt on the other part of the beach, and certainly from my previous visit. We readily agreed to return the next day.
When we arrived at 10:00 the next morning, we had our pick of beach chairs. We decided on two that were a row or two back from the water. This insured we weren't right in front of the main route used by the walkers. These often included the cruise ship passengers who ambled by just to gawk, like I had admittedly done with my family previously. And, yes, now being one of the sunbathers, I did feel a little guilty for my past sins. Those strolling by also included other curious tourists on the island and the "professional" nudists who often paraded by to flaunt their deeply tanned and well-oiled bodies.
When we first thought about a visit to Orient Bay, I was seriously worried we'd encounter someone we knew from our hometown, most likely there on a cruise. This would mean they'd most likely be clothed while I'd be naked which felt like a real imbalance of power to me.
While I had to admit there were very low odds of this happening, anonymity was a requirement for me to get naked here. The idea of being seen nude by someone we knew was more than embarrassing to me, who knew how many of our friends and coworkers they'd share that information with and tarnish our reputations.
Once settled in our chairs, Dave immediately got naked and slathered on the lotion. I looked around at the mostly couples sitting near us and except for one single, very shapely, topless woman all were completely naked. I'm sure I disappointed Dave by leaving my suit on as I struggled with conflicting emotions.
I caught Dave staring at the very well-endowed topless woman a little too long, and impulsively snapped at him with, "Quit looking at that woman's big tits." I couldn't immediately discern whether that barb was inspired by my comparing that woman's breasts with my own self-effacing body image, or rather simply feeling his looking was too invasive. While I knew those feelings were not necessarily mutually exclusive, I was well-aware that Dave knew his nude beach etiquette and would strive to obey it.
So, he challenged my assessment, saying, "If my inobtrusive looking at other women here is going to be a problem, let's head back to the condo right now." And to enhance my own body self-confidence, he added, "If you don't think every man here isn't going to look and admire every inch of your inviting body, you're trying to defy gravity."
