My wife's job as a lobbyist at the state legislature meant that she was more than ready for a vacation as soon as the session ended. This usually occurred in early June. This year Joan and I had traded two weeks of timeshare from our home resort on St. Thomas for two spots in St. Martin. Since June is off-season in the Caribbean, we could more easily find openings, and it was much less crowded than in the winter. Joan had been to St. Martin as one stop on a cruise with her sister and their dad and loved the charm of both the French and Dutch sides of the island. We were looking forward to having a lot of unplanned time to explore the island and its numerous pristine beaches. Having two weeks meant we didn't have to rush to get through our list of "must-sees" and "must-dos" at a frenetic pace. We valued relaxing on the beach and didn't consider it any kind of wasted or down time.
So, beach time in St. Martin was one of our main goals for the trip. Joan had told me that on her cruise stop there they had done a shore excursion with a stop at Orient Bay, with the premier clothing-optional beach. She went to great lengths to assure me they had only been "walker-gawkers" and hadn't followed the "When in Rome..." approach to the local dress-code. Since their dad was along, that didn't surprise me. Her description of much of the beach scene made it a prime destination for me, for all the obvious reasons, but I was really hoping it would allow Joan to first shed some long-held inhibitions and then her swimsuit shortly after.
Public nudity certainly didn't threaten her sense of ethics or personal scruples, nor did she look down on others for participating. She simply was overly self-conscious about her own body image. Now, she's a beautiful woman, with a sexy body, and I think the most beautiful, modest-sized breasts in the world. Of course, she doesn't believe me, having grown up in a "Playboy, Hugh Hefner-inspired" culture about what constituted women's beauty and sexuality. When she'd been at Orient Bay on the Club Orient resort side, she'd seen a lot of what I'd call "professional nudists" who were basically strutting their stuff and trying to fit into that "Playboy" template. That experience had soured her enthusiasm, if not even her receptivity to the whole nude beach idea and certainly to her joining me in that dress mode. The people she saw there were just not ones she could relate to.
In planning our St. Martin itinerary, we talked about Orient Bay, and it definitely was a destination beach for me. When I asked Joan if she was willing to go and to get naked, she merely said, "We'll see." I knew better than to push any further. She had bought a new bikini for the trip that was quite a bit skimpier than any of the suits she had, which I felt was definitely a very good omen. But more importantly, she'd gone to a tanning salon to build a base and tanned totally naked.
The first resort we stayed at was called the Pelican, and we arrived at night. In the light of the next morning, we discovered that it had limited beach access on-site. The largest sandy area with chairs for sunning was mostly away from the water. It was fairly crowded, close to a busy road, and not overly appealing. One woman in the far corner was topless, though everyone else wore swimsuits. That all made it easy for me to push for going to Orient Bay that afternoon, and Joan agreed, though with less enthusiasm than I would have hoped for. We packed some beer in a cooler, took lots of suntan lotion and beach towels, and headed across the French side of the island.
After parking, we wanted to explore the beach before deciding where to rent chairs and spend the rest of the afternoon. We entered at the western end of the beach with the restaurants, bars, and tee-shirt shops, and a few hotels close by. We knew the east end was Club Orient, the clothes-optional resort where many of the "hard-core" nudists stayed. Joan had clearly preferred the more touristy western area and after some scouting, we found a nice bar/restaurant that rented chairs and umbrellas. The young woman helping us was topless with a deep all-over tan matching the color of her nipples which now blended in with the rest of her body. She assured me that it was fine to be nude on this section of the beach, and there was a mixture of people in all stages of coverage, though those completely nude were in the minority.
Once we settled in our chairs and still in our swimsuits, I decided to go for a short swim then take a walk to get a sense of our immediate neighborhood. I was amazed at the number of families around us with children from infants to teenagers. Being this was French territory, I shouldn't have been too surprised. Some of their younger, clearly under18, teenage daughters were sunning topless, which made me feel somewhat uncomfortable given our American culture, mores, and laws. Soon after I sat down with Joan, an American family with two 14-17-year-old sons camped out right behind us, and all of them wore swimsuits. The boys were like kids in a proverbial candy store, looking at the French girls and snickering about what was probably their first peek at bare female breasts, except for maybe their mom's. I had a pretty good idea what boys that age fantasize about, and I knew Joan wasn't about to shed her top and give those boys a peek at her bare tits.
I was tempted to move somewhere more conducive for Joan so she might be comfortable at least going topless, but virtually all the chairs here were now occupied, and moving to another vendor would have meant spending another $30 fee, plus tip. We stayed put, and to be honest, with the young French girls and American boys nearby, I didn't feel much like getting naked either.
After a while I decided to take another walk while Joan opted to keep reading and pulled her chair further under our umbrella, I assumed for both shade and privacy. I went southeast toward the Club Orient side, and quickly determined that there were actually two distinct areas there. The first and closest area was for mostly for what I'd call regular folks who just liked to sun naked; it was the further east zone directly in front of the Club Orient cottages that was used by the "hard-core nudists." Within the area of regular people were mostly couples and virtually no children other than maybe one or two infants. The adults were in their 20s to their 80s with every kind of body size, shape, and tan lines; and everyone was either minding their own business or affably socializing with their neighbors. All were enjoying the carefree and clothing-free atmosphere. This was definitely the area of the beach where we should have come.
I went back and got Joan to walk with me to see for herself the difference in atmosphere at the near part of the eastern beach. She was immediately intrigued and inspired by the uninhibited and nonintimidating vibes we got, and we took our time exploring. As we walked among the rows of chairs, Joan subtly checked out the diversity of the crowd, and how they mirrored the people we knew and met in everyday life. Their comfort, mutual acceptance, and appreciation of each other's nudity was contagious. We eagerly agreed to come back the next day.
We arrived relatively early, at about 10:00 and had our pick of beach chairs. We chose two that were a couple of rows back from the water, so we weren't right in front of the main beach walking path. That's where the cruise ship passengers ambled by just to gawk, or the "professional" nudists often paraded to show off their deeply tanned and oiled bodies. When planning this trip and considering a visit to Orient Bay, Joan was seriously worried we might encounter someone there who we knew from back home, most likely from a cruise ship. While Joan admitted these were very low odds, for her anonymity was a must. The idea of being seen nude by someone we knew was more than embarrassing to her. I sure didn't want this fear to inhibit her.
After paying for our chairs, I immediately stripped-down and lotioned-up. Joan disappointed me by leaving her suit on when she first sat down. I looked around at the mostly couples sitting near us and except for one single, busty, topless woman all were quite naked. I must have stared at the topless woman a little too long for Joan's liking, because she snapped at me with, "Quit looking at that woman's big tits." I hoped that barb was not inspired by comparing that woman's breasts with her own self-deprecating body image, but rather simply feeling my looking was invasive.
I'd read enough about nude beach etiquette, to know the difference between noticing and appreciating, vs. staring and intruding. So, I needed to take issue with Joan's 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 build her own body confidence, I 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."
