Part 1 of My Naturist Blog Series: “Least Likely to Become a Nudist”

First Naturist Blog By Nick Alimonos About Becoming a Naturist
Become a Nudist – Anyone who understood me as a kid would not envision my writing this memoir. Without a doubt, I ‘d have already been voted “least likely to become a nudist” if such a class existed in my third grade yearbook.
You need to begin with my mother, who was the polar opposite of hippie on the human spectrum of styles. She suffered from a very real case of OCD, and among her many obsessions was suitable look, and with how her family should dress. I sometimes felt like a doll. Shorts were a rarity in our household, except for use at the beach, and sandals made you seem “low class.” Going barefoot on anything but carpet caused arthritis pain later in life. My closet was filled with buttondown Polos, and even during sex, I ‘d to seem like I was off to the queen’s ball. Really, if I ever meet the man who devised long sleeve, button pajamas, I Will smack him. And for some reason my mother preferred two sizes bigger than was essential, so I seemed to be floating in a bag of clothing, like I was preparing for a wing suit dive. If the temperature hovered anywhere below 75 degrees, my outfit comprised jacket and sweater.
None of this helped my overly skinny to be 3-dimensional appearance, but my ego did not matter. Worst of all, for the longest time, I was under the impression that shoes were designed to cause the maximum amount of pain. Being of Greek descent, my parents were devoted to visiting the motherland in summer time, and of course, new shoes were required for every darn excursion, so my mother could prove to my aunts and uncles how upper-class we were. Walking through JFK airport was absolute torture.
But from kindergarten to eighth grade, my Baptist Christian school was much stricter. At all times we were required to wear light blue button tops, navy blue pants and, wait for it . . . TIES! Is there any piece of clothing more heinous when compared to a tie? It is essentially a choking danger and it cuts off circulation to the brain. I cannot imagine showing up at the Pearly Gates and Saint Peter reprimanding me for my lack of neckwear. No Bible verse I’ve found states, “Thou shalt wear ties on Wednesdays or when attending church.” Our teachers conformed to the dress code with a Nazi-like passion. Once, when my mom couldn’t find my tie, I sat for hours in the principal’s office, just staring at walls, as my classmates learned division and when to use adverbs. God forbid I be permitted to learn anything that day sans my oxygen-depriving tie!
A Young Nick Alimonos: Become a Nudist
Chances are you might believe I would have learned to hate clothes, that I rebelled and became a naturist, right? No way! Despite my baggy Polos and shoes made for Geishas and ties suitable for auto-asphyxiation, I loathed focus much more. Clothed or otherwise, I was incredibly self-conscious, and introverted to the point that individuals in high school just assumed I was using drugs (never did), which is why I feared “physical education.” The year was 1983 and this was private school, and it was still O.K. to hit kids’ with wooden paddles and embarrass them through forced nudity. Our locker room did not have curtains or private little booths like you find at a water park. No, it was one big square, with lockers on one side and nozzles on another. There was nowhere to hide! Nowhere to be !
Showering became this type of problem for me that I shouted to my mom, until Trainer So-and-So declared to every third grade boy, “O.K. now, nobody make fun of Nick when he takes a shower.” This, as anyone who went to elementary school can let you know, had the exact opposite effect. Simply speaking, there was no escape for me. Full Monty showering was as mandatory as ties on Wednesdays. Oddly enough, no one had any difficulty exposing their member but me. I eventually came up with ways around the system, like showering within my panties, which gave me a damp wedgie for the day; or waiting until I was alone, which made me late to every course following P.E., and dripping wet in my now sweaty button-down top.
Nakedness at beach handjob was no less terrifying. Heck, I didn’t even look at myself, so bathing in my own toilet became a preposterous, obsessive compulsive ritual. It started with telling my family, “O.K., I am taking a shower now! Whatever you do, don’t come in!” Subsequently barricading my sister’s bedroom door (the room we shared), double-checking the door leading to the bathroom was also locked, and as if that wasn’t enough, keeping a hand over my crotch at all times, which made soaping and using the shower head challenging.

Me? Become a nudist? Never in a million years! But then, naturally, I became one. Find out why in Part 2 of the narrative, arriving next week!
Now check out Part 2: Boobs, Boobs Everywhere.
My Naturist Story Part 1: Least Likely to Become a Nudist was printed by – Young Naturists and Young Nudists America FKK
Labels: body shame, modesty
Type: Nudist Site
About the Writer (Author Profile)
By age six, I understood I was born to write, and by 12, found that clothes was unnecessary. My work is inspired by the ‘heroic bare’ common to my Greek ancestors, and my personal experiences with naturism. Please visit my blog ‘The Writer’s Disorder’ to learn more: