Learning to be Comfortable Nude

Good evening ya'll, my name is Ashley-Anne. I was born in North Carolina and came up near the Gulf Coast of Alabama. I consider myself a true Southern girl. As such, I am a little curvier than my friends from California. My Momma continuously tries to feed them, telling them they need to put some meat on their bones.

My momma also taught me that appearances mattered, reputation was something to protect. All the girls I knew in school swore they were virgins, to include my younger sister Ellen, who we all knew got around with the boys and even ended up in a shotgun marriage. Even if one did enjoy "driving with boys", it remained important to not admit it and each of the boys were to think they were the first and only. After their weddings, girls continued to put on airs; going on about not liking sex and how it was "too messy." One would wonder how they ever ended up with six or eight children each.

My family was very poor early on. We did not have air-conditioning and the South can be extremely hot and humid. In Carolina, Momma would take me down to the creek in back of the house and let me splash around. Having moved to Alabama around two or three, we did not have a creek, but Papa brought me home a horse trough in the back of his pick-up. Mama would have none of me splashing nekkid until Papa moved it behind the house out of sight from the road.

As time meandered on, things changed. We got air-conditioning. We were able to afford swim suits. And Momma had seven more children. This did not change the preferred method of staying cool. We still chose the horse trough to A/C and refused to wear swimming suits. Momma frowned upon this, thinking we should be growing into young ladies and gentlemen rather than continuing to frolic naked into our teenage years.

Momma again compromised, we could continue to swim nekkid with conditions. We had to continue to stay behind the house, out of sight of neighbors, while nekkid. She also imposed a rule of separation. Boys and girls would be on opposite sides of the house if anyone was nekkid. Being the oldest girl, I was responsible for watching for any boys spying.

This is but one example of how my Southern upbringing shaped my views. Practices I have described were not limited to just my family. Many of my Southern Baptist friends would go to the beach in a dress that was well below the knees and buttoned up tight around the neck. Once on the beach they felt free to run around in the smallest of bikinis.

I did not realize that cultures varied significantly from how I was raised. Moving to Southern Colorado to finish my Doctoral degree was a tremendous shock to me. People did not couch their thoughts in comforting words. They seemed to skip pleasantries, especially if they were untrue, such as "I am so happy to meet you". At the University, if someone enjoyed being nude, they likely had a bumper sticker telling the world about it. If a girl likes having her breasts looked at, she lifted up her shirt flashing in a bar rather than being "caught" while changing clothes.

Needing to get away from school and regroup, my husband Tom and I decided a camping trip was called for. As the weather was turning chilly in Colorado, we planned a few days during the week on the Verde River in Arizona. Pulling into the area we planned to camp in, I was relieved to see trees rather than the endless brown desert.

With Tom carrying most of our gear, we hiked along the river for about a mile. Finding a grove of trees on the side of a small hill, we climbed up to establish our camp overlooking the river. From that vantage point we could see across the river where there were the remains of a resort which had burnt in a wild fire years prior.

We had read about this place in the Fromner's travel guide. With binoculars we could see all that was left were a small hot springs pool and a stone bath / steam room. The book had said that the land was now owned by the State and swimsuits were required by law. However it warned to expect nudity as few obeyed and the rule had never been enforced. From our vantage point and with the binoculars, we could indeed see nudity was the order for the day with the eight to ten people utilizing the springs.

With evening coming upon us, Tom began pitching the tent, setting up camp, and gathering firewood. As he set about fixing to do this or that, I inquired as to how I could help. Tom's response was for me to run back to the car and bring our beach towels and swim suits. I was stunned, was Tom planning on going to the springs? After a moment of unbelief, I asked "Are the swim suits for the hot springs with all the naked people?"

I was very relieved when he laughed and chuckled "No." Unfortunately he continued; "The swim suits are for when we cross the stream. I plan on soaking in the springs bare assed naked. Relax, Babe. Just go get the towels and stuff. I have been noticing people are leaving and there is not likely to be anybody there on a Monday morning,"

That evening, sitting around the campfire, I argued profusely and made sure Tom knew I was a "proper Southern belle" and would not be lounging naked like a hippy. "I certainly am not THAT kinda girl." Throughout our conversations, I never deviated from my stance. In our tent that night, I laid awake remembering my beloved horse trough. Tom's calming, soothing voice ran through my head:

"The place will be abandoned, or close to it, on a Monday morning. You have a beautiful body that should be admired. The thought of showing off my sexy wife turns me on. Everybody will be nude, why would they judge you when they are naked as well? You can keep your suit on or not even go."

As the sun began to rise, I dressed in shorts and a t-shirt preparing to hike. Under my arm I had my towel and bikini rolled up and ready to go. I was feeling excited, but would never let Tom know. In fact I grumbled to him, "Only a good Southern wife would put up with you forcing her to do this." Any attempts by Tom to plead innocent, deny coercion, or clarify were ignored as we started towards the creek.

As we began crossing the "creek", I found out why it is actually titled a River, rather than creek. The shallow spot where we crossed ended up having holes and channels that were waist deep. My shorts and shirt ended up soaked. I would never however admit to Tom that I should have hiked in the swim suit as he suggested. I could not believe how cold the water was. My childhood vacations spent tubing, and yes even skinny dipping with my sisters, in Deep Creek in North Carolina, was never this cold.

Reaching the other shore, my pace quickened towards the relief of the hot springs. My skin had turned blue, the hot water would be wonderful. Following the trail we came upon a small cluster of pup tents and what appeared about three middle aged couples. One of the couples joined us in our walk towards the springs. They were pleasant and talkative; expressing concern over how cold the crossing must have been while being reassuring that the spring is indeed hot. As kind as they were, I found their presence annoying, I was actually hoping to have the area to ourselves.

As the pool came into view, I was doubly disappointed. Two young men were soaking in OUR springs. Close by they had backpacks all packed and ready to go, with their tent and gear loaded up. They indeed assured us that they were finishing one last soak before they headed back. The way their eyes scanned my body gave away that the final soak would not finish before I had joined them in the water. They had even moved to a side of the little pool where they would be able to watch us undress and enter the water.

Finding their ogling irritating, I wondered around avoiding undressing. Being almost frozen I relented and stepped behind the stone wall of the old steam room to change. Reappearing in my bikini, I watched their faces drop as their expectations faded. They were not disappointed enough to quit staring at my body however. Refusing to allow them to see anything more than I had to, I went to the shallow tub in the steam room rather than the pool with everybody else.

Tom soon stepped into the room, and slipped into the very hot soaking tub with me. When he entered the doorway I was surprised that he was completely naked. I did not think that he would follow through with the other woman there. Before I addressed that issue and several other peeves I currently held with him, I began complaining about the young men staring at me. They could not have been over 18, I question if they were even that. BOYS, not men, wanted to see me naked. How could they, and how could Tom allow it?

Tom once again shocked me; "Of course they did, you are a Babe. You could see there cocks getting hard in expectation." Tom mentioned that they were climbing out of the pool preparing to go. Looking up I saw them move over to dry off where they could look inside the doorway. "One last hope at seeing you naked, sure you don't want to at least flash them your titties?" Tom laughed.

He also pointed out that they were not very well hung, "watch the cool morning air shrivel their little pricks." I could not look. Seeing them humbled was tempting, but I could not bring myself to look. Just like my brothers while I was growing up, good girls just did not look. In fact I am not sure that a good girl should have sat there discussing their little cocks and laughing at the thought of stripping in front of them. Momma would have been appalled.

The woman we hiked in with poked her head through the door way: "they have left. Are you okay Dear?" As the room was hardly big enough for two, Tom stepped out allowing her to join me. I was not sorry to see Tom go, I blamed him for everything. These people were not playing by the rules. I would not be a proper young lady if I was to blatantly strip in front of boys.

The woman who joined me was very kind and motherly. Even her name Betty seemed motherly to me. In fact she reminded me very much of Momma. I almost expected her to give me a story of why a good girl should not be here. Instead she brought my attention to the graffiti art work on the stone walls surrounding me. The walls were very colorful in an old hippy motif with flowers and peace signs. Then there were cartoons and various piffy sayings about being nude scattered about. We discussed each of them, appreciating the art work and the clever sayings. My favorite was the curvy Jessica Rabbit accompanied by: "If nudity is outlawed, only outlaws will be nude."

Having a Bachelor's degree in psychology and working on a Doctorates of Philosophy, I found it very amusing how skilled this woman was at directing my thinking. As she was a housewife who had raised three children, I could tell that our conversation was shaped out of years of dealing with children. Rather than being offended, I appreciated her relaxing voice and logic. I had not even noticed my surroundings; she helped me to quit looking inward in anger and notice the interesting surroundings.

As I had declared Jessica my favorite, Betty appreciated that particular caricature. "You like this one because Jessica has your gorgeous curves." She pointed out that being a cartoon allowed the artist to exaggerate characteristics. "Look at her large breasts and hips, almost identical with yours; unfortunately her waist is ridiculously small."

I muttered something about not being able to get rid of my flabby belly, but was cut short by Betty: "You my dear have a remarkable body. I would kill to have breasts like yours." Betty directed my attention to her own breasts. "I am barely a B cup, you have to be at least a D and still amazingly perky. What is more, notice how they painted Jessica with pink nipples. Mine are way too dark, almost brown. With your blond hair, lovely pale skin, I am sure that your nipples are pink not brown.

My attempts to reassure Betty about her breasts were ignored; I smiled as I realized that Betty talking about her breasts was a way to bring attention to my own. I did have to admit, my breasts were pretty nice. Being a late bloomer, I wished that I was not so flat well into high school. Over a single summer I went from an A cup to being almost too big for a C. As Betty had suggested, I was now a D cup and that was filled enough for additional cleavage.

Betty was also very correct about my breasts being pale with pink areolas. The nipples themselves tended to be a redder pink, partially because they got hard easily. Tom loved for me to go braless and would pinch my nipples before walking into a restaurant. Being rather large, they were easily noticed and would stay hard for at least a half hour.

Betty had unhooked my bikini top while I was thinking about this. I sat shocked. Boys in jr. high would try unsnap girls bras. I had never experienced it being so flat at that age and not wearing a bra for another couple of years. With doctor like authority she lifted the cups away from my boobs. "Now see, they are a beautiful pale pink. Why did God bless you with large breasts AND perfect nipples? I would be forever topless if I had your boobs." "May I?" she asked as she pulled my top completely off not waiting for an answer.

Holding both my hands, Betty pulled my arms away from my chest. She stood for a better look at my breasts as if admiring a painting in an art museum. With her pussy at eye level, no more than two feet in front of me, for the first time I noticed that she was not only bare of all pussy hair, but had a brightly colored tattoo of a butterfly replacing the pubic hair. Without thinking I said "That is beautiful."

Betty was amazed that I had just now noticed she had a bright red and blue tattoo that was a full four inches by four inches. Turning red with embarrassment, I explained; "Good girls do not look." She sat smiling as I related how Tom and I had been making love for over a month before I looked at his penis for the first time.

"Oh Honey" Betty began, "Tom does not have a penis, that man of yours has a COCK!" I could hear a Southern accent coming to her that was previously just a background hint from years ago. "I know you are a Belle, but don't let that stop you from living and looking at life. Tom has a nice body, his cock however is truly amazing. I looked sweetie, I looked at your man's long, thick, circumcised cock, his purple cockhead and veins standing out. Unhuh, I looked. Open your eyes Baby, you look too. If you did not see this bright shiny tat on my pussy, what else have you missed in life?"

I began to explain how that would be rude, but that explanation sounded feeble especially when she pointed out the obvious; "I spent good money on this, I endured not only the pain of the needle but electrolysis to keep my pussy smooth. Why? Why, did I pick bright colors? So, I could get young men, like those here this morning and your hung hubby, to look at me. Who would pay attention to me, especially as I get a bit older with not only young but beautiful and sexy girls like you around?"

Standing me up, she continued her lecture; "You will not be young forever, your breasts will not be forever firm, you will get cellulite someday on your perfect ass. I wished I would have learned to relax and enjoy my body and those appreciating it years before." Her thumbs slid under my bikini bottoms waistband, with a tug having them down around my ankles with no objection from me. Slapping me on the ass and pointing towards our husbands; "Let's go make some cocks hard, and don't forget to look!"