The first time I experienced the sublime freedom of nudism, I was on a beach in Corsica with a co-ed group of friends. The night was quiet, the air was warm—the sky was lit with thousands of stars. We were entirely alone, lying on the sand, when suddenly we decided to go for a midnight swim.
We didn’t try to hide anything, or steal glances at one another’s bodies. We simply enjoyed the moment, peeling off our clothes before jumping into the water beneath the moonlight. It felt, in a word, natural—like something we had always done and would continue to do. It felt euphoric.
I kept the experience to myself for a while, until one day I told a friend how the moment made me feel, and—to my surprise—she informed me that she was visiting her grandparents every year at a naturist camp in Spain.
Thus began my foray into naturism.