My first time at a nudist camp was, sadly, also my last. Back then, I was a single guy enjoying nudity at home, in my flat where I stayed during college years, or on occasional hikes in fairly secluded parts of the area where I lived.
I went to Koversada naturist park, in Vrsar near Rovinj, in Croatia. I paid for my stay on-line and back then (I don’t know what it’s like now) they did no checking on-line if the paying visitor is a single male or someone else. I only found out that single males are not strictly welcome when I appeared at the reception of the park.
I’m not sure whether this is to their credit or not, but they didn’t tell me this directly. I accidentally overheard one employee asking another about me visiting single, and the other replying that they couldn’t really prevent such visitors from making on-line reservations.
I immediately asked myself “Why would they want to?” My brain immediately produced a response too, in the form of actual images from my previous experiences at nude beaches – of men, especially in their forties or above, lurking in the bushes around the beach, often times swirling their hands over their pants in the place where their testicles would be, thinking nobody would see them – and decided not to ask the question out loud. I knew they wouldn’t send me away, having already paid for my stay, so I was actually glad that I had a chance to prove that I was perfectly OK.
When they got me to my lot where I was to set up my tent, one of the staff told me not to do anything stupid and they went away. At that point I was a little surprised that that was all there was to it. I’d already seen a couple of children around and I thought that surely they wouldn’t let a sexual maniac in the camp and they had no way of knowing that I wasn’t one. In any case, after that, my biggest concern was how to hide my morning stiffness on my way to the shower, as it absolutely refused to go away if I decided to wait it out, probably because I also needed to pee every morning really badly. I actually felt ashamed of walking into the building with the showers wearing a towel every morning.
I stayed for as long as my small budget allowed me – 5 nights. Those were the most relaxing days of my life to date.
It was too bad, though, that the store that was in the camp didn’t really welcome nudists. One time a woman came in naked, with a naked baby in her arms. She bought something and as she left, the clerks exchanged glances and one said “I’d never come into the store like that.” I thought of a repartee on the spot, but remembered that I’d probably not want to push it. Even though the store gave no indication that customers were supposed to cover themselves, it seemed common practice to do so, so I went with the flow. Just to max out the time I spent naked, I usually went in wearing a towel which I promptly removed after leaving.
What kept anxiety down was the fact that there were no lurkers and/or voyeurs and no people passing by, yelling for us nudists to put some clothes on, which is all too common even on designated nudist beaches outside of camps. And, I needn’t have worried that someone would recognize me – although if someone did, that would be awesome because then we’d know that we were both nudists and would probably hang out together more.
The thing I liked most about my stay was that I could walk for hours every day in the sun, completely naked and completely unworried about it. Outside of camp when I hike even in the most secluded areas, there’s always that unwelcome feeling – or perhaps better said “alertness” of the surroundings for fear – that someone might happen to cross my path and raise hell over me being naked. An even worse thing would be if they were there with children and accused me of flashing or pedophilia (which would be quite understandable with panicking parents). This is mostly why I don’t do such hikes on weekends when people go picnicking with their families. In the camp, however, it didn’t matter if there were children – they were naked, their parents were naked, and their grandparents too, and nobody cared about another naked guy walking past.
Every time I had to go to the store, or outside of camp, I felt really sad because I had to put my clothes back on. I thought I’d go on cruises from Vrsar, but once I was there I simply didn’t want to, because it would diminish the already short time I had for being naked. The only thing I really regret was that I was alone – a regret I don’t plan to repeat when I visit a nudist camp next time.
When I finally came back home, it was difficult to remember each morning that I had to put my clothes on and when I finally did, it took me a while to adjust to the awkwardness of wearing them.