Just My Random Perverted Thoughts

MA wanted to visit the nude spa. She fancied a bit of rub-a-dub, hubble bubble and naked decadence.
All this sounded fine but regular reader will recall a slight problem at the nude spa with sex in the public area and blatant exhibitionism such that we got thrown out. Twice.

However that was a while ago and my hair has grown longer and I have a different partner so I thought that a visit would be fine as they’ll never remember me.

So off we went to the seaside and the nude spa.

We were waiting outside as there was a bit of a queue to get in when a cheery voice called from behind.
“Hi Fred, how’s things? I thought you were barred!” It was my old mate GR with his wife AS.
“Shhh. Keep your voice down! I am fine.”
MA gave me an odd look. “Barred?”
“It’s a long story!”
“They still talk about you and your antics.” AS volunteered as she giggled.
“Perhaps we should just go to the pub …”

However all was well. The nice lady on reception let us in; she did give me a steely look.

At this point I’d like to tell you about all the naughty things we got up too but sad to report we really did behave impeccably.

Squeaky clean both physically and mentally we joined a few of our friends in a local hostelry for some food and drink post spa. They appraised MA with luridly exaggerated stories of my previous visits to the spa. I defended my activities but it really was a lost cause when someone pulled out a notebook PC and found the blog entries.

“It’s all fiction” I argued.
“I was there, it’s all true.” AS confirmed.

Good times!

Naughty times next time!

It’s has warmed up here in the UK.
The weather is unseasonably warm.
So warm I got naked for a few hours while I worked on my RV pitch.

YEEHAW I got nekkid!

The weather in the UK has changed, it stopped raining. The world will probably stop spinning on it’s axis as well but the dry weather meant I could move the RV.

Much to my surprise the engine started first turn, well done Mercedes, and I drove the RV from the muddy field where it has been for the last four months to the nudist club.

I inspected the new pitch and have parked the RV temporarily while I sort out the layout of the pitch. The previous user had a caravan on the pitch and it does not quite work out for the RV so I need to get some slabs to put down for the four wheels of the RV, rather than the two wheels of a caravan.

It’s nice and secluded with all the amenities one could want. Electricity and water. That’s a big deal when living in an RV!

Roll on summer so I can get naked.

I spent the summer living in a nudist club. Summer is now a distant memory and the British winter is just around the corner; rain, cold, fog, rain, rain and it may even snow at some point. Did I mention it might rain?

But I am not here to talk about the weather, although that’s a topic that’s always in the conversation here in the UK.

Clothes, or lack of, is what we are discussing. Living in the nudist club means I did not have to wear clothes. In fact the rules state the nudity is mandatory if the weather is nice. (So that’s not very often in England!) In fact that’s not true and I spent the whole summer starkers. I only got dressed if I had to leave the safety of the club.

It takes a while to get into the habit of not getting dressed, or to get out of the habit of getting dressed, every morning. It also took a while to get used to friends calling round with only a smile and their towel. You have to know where your towel is in the nudist club, you always sit on a towel. (So every day is Towel Day.)

After a while it all becomes very normal. No one notices that you’re naked. Delivery drivers, postman, (and postlady as well) milkman all take the nudity in their stride. Some even got naked and availed themselves of the swimming pool.

BUT:-

Suddenly it’s winter and I am back in the real world. Getting dressed each morning. Not just to combat the British weather but the prudery of most people.

Roll on summer, I miss you.

Hmm, it’s nearly summer in New Zealand, now that’s tempting …

TW and I had a trip to Brighton a while back. We went for the World Naked Bike Ride, but we stayed on for a few days after as Brighton is a nice pervy place to stay.

We were in TW’s dinky RV and we were wild camping. (Boondocking as our American cousins would call it.)

We went up to Mill Hill and parked in a remote spot overnight.
It was very quiet and peaceful in the evening sunshine.

“Shall we go for a walk?” TW asked.
“If you like.”
“Let’s go naked!” she giggled “I dare you?”
“I am not sure naked is a good idea.” I could see us bumping into ‘Angry of Mayfair’. (See footnote.)
“We could take a pareo to cover up if we bump into anyone.” she suggested.
She rummaged in the closet and produced two pareos, a pink one and a grey one. They were translucent.
“They’re not going to conceal much.” I complained.
“We are not going to meet anyone, come on where is your sense of adventure.” She got undressed and stood waiting expectantly. “Come on get nekkiid we are going for a walk.”
So I got nekkid. We stepped out of the RV and locked it up. She put the key around her neck on a ribbon. We crossed the road and headed off up the footpath, hand in hand. I expected hoards of outraged puritans to descend at any moment.
“This is nice.” She commented. “Gentle breeze and warm sunshine.”
It was very pleasant and as as we got further from the road I relaxed a bit. The footpath was straight and we could see a long way ahead. The chances of meeting anyone was very slight.
We wandered along the path until we reached a T junction where the path met another road. There were some old farm buildings alongside.
“We should have brought a camera.” TW said.
“Next time maybe. Make a nice HNT setting.”
We turned around and retraced our footsteps. The sun was setting; we had a good view of the sunset as we walked down the hill towards the RV.
Back at the RV TW unlocked and we stepped inside. I was quite pleased to be ‘safe’.
“See, we never saw a soul.” TW gave me a naughty look. “Next time nekkied, just our shoes and the camera.”

Footnote: Angry of Mayfair: A character on the Kenny Everett TV show:- A middle-class City gent complaining of the risqué content of the show, banging the camera with his umbrella, only then to be revealed as actually wearing women’s underwear. I searched the web to no avail for a video clip of this character; I am bitterly disappointed.

I have been around naturism for a long time, so nudity is not unusual to me.

However, living inside a nudist club is very different to the usual weekend naturism. I was surprised how quickly I accepted the idea that it was OK to be naked at any time. That being naked did not cause any reaction from my fellow club members.

Then a few weeks back I started working for a living, so I have to get dressed and leave the club. At this point I realised how bizarre our dress codes are, how much clothes can say about a person, and how much clothes can lie about a person.

The work dress code is a suit, and a TIE. What possible point is there in a tie? Then there is the strange Friday ritual of dress down Friday, we wear casual attire for Friday. So we go in jeans and T shirts. Changing into casual clothes does not change our ability to do the job, so what’s with the suits the rest of the time?

“You wearing your usual casual attire this Friday Fred?” They ask.
“You mean my birthday suit!” I don’t reply.
“Yeah I’ll come in jeans and my ‘Get Nekkid’ T shirt!”
I also get the silly jokes on Friday, “Got anything on this weekend?”
“Not a stitch!”

It’s really nice to get back to the club, safe in my RV, and get nekkid again and just be myself. There’s a nasty strange world outside the gates, that I prefer to ignore.

A damp Thursday in the nudist club, I thought I would have the place to myself.

By the late afternoon I thought that I really should get showered and dressed ready to visit a client in the early evening.

I was in the shower block, tidying the place up a bit after my shower, mopping the floor and getting the hair out of the plug hole. Oh the joy of having long hair again.

(Perhaps I should point out that these are unisex communal showers.)

The door banged and a woman came in, struggling with her wash bag and towels, she was walking with a stick, or cane if you prefer, and she wobbled and practically fell in the room after struggling with the door and it’s stiff self closing spring.

She dumped her stuff down on the bench, took her gown off and hung it up. Then she wobbled unsteadily across the floor to the shower.

“Could you help me step in?” she asked.
The showers have quite a high step with a lip to negotiate to get in. I held her arm and she stepped over the lip and into the shower.
“Could you put the money in the slot?”
The showers cost 20 pence and there is coin slot meter just outside the cubicle. I put the coin in and the shower burst into life. The woman did not draw the curtain across and water started to splash over the freshly mopped floor. I leaned on my mop and waited. The woman was lathering herself up. It was really difficult not to watch. I mopped the floor a bit to keep the flood at bay.
“Do you like watching me?” she asked. She soaped her boobs and rubbed all around them.
I looked up and smiled.
“Will you wash my back?” she offered a mitten with a rough texture. She turned around and looked back at me over her shoulder. “Take the mitten.”
I stepped over and took the mitten. It was impossible to wash her stood out side the cubicle so I stepped inside. I rubbed at her back with the coarse mitten.
“Harder, much harder, my back really itches.”
I scrubbed away at her back, which turned a delicate shade of pink. My spectacles started to steam up and soon I was blind. I stopped scrubbing and took my specs off. A different king of blind.
“I can’t see a thing.” I complained.
“You can do it by feel, keep rubbing.”
I scrubbed away a bit more. The woman turned around and pressed up against me.
“This is nice, I didn’t expect company for my shower.”
“Nor did I.”
She shut the water off.
“Help me out?”
“In a moment, I need to clean my spectacles.”
I stumbled out of the shower and found my towel. I wiped my lenses and put the spectacles back on. The woman was watching from the cubicle.
“We made the floor all wet again.”
“Never mind, I can mop it again.” I handed her the cane and she stepped unsteadily from the shower. She wobbled across the floor and picked up her towel. She stood rubbing herself dry. She watched me mopping the floor as she dried herself.
After a while she put her robe on and collected her things.
“We must do this again sometime.” As she walked past me towards the door she ran her fingernails down my back. Then she gently slapped my bottom.
“Nice bum! See you later. Thanks for helping me.”
The door banged and she was gone.
I finished mopping the floor, then hurried back to my RV as I was now running late for my appointment. But I kept thinking, WTF?

The British summer has arrived and I fully intend to spend most of it naked at the nudist club. I have a new RV which I can live in full time; I have mobile broadband internet and a cellphone so I can move my office to the nudie club. That’s the theory at least.

The nudists are quite vanilla in many ways, overt sexual activities are really frowned upon, so wandering around with a freshly smacked bottom is not really an option.

As regular readers may recall; in the past I have done a towel shuffle by the swimming pool to hide a caned bottom, and then there was the evening at the nude spa where we deliberately showed off our spanked bottoms, but these were exceptions, not the norm.

So it looks like the implements that mark for more than a few hours will have to stay in the toybox until September, and I will content myself with hands and paddles and floggers.

My soft delicate bottom will tingle with expectation as the autumn (fall) approaches and I can once again return to the more severe implements.

I am writing this in the nude, sitting outside under the RV’s awning, my MacBook perched on my knees.
Warm sunshine.
Naked folk sunbathing on the lawn nearby.
A long lazy summer ahead of me.
It’s a hell of a job, but I suppose someone has to do it!

..in the UK, deep mid winter, so we thought we would cheer ourselves up this weekend by visiting the nude spa.

In the past we have got ourselves into a LOT of trouble at this spa, so I told MP she had to behave herself!.

“I have an idea for something we can do!” Was MP’s response; then she did her coy ‘little girl lost’ look, which basically means trouble.

So we are all booked in to go this Saturday. (Probably be banned by Sunday!) Watch this space.