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

First Naturist Blog By Nick Alimonos About Becoming a Nudist
Become a Naturist – Anyone who knew me as a kid could not imagine my writing this memoir. Certainly, I would have been voted “least likely to become a nudist” if this kind of group existed in my third grade yearbook.
You must start with my mother, who was the polar opposite of hippie on the human spectrum of styles. She suffered from a really real case of OCD, and among her many fixations was proper look, and with how her family should dress. I sometimes felt like a doll. Short Pants 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 cabinet was stuffed with buttondown Polos, and also during sex, I ‘d to appear like I was off to the queen’s ball. Really, if I ever meet the man who invented long sleeve, button pajamas, I’ll smack him. And for some reason my mom preferred two sizes larger than was crucial, and so I seemed to be floating in a bag of clothes, like I was preparing for a wing suit dive. If the temperature hovered everywhere below 75 degrees, my outfit contained jacket and jumper.
None of this helped my overly scrawny to be 3-dimensional look, but my ego didn’t matter. Worst of all, for the longest time, I was under the impression that shoes were designed to cause the maximum number of pain. Being of Greek descent, my parents were committed to visiting the motherland in summer time, not to mention, new shoes were needed for every darn excursion, so my mother could show 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 . At all times we were required to wear light blue button shirts, navy blue slacks and, wait because of it . . . TIES! Is there of clothing more heinous than a tie? It’s essentially a choking risk and it cuts off circulation to mental performance. I cannot picture showing up at the Pearly Gates and Saint Peter reprimanding me for my dearth of neckwear. No Bible verse I’ve found states, “Thou shalt wear ties on Wednesdays or when attending church.” Our teachers adhered to the dress code with a Nazi-like zeal. Once, when my mom could not discover my tie, I sat for hours in the principal’s office, merely staring at walls, as my classmates learned section 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 Naturist
Right now you might think I’d have discovered to despise clothing, that I rebelled and became a naturist, right? No way! Despite my loose Polos and shoes made for Geishas and ties suitable for auto-asphyxiation, I despised attention considerably more. Clothed or otherwise, I was extremely shy, and introverted to the point that folks in high school only presumed 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 children’ with wooden paddles and embarrass them through forced nudity. Our locker room did not have drapes or private little booths like you find at a water park. No, it was one large square, with lockers on one side and nozzles on another. There was nowhere to hide! Nowhere to be unobtrusive!
Showering became this type of problem for me that I shouted to my mom, until Trainer SoandSo announced 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. Complete Monty showering was as compulsory as ties on Wednesdays. Oddly enough, no one had any difficulty exposing their manhood but me. I eventually came up with ways around the system, like showering within my underwear, which gave me a damp wedgie for the day; or waiting until I was alone, which made me late to every class following P.E., and dripping wet in my now sweaty button down shirt.
Nakedness at home was no less terrifying. Heck, I did not even look at myself, so bathing in my own toilet became a absurd, obsessive-compulsive ritual. It started with informing my family, “O.K., I am taking a shower now! Anything you do, don’t come in!” then barricading my sister’s bedroom door (the room we shared), double-checking that 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 difficult.
Me? Become a naturist? Never in a million years! But then, of course, I became one. Learn why in Part 2 of the storyline, arriving next week!
Now take a look at Part 2: Boobs, Boobs Everywhere.
My Naturist Narrative Component 1: Least Likely to Be A Nudist was printed by – Young Naturists and Young Nudists America FKK
Labels: body shame, modesty
Category: Nudist Site
About the Writer (Author Profile)
By age six, I knew I was born to write, and by 12, found that clothes was unnecessary. My work is inspired by the ‘heroic naked’ common to my Greek ancestors, and my personal experiences with naturism. Please see my website ‘The Writer’s Disease’ to learn more: