Best of ’09: The One Where I Get Naked and Learn a Lesson

Skipping ahead a bit and doing the Best of 09: Best Lesson Learned. I have a post coming up of my top ten lessons learned, but this one deserved its own post. It was just too good to keep to one little paragraph.

Best 09: The Best Lesson Learned, or How I Learned Not To Be A Prude

Have I told you the story of how I stayed with a nudist stoner in Spain? I didn’t? Well, I think I’m going to have to.

How does a nudist stoner have anything to do with best lesson learned, you may ask. Well, we will need to go into some background basics. You see, I’m an American Prude. defines Prude as One who is excessively concerned with being or appearing to be proper, modest, or righteous. While that definitely does not describe me and many of my friends would probably choke on their own laughter, I have somewhat prudish tendencies when it comes to my body.

That’s not to say I wear turtle necks all the time and dresses down past my knees. I can rock a vneck and mini-skirt like the next one. I’m just….not really into getting naked around other people. I’m fine with nudity in my own home, I’ve been known to walk around naked all the time when I think no one is watching (unfortunately that doesn’t mean I remember to always close the blinds. Hi neighbors!) I sleep naked, I have no problem being naked in front of a significant other if that’s the stage we happen to be at, but put me in a locker room full of other people? And I get all self conscious and shy and shit.This was born around the age of 12 when I sprouted boobs. Puberty was not kind to me. Most girls were in trainer bras at that point but me? OH NO. I shot right past that stage and straight into C cups. It was mortifying. But anyway, this post is not about my boobs and how I was a traumatized pre-teen.

Before we get to the nudist (aka the good part of the story), I have to start at the beginning of this learning process. AKA Learning How Not To Be a Prude. I was in Morocco and Anneke, my traveling partner, wanted to go to a Hammam. I was fascinated by this concept of going to a ridiculously cheap spa and bathing. More fascinating was the cheap massage. The only problem would be there would be lots of other people. Who were naked. Who were going to be looking at me being naked.

The night before Anneke gave me a pep talk in our hotel room. She read stories from the Lonely Planet and I got alittle uncomfortable. I didn’t want women discussing my lady bits much less asking me about them. (I didn’t understand why mine would be any different from THEIRS but I guess the blond hair complex they had extended to…other places.) But I was determined to do it. Of course at the very last minute I started dancing around the idea of not doing it because ohmygod I HAD TO BE NAKED. VERY naked. WITHOTHERPEOPLE. *hives*

We went to a small hammam in the center of the town we were staying at and got paired up with our very own naked bath attendants. We had to strip down to nothing but our bikini bottoms and sit in a room full of other very naked women.  Let me tell you. Those bikini bottoms? Didn’t stop this woman. They bathed us, they exfoliated and they put their hands in places I never wanted anyone other than a boyfriend to put there. Even Anneke, an Amsterdammer who was a far cry from even a sixteenth-prude, was feeling uncomfortable as we were manhandled by the woman with the largest breasts I had ever seen.Also the worst case of gravity I had ever seen. Ew.

Sure, the amount of skin that was lost was incredible and I was the cleanest I’d been in two months but the part where the woman put my leg between her massive boobs and and then leaned and called that a massage? COULD HAVE DONE WITHOUT THAT.

It certainly went well beyond my comfort zone (I don’t think I’ll ever get manhandled in a locker room) and yet, I survived. And while I may have turned several shades of red writing this (believe me, this post has been edited a LOT. TMI may be my middle name sometimes), I’m not as shy about my body anymore. [Side note: The whole Morocco trip was actually a lesson in loosening up: we often had to share bedrooms with doorless bathrooms and have you heard rumors about Moroccan food? THEY ARE TRUE. So um yeah. Lesson in Losing Prudishness LEARNED.]

So where does the nudist stoner come in? I think I’m going to have to take this post into a.. PART TWO.

Yep, I’m going there. Going to the TO BE CONTINUED guns. Until tomorrow…

8 Responses

  1. I was with you until “This post is not about my boobs.”

  2. Haha!! That sounds like the time I got my first brazilian wax, except more naked! Lol

  3. Haha!! That sounds like the time I got my first brazilian wax, except more naked! Lol

  4. Oh. Man. I know exactly what those ladies looked like and exactly how bad that gravity was and I cannot even fathom a leg between the boobs. Props to you.

    Also, I’m totally with you skipping the training bras.

  5. […] That Make Me Blush …also known as Best of ‘09: Best Lesson Learned, Part 2 (Part 1 here) OR How I Learned Not to be a Prude. You choose the title you like […]

  6. […] and I Learn a Lesson …also known as Best of ‘09: Best Lesson Learned, Part 2 (Part 1 here) OR How I Learned Not to be a Prude. You choose the title you like […]

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