It's Susanna's first morning as a teacher.
Letters : 5727 Words : 1113
My Sunday evening, my first time as a naturist, flew by with such ease that I didn't even realize that I had collapsed in my own bed, moved in to my new house while I was touring the resort.
Every resident seemed to want to tell me his or her life story as well as tips on how to be a good naturist. Many of the younger ones grew up as naturists but the most interesting stories were from people who discovered the lifestyle as an adult.
I believe I met most of my students but I met so many people I couldn't place any names on any faces even if my life depended on it.
Now that I was finally alone, collapsed on my bed, I thought back to the communal BBQ in which I had to make a speech in front of thousands of naked people and, even more intimidating, two cameras.
As I recollected my words, I realized that I wasn't truly alone: Peter, the naturist cameraman was filming me as I rest silently in my bedroom.
Just 24 hours ago, I would have never dreamed of forgetting there was a nude man standing next to my bed but here I was, blending in.
I moved to place my head on the pillow and pretended to fall asleep. I listened as Peter eventually turned off his camera and silently left my house so I could really be alone.
It was weird: they made me tour the whole resort, almost forcing me to swim in their magnificent pool and trying their spa while the whole resort looked at my reactions. They also almost pushed me into the school so I could see my place of work, but no one had even bothered to tell me which of the houses were mine.
I was simply escorted by one of the employees at the end of the day and given the key without any ceremony or decorum. No one even told me what do to with the key when I left my house!
I initially accepted the job partly for the free house, to be honest but they seemed to place no importance on it.
As soon as I was sure to be alone, I left the bed and explored the building. It was a simple four room square house, with a single bedroom, a living room, a kitchen / dining room and a spacious bathroom with a nice pedestal tub and a separate shower. I peaked in the attic, but the roof was almost flat and I would never be able to store anything up there.
The movers had done a great job. My toothbrush was in place as were all of my personal beauty products. My food was in the fridge, but it wasn't my old fridge. Instead, I was supplied with a new bigger fridge with a ice cube and cold water distributor. My oven was also replaced by a new ceramic top model which was really an improvement over my 30 years old used model with chipped paint and a broken clock.
My old microwave was on the counter thought and my old washer and dryer were connected behind a door in the bathroom. I guess even naturists need to wash their bed sheets and towels.
My hamper had simply been placed on top of my dryer with my clothes from the limo, making me realize that I would need to wash clothes that I wouldn't even wear for a long time.
This thought made me slightly depressed but not for the reasons I would have initially imagined.
After just the end of an afternoon nude, I realized I that I didn't really mind being naked. I didn't object to wearing nothing. What I resented, was not wearing clothes.
Let me explain it further, so I do not get misunderstood.
Let's assume that I have own a total of 23 different outfits. That means that I can actually wear 24 set of clothes, with the last one being "naked".
I would have thought that actually being naked would bother me, but as it turns out, I am not less comfortable wearing my nude skin than wearing, say, an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
What I miss, is the opportunity to actually pick which of the 24 outfits I will wear and to choose according to my mood.
Before, on a hot week-end day, I would get to pick between a pair of slacks and a loose t-shirt if I felt like relaxing or perhaps a tight pair of jean cut-offs with a tube top if I felt slutty. I could also pick a summer dress if I felt happy, or a long black skirt with an equally black v-neck bra-top shirt if I felt dark.
When I lacked confidence, I could wear a padded bra to lie about my breasts and when I felt particularly good about myself, I could leave the bra home and wear only a blouse on top.
When I wanted to get a boyfriend, I could pick a sexy matching set of underwear to signal my own brain that I was in the mood or when I felt like being alone, I could use a half torn pair of granny panties to guarantee I would come back alone from wherever I would go.
Don't get me wrong, I never really hooked up. I am not talking about actually meeting guys. It was just that with my clothes, I could adjust how I felt about myself. I could use them to put me in a lie about how I really felt.
I could go out in a bar and lie to myself that the only reason I didn't flirt was because I didn't have the proper underwear and not because I was simply unavailable emotionally. I could go in a library wearing victoria's secret clothes and underwear and pretend that I was available for a hook-up even if I was hiding in the children's book section to improve my teacher's skills.
In short, my clothes helped me forge a demeanour, a fake mask to wear in public to slightly adjust my personality to suit my mood.
In a naturist center, the only set of clothes I would get to wear were my birthday suit with different running shoes and socks and possibly, being bare footed.
It caused me a little discomfort because of my past habit to project my inner mood via my attire and now, I felt bare. I felt like I didn't have a choice but to be authentic.
I felt like I couldn't hide anymore who I was.
And that, is what really scares me.