Naturist Website SeriesPart 3: How I Became a Home Nudist Held Captive

For my preceding naturist narrative sites see Part 1 Naturist Blog Seriesand Part 2 Boobs, Boobs Everywhere.
A Captive Home Naturist
Home Nudist - Folks talk about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder these days as if it were a joke. Oh, I'm so OCD! you might say, when choosing what to wear or putting away the dishes. But for my mum, OCD was no laughing matter. She endured through it, scarcely becoming even a couple of hours sleep per night. In my family, we simply referred to it as mother's problem.
Oh my God! I believed, that is mother! Her neurosis affected all facets of our lives. Among her many hangups was how I was supposed to dress and comb my hair, but she obsessed mostly over doors. Just she and my dad were allowed to have keys.

This wouldn't have been so awful if my mother had been a housewife, but we were restaurant folks, and our lives revolved around making pizza.
After the school bus dropped me off, she made a fast lunch as I saw He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, and for four to six hours later, I became a solitary prisoner in my dwelling. Dad, brother, sister and mother were all at the restaurant, and every door was locked from the inside. Thank God we never had a fire or I 'd have been toasted living.
The drawback to being trapped in my house was, obviously, solitude. I talked to myself incessantly and acted out the stories running wild in my own head. But after "bathing unicorn girl", I discovered a surprising gain to my solitary existence.
There was a certain delight in showering without shame which led me to spending time nude in the bedroom. And since my mother locked and unlocked and locked the door about fifty times before getting in her car, I understood when she away, and when I could be alone. Let me just say I've spent a lifetime trying to describe that initial feeling of stepping out my bedroom door sans panties.
Maybe it was the years of repression, from both my mom and my Baptist school, but I felt like I Had lived my entire life in a cave and was seeing a beautiful landscape for the first time. Or a guy who had never understood music and hearing Mozart for the initial time.
Particularly, it was the world of touch that opened up to me. The feeling of atmosphere on my shoulders, the bristles of carpet under my feet, the diverse textures of every chair and cushion. And it still looks odd to me. http://nudist-young.com wasn't like I'd never worn a bathing suit, but being entirely naked made me acutely more aware of my surroundings.
Household Nudist Held Captive
Obviously, I was a teen, and I'd be remiss never to mention arousal. But after the first hour or so, my brain figured sexual intercourse wasn't happening.
There was also the thrill factor. When folks say they climb mountains because they are afraid of heights, I comprehend what they mean. I did flirt with the dark side of nudism - exhibitionism - at one point. But I never really cared for anyone to actually see me naked. All I really wanted was that awareness of liberty, to be one with myself and my surroundings.
Over the the next couple of years, whenever the family was away, the clothes came off. And I developed really good hearing. When a car door slammed shut, I had minutes to get dressed, and my shorts were always within reach.
Some days I stressed I was suffering from some mental illness. My behavior was not exactly ordinary, and the Internet was still years away, so I couldn't just Google being naked. There was no way of understanding people like me existed.
But that did not prevent me from growing ever more bold. Places I secretly went nude: my dad's orange grove, resort locker rooms, hotel jacuzzis, and the woods behind our restaurant.
Household Nudist
That last part, I confess, was a little ignorant. This isn't some idyllic, Middle Earth-type woods either; this was Florida swampland, more Naked and Scared than anything else, with spiders, snakes, and a lake full of alligators. But none of that concerned me.
There was also garbage, in the displaced individuals who liked to camp out there, and possibly on-the-run pedophiles. Come to think of it, I was a pedophile's greatest dream: a boy in the woods, naked and alone. Sure, it might have made for a great narrative, but I'd likely be struggling with embarrassment-PTSD now.
I had finally decided I was a naturist. Though I couldn't be certain what the lifestyle entailed, life just seemed better without clothing. Even beach party was more enjoyable sitting on my naked bottom. But my new-found liberty came coupled with tension; as a naturist, I was true to myself, and yet my authentic self had to remain hidden; nudism was about being open, though also my biggest secret.
Frustrated by these paradoxes and philosophically minded at a young age, I began to ask the challenging questions, like why shame existed to this kind of degree in our society, and why it was even required to wear clothing.
Being a Home Nudist
Occasionally, when my sister drove me to the library for school, I spent enough time on the microfiche machine (Google it, kids!) to look up articles on naturism / naturism . But more than anything, I wanted to come from the closet, to spend time around other nude people where I could be myself and love the elements of nature without anxiety.
When boys my age began fantasizing about sex, I was thinking about the bare beaches of the Greek islands. But how could I ever manage to go there? I seen Greece every summer, but always with the family, and if my mother were to find my nudism, with her clothes-associated OCD, she'd probably die of a heart attack.
Learn how in part 4, coming next week!
Now read Part 4: Hunting For The Nudist-Bird.
This guest blog about being a captive home naturist was published by - Young Naturists & Nudists America
Tags: children and youngsters, greece, home nudism
Class: Naturist Site