Nakation Nation

Before I get caught with my pants down, let me fully disclose that my own experience as a nudist is limited. There was the day I was born. That resulted in a spanking, unlike (most) naked moments thereafter. I vaguely recall a couple of college age incidents running fully exposed through crowds. When you cover your head with a beer box, it’s technically a streaker rather than a nudist. In Key West, I bare-bellied up at Garden of Eden bar but the ratio was a deal breaker. Then there was my honeymoon, the first and only opportunity to do a nakation right.

We were in St Maarten, home of legendary Orient Beach with its French influence. After getting acclimated to the topless section, we decided to stroll down the full clothing optional area just to check things out. To be clear, my new bride was no nudist. Disrobing with the lights on dim was about as risqué as things got with her. (She became my ex-wife btw).

At the start of the special beach, I remember ordering “penis coladas” from a strategically positioned stand to get the vibe going. The stretch was guarded by an imposing sign forbidding cameras, back in a time when cameras were cameras. Most of all, I recall the clientele was by in large at the don’t give a F stage in life, be it restraint at the buffet or personal grooming.

Indeed, the visit was headed for sheer disappointment until finally we encountered a…