In 1997 my mother took me, then 17, and my sister Katlin, then 11 to Europe, as a High School graduation present. Since I was “skipped” in first grade, I was graduating a year early. Katlin was 18 when she graduated from high school this past June.

Ile du Levant

American nudists have an inferiority complex. We all know the real action is in Europe. I discovered that most European nudists don’t even think of themselves as nudists, just normal people who sunbathe nude. What a difference from the USA! Most of us here on the Western side of the “pond” speak of Ile du Levant as if it were Camelot, once upon a time… Yet over there where you can go to the island for a day’s visit most people don’t even seem to know about it.

My father and mother became nudists accidently when they rented a cottage for a week in August in Wellfleet on Cape Cod in 1983. I was three at the time. My parents loved walking, a trait I’ve inherited and expanded on. Their walks were less ambitious, a few miles along the beach rather than spend the whole day sunbathing. So the first day we went to Newcomb Hollow, the northern most beach in Wellfleet, they took a stroll up toward Balston Beach in Truro, and discovered a bit more than a mile up the beach, a large group of people happily sunbathing, playing frisbee, romping in the surf and otherwise enjoying each others company without the need of bathing suits. My parents liked this so much that they instantly became nudists.

By spring of 1997, I’d spent one, then later two weeks every summer mostly naked. By seventeen I knew there was more pleasure doing this then just not having sand in my bathing suit. One obvious thing is, everyone’s so friendly. I think this is an American thing. In Europe it’s not nearly so much a comradeship of rebels. But on Truro beach all you have to do is take off your bathing suit to become “one of us” as opposed to “them”. It’s amazing how easy it is meeting strangers there. People new to nudism still become so comfortable with it that guys who wouldn’t talk to me on a regular beach, approach me like an old acquaintance, asking how I am, where’s my sister, seemingly unaware that I’m standing there with my naked pussy and nipples on display and he’s talking to me with his penis hanging down between us. Nudism is always a good topic of conversation among American nudist. I heard the stories about the old Truro (before 1975) many times. I also heard about Ile du Levant more than a few times, though I never met anyone in Truro who’d been there personally.

My father was an avid reader of Robert Heinlein. In one book, “Glory Road” written in the 60’s the hero “Oscar”, after being discharged from the American Army in 1961 at age 21, lands up in Ile du Levant for a summer while trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his life. He’s lost interest in finishing college, not really much interested in anything at the moment other than enjoying the “floor show”, first in Nice, then later the even better one on the island. My father told me that when he first read the book he assumed Ile du Levant was just some made up fantasy. After we started spending time in Truro, he discovered otherwise. Ile du Levant is the easternmost of a group of French islands about half way between Nice and Marseille.

Naturally I’ve read the book myself. In 1961, according to Heinlein, there was a sign on the path leading to Plage des Grottes (the beach) that said in French that no clothing was permitted beyond that point. On the back of the sign was a small notice reminding people to put their G-strings back on before entering the village. I was amazed in 1997 to find there was such a sign, probably replaced occassionally, because it didn’t look fourty years old. There was no notice on the back side. Today you can walk around the village totally naked if you like. My sister, mother and I usually did, as did about half the other women. About a quarter of the men walk around with their dicks hanging out while they’re doing their shopping. While I love showing off my pubes anywhere I can, I think most guys prefer not bumping the fruit stands with their jewels. Anyway, I didn’t mind seeing guys in G-strings. I get my kicks more showing them my genitals than looking at theirs.

The following happened while the three of us were enjoying the beach one day. You may recognize this from my fiction story “Letter to readers, ch2”. This background incident was not fiction.

A young French girl, about sixteen, showed up with two boyfriends. They just gawked for a while until an elderly man came over and told them they had to either leave or take their clothes off. This resulted in a most interesting argument. The girl had her top off and her bikini bottom down to her knees when she realized her friends weren’t doing anything. I don’t speak French so I’m not sure, but apparently when she realized they weren’t going to strip she started giving them a piece of her mind. Normally French girls are a lot more submissive than that. But maybe not being allowed to get naked really makes them angry? Eventually she had to follow them back up the path.

While there the three of us walked all around the public end of the Island. The village is surrounded by shallow woods on three sides which include the path to the beach. Almost anywhere except in the market area it’s unusual to see even men wearing anything. If you go for a walk on one of the paths in the woods, you don’t see a lot of people, but when you do pass someone going the other way, they’re naked. Why else would anyone be there? Heliopolis, the village, is intentionally primative. Only in the late 80’s did they finally allow electricity eventhough the French government had electricity on the island since shortly after WW2. Most of the island is actually a French Military base, seperated by a chain link fence from the ten percent of the island that was already occupied by the nudist colony before the base was built. When you walk around in the woods surrounding Heliopolis you keep coming up against this fence. The military part of the island looks like miles of open unoccupied land. Somewhere on the other end of the island there’s probably the usual buildings and things.

When my mother, Katlin and I arrived on the ferry from Port D’Hyeres, the jetty and dock were almost deserted. An old woman accosted us, and since she could speak English we listened. We didn’t have reservations, though the island does have a few 3 star places (medium quality) that probably take them. Kira had planned most of the trip for flexibility. Air fares, Eurail passes, but no reservations. She didn’t want to get locked in to a schedule or an itinerary. We tried to avoid “American” hotels and sometimes ended up in cheap places where no one spoke good English, which was fine by her. What the old woman was trying to hawk was a room she rented attached to her house. We followed her for what seemed like a mile going up the hill from the dock, and eventually arrived at a rundown house. She only wanted twenty dollars a night but the place wasn’t worth more anyhow. I think my mom accepted, not because she didn’t want to pay more for nicer accomodations but because she didn’t know how to say “no” to the woman.

At one point we acquire two “friends”, Frenchmen, cute and in their early thirties. I think they were more interested in mom than me, but the one most interested in them was Katlin, my very “advanced” eleven year old sister. If she could have had her wish she’d have shacked up with the two of them somewhere. But they were much less interested in her than me even. If they could have had their wish, mom would have been getting DP’d while little sister and I went sunbathing. Kira had just turned fourty, and was still stunning. She was much prettier than me when she was seventeen. I obviously got some of my looks from my father. Katlin, on the other hand, looks exactly like a clone of our mom.

The two men hung around us, or rather mom, for several days. Dad had died two years earlier and I’m sure if Katlin and I had not been along, the Frenchmen would have gotten their wish. I actually got a lot of flirting in. The guys were responsive enough, but every time I got a little heinie squeeze, Katlin would be right there trying to get some of the action. In spite of her attitude and georgeous looks, the guys just wouldn’t touch an eleven year old, especially with her mother there.

The men left the day before we did, which made things the last day simplier but less exciting. We made friends with an elderly Dutch couple whom we ate lunch with. When we said we had to leave shortly to catch the ferry back to the mainland they insisted on giving the three of us a lift instead so that we could stay longer. They were going back to Port du Lavandou themselves to do errands later that afternoon in their own boat. It was only 24′ in length and slept just the two of them. But it was adaquate for the Mediterranean and fine for a short trip with five on board. Still, in Europe where taxes make such luxuries expensive, the boat was actually owned by an American corporation. The third member, an American friend, had never even seen the boat. But the Med is international and there was no legal reason why a US registered boat couldn’t be running around there.

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Next stop Munich (Muenchen aft Deutech). Mom had spent a year there with dad several years before I’d come along. He had this temporary job with Infineon back when it was Siemens. Since she knew this one city pretty well, that’s where she took her daughters. I could give you a standard travelog, how what you see of downtown is all new since WW2 but built to look like the original buildings that had been flattened during the war. But mostly I want to write about nudism. That’s mostly why we went.

Through the middle of Munich runs the Isar river. Along it’s banks people sunbath, In many places away from the more heavily used bridges, many of the people are completely nude. American guys would love this part – it’s mostly the pretty young German girls who are the first to strip, when everyone isn’t doing it. Of course, yours truely was always one of the naked females. That’s why the three of us were there. As long as there were some naked girls around we joined them. Anyway, when less than half of the females are naked, your own nudity gets more noticed. By nudity, I mean below the waist. Girls going topless is so common it’s the rule pretty much everywhere for sunbathing.

There’s also the Englisher Garden, sort of like NYC’s Central Park on a slightly smaller scale. Some of the flow from the Isar is diverted through the park making picturesque little rivers and giving people lots of grassy areas to sunbathe. There’s one large field where most people strip completely eventhough lots of fully dressed people are cutting through the park doing errands. Elsewhere the mostly topless rule applied. But all of this was just choice. I don’t believe nudity was illegal anywhere or any time. It’s less common and mostly indoors during the winter.

One time, crossing a small bridge I noticed a large group of men hanging out looking over the railing. Curious, I joined them, though a German girl would probably not have bothered. Directly below the bridge was a beautiful, very well endowed young woman lying sunning herself, naked, of course. Actually, I never saw her face because she had a hat pulled down over it protecting her face from the sun. But no such protection was afforded any other part of her body. She had her legs almost uncomfortably wide apart, her open pussy lips point up at the men on the bridge.

One day while there, mom took the two of us to a “Bad” (pronounced Baud, meaning bath). There are a number of these throughout the city. She was familiar with two of them, Michaelibad, a new one down toward NeuPerlach where they had lived, and Volksbad an older one in the center next to the Isar. They generally schedule three days for mixed company, two for women only and two for men only. But the schedules are staggered so you can always find what you want somewhere. Being nude isn’t much fun when there aren’t any guys around so we went to the Volksbad that day.

The main thing about these places is that they operate year round so you can practice nudity in the middle of the winter. They operate during the summer as well, though you can easily go down to the river and flash as much as you want in warm comfort. In the Bads, however, things get more personal. Not sex, unfortunately. Other than my own experience I saw no improper behaviour even. But just being there means that like on the beach in Truro, you expect to be friendly with the strangers around you. My mom’s German is almost all forgotten. But probably because we were three females, we quickly acquired a group of male friends who all spoke perfect English. Most educated Germans do.

This particular Bad had about ten large rooms devoted to either pool sized hot tubs, saunas, or steam baths. While mom was busy chatting away in the big steam room, I was on the other side making friends with a Black guy about twice my age and very interested in my company. We were sitting on a railing surrounding a cold water pool. People didn’t go in this pool, but sometimes splashed themselves when they thought they were getting too hot. At one point Karl got up to do something and when he sat down he managed to get so close to me that we were firmly touching, the side of his fanny pressed hard against mine. It was obviously intentional. When he looked at me I gave him an encouraging smile. Next thing I knew his arm was casually around my waist. Well, the Frenchmen had gone further.

I was enjoying his advances. Anyway, he couldn’t rape me with a hundred people, including my mother, in the room. Not that I wasn’t ready to shed my cherry, either! The railing we were sitting on was wooden, about four inches wide, almost flat on top. I suppose it was designed for what we were doing. I leaned forward for balance then slid my butt further back so that my pussy was exposed and my thighs were now supporting me. As I’d planned, his fingers quickly discovered my new vulnerability. The pool went back to a wall so there was no one directly behind us. I relaxed, spread my buns a little, and felt him gently insert a finger, then several.

I looked over and gave him another smile. It was almost the first time for me. But I’d used a dildo so many times I doubt he ever even considered that I might still be a virgin. What nearly startled me into losing my balance was when I felt his thumb slowly ease it’s way up into my anus. This was a new experience for me! And when he began gently pinching me between the two fingers inside my womanhood and the thumb he had in my ass, I practically orgasmed. It was probably mostly because it was so exciting, having this done to me secretly with almost a hundred people there in the same room. I would have loved to have hooked up with my semi-lover later. But I never saw him again after the three of us left the place. I thought no one had noticed. But in at least one case I was wrong. Katlin had seen exactly what was happening. She was actually pissed about not getting such an opportunity herself! She even saw that I was getting it in both places. If mom saw anything she chose not to mention it. It’s funny that I enjoyed that when I was seventeen, yet have not yet had a good experience with actual anal sex. I bet my Black friend from Munich could fix that in a minute!

While we were there mom took us one evening for a stroll along Hanna Strassa. It was both fun and educational. Prostitution is not illegal in either France or Germany. But it is regulated. The girls in Munich have to get a license and have regular checkups for VD. The big advantage for them is that there are no pimps and no hassels with cops. In fact, they can ask the police for protection the same as any other person selling his services. Mom tells me that a lot of the girls working Hanna Strassa are not even full time whores. Many have regular daytime jobs and moonlight either for extra money or because they enjoy it. Turning a half dozen tricks one night a week in a safe situation is probably more fun for lots of girls than a Friday night date. In other places around Munich the girls who do it full time operate in regular houses. You can also call girls who advertise in fliers you pick up at the airport. These girls usually come to your hotel. But they don’t sneak up to your room. Usually they stop at the desk and inform the management that they’re there, for their own protection.

The girls on Hanna Strassa stand next to their cars in underwear, usually sexy, transparent stuff. The men interested in getting laid and the tourists like us just interested in the whole scene walk up and down the sidewalk viewing the merchandise. I watched several negotiations concluded. The girls all have a set price, so negotions means just that a man has decided which girl he wants. What he’s willing to pay (seven years ago) is about a hundred twenty dollars for maybe a half hour or however long it takes her to make him cume. He gets in the passenger seat of her car and she drives down to the end of the street and parks in one of many specially reserved places in front of the government owned brothel. Instead of taxing the girls, the city fathers provide the rooms and charge for the service!

The one other thing about Munich I’d like to relate is a story mom told me. She was there a whole year including Fashing, their name for Mardi Gras. The Catholic Germans make it a week of parties, many of them large and public, other’s private. One of the ones mom and dad went to was sponsored by the Brazilian Consolate. The tickets were moderately priced, included a band from nine to three, and four fifteen minute floor shows once an hour including the last one at midnight. This was held in a large hall with about three thousand people. Everyone was in costume, though many of the women changed into theirs in the dressing rooms after they arrived.

February is not summer. Most of the female costumes would offer no more protection from the cold outside than the one the girl under the bridge was wearing. My mother in 1978 wasn’t yet officially a nudist. But her costume was, she believed, rather erotic. Until she arrived and saw what the young German girls were wearing, or more like not wearing. The performers came out at nine, all Brazilians, the women scantily clad, everyone singing and dancing. Each time they came out the women wore less. At midnight they were wearing plenty of feathers, but nothing else. Well, in Munich public nudity is accepted. On stage it probably is expected under the circumstances. During the last set a lot of the younger women went back into the dressing rooms to “fix” their costumes. There was still three hours left. When they came back out after midnight, many of them were wearing the same thing as the female performers, just decoration. Mom says dad liked that part the best of the whole evening.

I had such a great time that summer that I intend to go back to Europe frequently. But that hasn’t happened yet. Getting through college, getting started and more than started in a career have kept me busy. My next major plan is the six month hike. Maybe after that I’ll get back to Europe and explore other interesting places, not just beaches. But I insist that any beach I do go to have to allow nudity.

Love and Kisses, Cathy

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