Nose to the air, I stroll to the outdoor swimming pool, my cute tote bag depicting a sleeping Snorlax surrounded by berries, hanging off my left shoulder. Wearing dark sunglasses, I scan the sunbeds, seeing willies and foofs, nips and tits.
This is absolutely fine.
I text Sam.
Today’s the day I brave this whole nudism thing.
The tote bag slips from my shoulder and I huff it back into place, my flip-flopped feet flipping and flopping off the hot tiled floor. A man swims buck naked alongside me and I wish he had some tact and swim in the opposite direction.
A tanned woman lathers her chest with fresh suntan lotion. An elderly man stretches out his legs, revealing wrinkled balls. God, they hang low. ‘Rude Boy’ by Rihanna plays over the sound system, a song I must immediately remove from my playlist because it will forever be associated with this moment.
Shame I’m not there.
He’s sent one of those tongue out winking emojis.
I’ll send pics.
I absolutely will not send pics.
I’m walking aimlessly, tempted to cross this area and exit through another door and return to the indoors, but I’m sure even if I did that I would be presented with the same thing.
If you can’t beat them, join them.
Taking a breath, I look around again, seeing an empty sunbed tucked away in the corner, cast in shade by a parasol and planted palm trees. Idyllic, even if there are naked people either side of the yellow and white striped bed.
I can go there and I can lay out on my bed and I can remove one article of clothing slowly and eventually I will be naked too and I will be Chill Will again.
A hot breeze rushes over my skin, and I wipe the sweat from my forehead as I claim the bed as my own, rolling out my fluffy beach towel over the fabric. As I’m adjusting the height of the bed, someone claps their hands behind me.
At least I hope that’s what’s clapping together.
‘Oh-ho, look who has joined us.’
Turning, I gawp at Tim and Jemima, naked as ever. Both of them clutch a cocktail that has a pink and blue umbrella stabbed through a needlessly large wedge of orange. ‘Tim, Jemima.’Why am I addressing their genitals? Look up! Look up!‘How the devil are ya?’
Why did I say that? Why did I say it in an Irish accent?
I flop onto my bed, and it groans beneath me. I hesitate, afraid it might break, but so far, so good. The naked man in the pool turns, taking on another lap, and I get a glorious view of his arse hole as he kicks from the wall.
‘We’re reyt, my boy, we’re reyt,’ Tim says, thankfully taking the sunlounger that is furthest away from me. Jemima sits nearest, reaching for her book. ‘Haven’t seen you around here in some time.’
‘Oh, yeah, we must keep missing each other.’
‘Impossible,’ Tim says. ‘We’re here all day, aren’t we?’
Jemima’s smile is forced. I linger on her, this time her expression. Being at a nudist resort is exhausting. The constant thought of ‘keep eye contact’ runs through my head.
‘Well, I thought I’d come down and relax by the pool and…’
I groan, my eyes scanning my bag.
‘What is it?’
‘I forgot my book.’
‘Oh, don’t worry.’ Jemima reaches into a large beach bag, taking out a battered Jilly Cooper, and then an equally tired Jackie Collins novel, handing both to me. ‘You can keep those. First in the series. Are you a romance reader?’
The suggestive covers make me smirk. ‘I am. These are perfect.’
