Guest Site by: Nicolette Barischoff
After I first came out as a naturist to my family (made up of Burning Man hippies and ultra-conservative Christians likewise), reactions ranged from "Yeah, I kinda figured," all the way to "Did Not you do this a few years ago?"
I've pretty much always been nude. It is hard to pin down when or how that happened. My parents were both pretty conventional non-denominational Christians, and the importance of modesty was stressed at me early and often. It only did not really require. I recall countless lectures on the sanctity of a woman's modesty, the mysterious and unexpected weight of duty that was a Woman's Body. "You've a woman's body, now, you can't just go around without thinking!" I recall quiet, hot sex on the beach
, urgent asides reminding me how vital was my part in ensuring that guys were not frightened / filled with unshakable lust / given wrong notions about me. I lost count of how many times I mortified my siblings by coming out of the toilet bare-ass naked when they had friends over. I wasn't attempting to obstruct them, I simply never quite deciphered what there was to be embarrassed about.
You see, I was born with spastic cerebral palsy. Quite simply, my brain fires in arbitrary directions to make my muscles do all kinds of bullshit that I didn't ask them to. I do not walk; I use a wheelchair to get around, or if http://rudefly.us
at home, my ha