Being nude in public was something that I had never even thought about before that first day. I don’t just mean that I wouldn’t have considered it – I mean that I never had a single thought about it one way or another. I’d been brought up quite conservative and nudeness outside of the bedroom or bathroom wasn’t something that ever really happened. So when one day I found myself walking along Studland beach in Dorset with my boyfriend it was all a bit unexpected.

We had gone there because we had heard that the beach was one of the best in the area, and because we preferred the quieter beaches to the more popular ones in towns were heading to what looked like the centre of the beach farthest away from the activity at each end. We didn’t know it was a nude beach (at least I didn’t – I did wonder if the boyfriend knew although he always denied it) but we had heard such good things about the place that we would probably have gone there anyway even if we had known. The beach is separated from the road by a wild heathland that is a lovely place to walk even if you are not going to the beach, and there is a path through the dunes and heather that according to the map seemed to lead to the right sort of spot. So we packed up our towels and beach stuff and started walking towards the sea.

It takes about 20 mins to walk to the beach that way, and at some point we came across a sign saying something like “Naturists may be seen on this beach”. I remember laughing about that sign and wondering if we really would see any naked people, only for a naked man to step out of a dune a few metres in front of us and give us a cheerful “Hello” before crossing the path and carrying on his walk. I was surprised by that, but I had nothing against people being nude on beaches (or anywhere else for that matter) so we carried on walking.

We got to the beach itself pretty quickly after that, and it soon became obvious that “naturists will be seen on this beach” and there was no “may” about it. There were a lot of people near to the end of the path, and none of them were wearing anything at all. We walked a bit further until we found a spot without too many naked people right next to us and sat down.

The beach itself is amazing, and if you haven’t been there you should give it a go. Long uninterrupted sand with a view out to Old Harry in one direction and Bournemouth in the other, boats constantly passing and a few stopping to drop people off at the shoreline, and a small hut in the middle selling ice cream (which apparently these days has been replaced by a boat). I was more than happy to spend a few hours there, with or without the naked people.

We had been there a few minutes when my boyfriend stood up, peeled off his swimming trunks, and sat back down again. “I didn’t know you were a nudist,” I said.

“I’m not,” he answered, as he tucked his trunks back into the bag. “But it’ll save me having to wash these when I get back home, and everyone else is naked anyway. So why not?”

So there we lay, him nude and me in a bikini that didn’t really cover all that much. I don’t think that at that point I had even thought about taking my bikini off; the lack of clothing around me was interesting but it almost seemed irrelevant. People were playing beach games, laying around reading books, chatting to friends, taking holiday snaps on their waterproof cameras… in other words they were doing exactly the same things people would do on any other beach only with fewer clothes. It was absolutely normal.

It was a hot day, and pretty soon we had to go in for a swim. So after making sure our stuff was as secure as it can ever be on a beach we walked down to the sea and waded in. Which was the first time that day when I actually began to wonder about taking my swimsuit off. “What’s it like?” I asked my boyfriend. “Does it feel any different?”

“Try it,” he said, and so keeping all the important bits under water I let him undo the strings and peel the costume off me.

It was different, more different than I expected, and yet in some way I would say that it was the first time that swimming in the sea had ever really felt ‘right’. There was nothing between me and the water, and I felt like I could experience it properly for the first time.

I swam around for ages like that until we both thought it was time to go back to our spot on the sand. We made our way back to the shallows and as we stood up I held my hand out for my costume, but even as I stood there I realised that not only was it far too late to hide anything it really did not matter anyway. Everyone could see me, no-one cared, and so nor did I.

We walked back up the beach naked and I went straight to my towel. I dried myself off, then making a decision that surprised even me I picked up my purse and wandered down to the snack hut to buy us both ice creams. I stood in a queue full of naked people, then bought ice creams from a National Trust shop, all whilst naked!

I don’t think I’ve ever chosen to wear clothes on a beach since. There have been times when I’ve ended up on beached where nudity isn’t an option, but I’ll always pick the clothes-optional ones if I have a choice. Does this make me a nudist? I would say no, as I don’t really get naked anywhere else other than on beaches, but laying on the hot sand on a summer’s day there really is no better way to be.

Go naked! Really. Try it. You won’t regret it.