First time experiencing nudism at Clover Spa.
From the street, it looks more like a handsome detached house than a hotel, window boxes flowering out front, the kind of place that seems entirely unaware of how charming it is. I'll admit that as I walked towards the door, my nerves were firmly in charge.
Inside, a small reception area opened up before me. A staff member greeted me warmly, checked me in, and asked whether this was my first visit, and whether it was my first time at a naturist spa. Both answers were yes. He explained I'd be given a towel to use in the communal areas, and then showed me to my room. I left my bag and coat and was taken on a tour of the facilities: a bar and restaurant, a lounge furnished with sofas and comfortable chairs, and then the spa itself, with heated loungers, a steam room, a sauna, a plunge pool, showers, and outside, a hot tub. The changing room looped us back to reception, where I was handed a locker key threaded onto a blue rubber wristband. The instruction that followed was simple and not entirely unlike a dare: go to my room, take off my clothes, and come down when I was ready.
Back in my room, I undressed, slipped the wristband over my wrist, and paced. Having never been naked in public before, the prospect felt enormous. I remember standing at the door with my hand on the handle, giving myself a silent talking-to before I finally turned it. The hallway felt surreal. Hotel corridors have a particular kind of mundane familiarity, and walking down one completely naked cut against every instinct I had. By the time I reached the top of the stairs leading down to the bar, I could feel my heartbeat in my ears. I took a breath, and went in anyway.
I moved quickly through to the changing room, locked away my phone, vape, and room key, then made my way to the bar. I draped my towel over a chair and ordered a coffee. I was acutely aware of my own nakedness, hyper-aware even, but as I sat there, mug in hand, something began to shift. Nobody was looking. Nobody cared. Everyone else was naked too, and they were simply... existing. Getting on with things. It landed on me gently, that realisation: it's just people, being people, in their own skin. The anxiety didn't vanish, but it loosened its grip.
I finished my coffee and made my way into the spa. I spread my towel across one of the heated loungers and lay down. There was a moment of feeling exposed as people moved past, but it passed quickly, crowded out by the steady warmth radiating up through the lounger, working its way into my shoulders, softening everything. After a while, I moved on to the steam room. It was excellent. I could feel it opening up my pores, clearing my sinuses, the heat doing its quiet, thorough work.
The sauna had a different energy, more sociable somehow. I got talking to another man in there, and there was something genuinely unusual about meeting someone for the first time with nothing on. It made me aware, in a way I hadn't expected, of how much I normally hide behind clothes, not just physically, but in terms of the walls we put up. Without them, it's easier to simply be present. The sauna was wonderful, though I only lasted so long before the need for fresh air won out, and I stepped outside, somewhat ironically, to cool down in the hot tub.
The cold hit me the moment I walked out. After the sauna, the contrast was like walking into a wall. I lowered myself into the hot tub and joined the three other men already in it. They were relaxed and easy company, quoting Blackadder at each other with the comfortable familiarity of old friends. I must have spent the next half hour in there barely thinking about anything at all.
A member of staff came to let me know my treatment was ready. I showered off and made my way to the treatment room, where a warm, unhurried woman welcomed me and directed me to lie face down. I'd booked a full-body exfoliation, and she worked the scrub methodically across my back, legs, and arms, before asking me to turn over and continuing on the front. Afterwards, she sent me to shower and told me to come back for the massage.
The massage was deeply relaxing. I had one brief, fleeting anxiety about the possibility of an erection when she worked on my thighs, the kind of worry that appears and then, mercifully, dissolves, but beyond that, the whole experience was nothing short of lovely. The result was remarkable; my skin felt genuinely transformed, soft in a way I wasn't used to.
After the treatment, I drifted between the facilities with no agenda, no hurry, until it was time for dinner. I dried off and settled at a table in the restaurant, ordered spaghetti carbonara and a glass of cider, and sat there, quite naked, having what I can honestly say was one of the finest dining experiences of my life. There's something about eating without clothes that removes a layer of self-consciousness you didn't even know you were carrying.
The evening grew livelier as people arrived after work. The hot tub filled with easy conversation and a few drinks, the kind of relaxed, unpretentious socialising that's rare in ordinary settings. Eventually I had a last drink, one final stretch in the hot tub, and headed to bed.
Morning brought coffee, breakfast, and the hot tub entirely to myself for the better part of an hour, just orange juice and warm water and the quiet of the day starting. It was a beautiful way to begin. I followed it with steam, sauna, and a shower, and then it was time to leave. Pulling on my clothes after nearly 24 hours without them felt strangely punishing, like being handed something back that I hadn't realised I'd been glad to put down.
I'll go back. I'm certain of it.
The thing that surprised me most wasn't the strangeness of it; it was how quickly the strangeness disappeared. I'd braced myself to feel uncomfortable, and instead I felt free. The oddest part, in the end, was how completely normal it all felt.