The idea grew out of something I had already been exploring in my earlier book, Imagining Freedom: the assumptions we make about the human body, personal freedom and the way we believe people ought to live.

Then I added something else — one of the great ideas of science fiction.

A portal to another world.

I began wondering what would happen if those two ideas collided.

What if a group of explorers from a technologically advanced Earth stepped through a portal and discovered a civilization that had developed along a completely different path?

And what if the things that shocked the explorers weren’t alien technology, strange creatures or some terrifying threat?

What if the real challenge was discovering that the people of this new world simply didn’t share many of the assumptions the explorers had brought with them?

That became the starting point for A World Uncovered.

It is a science-fiction story about exploration, first contact, freedom and identity. Yes, the people of Veyra live without clothing, but that isn’t the point of the story. Their lack of clothing is simply one of the things that exposes the much larger question running underneath the novel:

How much of what we believe about ourselves is actually our own choice — and how much have we simply inherited?

The five explorers arrive expecting to discover another world.

They don’t realise that Veyra may have something much more unsettling to show them.

It may show them themselves.

an excerpt…

“It isn’t instructions.”

“What is it?” Kane asked.

Sarah looked at the wall.

“A warning.”

Nobody spoke.

She continued translating.

“The passage opens for those who seek.”

She frowned.

“That’s not quite right.”

She tried again.

“The passage opens for those who are called.”

Kane looked at the Cord symbol.

“And then?”

Sarah’s expression tightened.

“The traveller must choose.”

Amelia looked at the next section.

“What choice?”

Sarah shook her head.

The writing became damaged.

Only a few words remained.

“Return...”

She paused.

“...or remain.”

The chamber fell silent.

The words seemed almost absurdly familiar.

Kane looked towards the five figures on the wall.

She understood then why the previous visitors had been recorded differently.

The portal had not merely brought them somewhere.

It had offered them a decision.

The Cords had not forced them to stay.

They had not forced them to leave.

They had simply opened the passage and allowed the travellers to choose what happened next.

Kane thought of Earth.

She thought of the portal waiting in the distance.

She thought of the uniform folded inside her equipment case.

And she realised that the choice had already begun.

And that is where the story really begins...

A World Uncovered isn’t really about a group of astronauts discovering a planet where people live differently.

It is about what happens when the assumptions we carry with us are suddenly no longer universal.

The explorers went looking for another world.

Instead, they found a mirror.

And eventually they will have to decide whether to return to Earth with what they have learned — and, perhaps more importantly, whether Earth is ready to hear it.

If you’d like to discover Veyra for yourself, you can read A World Uncovered on Amazon.

Read A World Uncovered on Amazon

Thank you for reading

Boris

I want to tell you about a different kind of shelf.

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Here’s the idea behind it. Readers looking for something new are tired of storefronts that feel like billboards. They want to browse a library, not dodge sponsored content. And authors — especially independent ones — are tired of having to outbid strangers just to be seen on a platform they don’t control. Word of Shelf is built to fix both problems at once: an unbiased space where discovery isn’t for sale.

Listing your book doesn’t cost anything, and it doesn’t require you to hand over exclusivity to a single retailer. Your book can live on Word of Shelf alongside wherever else you’re already selling or sharing it. Think of it as an additional, honest front door for readers to walk through.

If you’re an author who’s been frustrated by algorithms that reward ad spend over good writing, this is worth five minutes of your time. Come list your book, take a look around, and help build a shelf where the only thing competing for a reader’s attention is the writing itself.

[List your book free at wordofshelf.com →]

If you know other authors who’d want a fair shot at being discovered, send this their way.

I would love to know your thoughts on improvements that will help authors get the exposure they deserve.

Regards

Boris

Winter has a way of slowing everything down.

When the days grow shorter and the evenings colder, I find myself spending more time sitting in front of the heater—or, if I’m lucky, a crackling fire. It’s a season for reflection. The pace of life eases just enough to let the mind wander, revisiting ideas that might have been pushed aside during the busier months.

Lately, one question has kept returning.

Is the nude world getting smaller?

Perhaps it’s only my perception. Perhaps it’s simply the stories that happen to reach me. But the more I think about it, the harder the question becomes to ignore.

On one side sits organised naturism.

For decades, naturist clubs, campgrounds, and resorts formed the backbone of the movement. They were places where newcomers discovered naturism, where friendships were formed, and where the philosophy of body acceptance was passed from one generation to the next.

Yet many of those places seem to be changing.

Some clubs are quietly closing their gates for the last time. Others are selling land that has been part of the naturist landscape for generations. Membership rolls appear to be ageing, and every year natural attrition takes another few names from the list. Resorts once operated by naturists are, in some cases, changing hands to mainstream owners or moving away from their original focus.

Is this simply the natural cycle of organisations? Or is it evidence of something larger?

If younger people are not replacing those who leave, what happens twenty years from now?

Who inherits not only the land, but the culture?

Perhaps an even more difficult question is whether organised naturism has unintentionally made itself harder to discover.

When clubs focus primarily on recruiting members rather than engaging with the wider community, are they protecting themselves—or isolating themselves?

Does a “join first, participate later” mentality encourage curiosity, or discourage it?

How many potential naturists have walked away simply because the first experience felt like joining a committee instead of joining a community?

I understand why clubs value membership. Membership pays the bills, maintains facilities, and keeps organisations alive. But if every conversation begins with “sign here,” does the movement risk forgetting that every long-term member was once simply a curious visitor?

Then there is the other side of the equation.

The world beyond organised naturism.

Non-organised nudism seems to face growing pressure from what might be described as the modern morality police. Sometimes those pressures come through changing regulations. Sometimes through public attitudes. Sometimes through increasingly cautious enforcement by authorities who would rather remove ambiguity than exercise discretion.

It often feels as though every remaining pocket of freedom is being questioned.

Can people still quietly enjoy a secluded beach?

Can someone experience nature without clothing, where it harms no one, without fear that a complaint—even from someone who arrived later—will become a legal issue?

Has simple nudity become something society feels increasingly uncomfortable even discussing?

At the same time, another contradiction quietly unfolds.

There was a time when bookstores and newsagents carried nudist magazines. They weren’t hidden behind curtains. They weren’t confused with pornography. They offered photography, travel, philosophy, club news, and stories about ordinary people choosing to live naturally.

Today, those magazines have almost disappeared from public view.

Yet explicit pornography has never been easier to access.

What does that say about us?

Have we become more comfortable with bodies presented as products than with bodies presented as simply... human?

Has the disappearance of naturist publications from mainstream shelves quietly removed one of the few pathways people had to discover that nudity and sexuality are not the same thing?

Could curiosity about the human body now be funnelled almost exclusively through pornography because the healthier alternatives have largely vanished from public sight?

If so, what has that done to public understanding of naturism?

And then there is perhaps the hardest question of all.

How do we rebuild?

Can clubs survive by looking inward?

Can the movement grow if most of its energy is spent maintaining existing members rather than inspiring future ones?

Or is the future of naturism less about preserving institutions and more about cultivating a culture?

Sometimes I wonder about what I call the “last person standing” principle.

Imagine a club whose membership gradually declines over thirty years. One member passes away. Another becomes unable to travel. Another retires from active involvement. Eventually only a handful remain, each carrying increasing responsibility for a property that once belonged to a thriving community.

What happens then?

Does the land get sold?

Does its history quietly disappear beneath a housing development or commercial venture?

Or does the last person metaphorically inherit the keys—not because they wanted to, but because everyone else has already gone?

Perhaps that image is too pessimistic.

Perhaps the future won’t look like the past.

Maybe expecting younger generations to join clubs in the same way their parents and grandparents did is asking the wrong question altogether.

Today’s generation builds communities differently.

They meet online before they meet in person.

They learn through creators rather than committees.

They document experiences through photos, videos, podcasts, blogs, and social media.

What if that isn’t a threat to naturism?

What if it is the opportunity?

Imagine a generation willing to speak openly about body acceptance. A generation prepared to challenge unnecessary shame. A generation using social media not to shock, but to educate. Not to provoke, but to normalise.

What if the next great chapter of naturism isn’t built around club newsletters and annual general meetings, but around authentic conversations shared across digital communities?

Perhaps organised naturism and modern communication don’t need to compete.

Perhaps they need each other.

Winter has a habit of asking difficult questions.

This is one of mine.

Is the nude world really getting smaller?

Or is it simply changing shape?

Whatever the answer, I remain hopeful.

Because freedom has always found new ways to survive.

Maybe the next generation won’t inherit naturism exactly as we knew it.

Maybe they’ll build something different.

Something more visible.

Something more connected.

Something that reaches beyond club gates and reminds the wider world that naturism has never really been about taking clothes off.

It has always been about taking unnecessary barriers away.

And that is a freedom worth passing on.

What do you think? Is naturism shrinking, changing, or simply evolving? I'd genuinely like to hear your experiences, whether you've been involved for fifty years or are just discovering it today.

Love

Boris.

I find it is very relevant as I am sitting in my cold office dressed up with Ugg boots on to stave off the cold.

One moment the sun feels warm against your skin, the air soft and inviting, and the world seems open and effortless. Then slowly, almost without noticing, the mornings become cooler, the winds sharper, the days shorter. Nature changes around us whether we are ready for it or not.

And somehow, life feels very much the same.

As the seasons shift, it can become increasingly difficult to simply exist comfortably in our own skin — as nature intended. We carry stress, expectations, worries, responsibilities, memories, and sometimes the weight of things we never asked for. There are days where we feel strong and connected to ourselves, and other days where even getting through the day can feel like climbing uphill against the wind.

But perhaps that is part of being human.

Nature itself never stays still. Trees lose their leaves only to grow them again. Storms arrive without permission. Winter strips everything back to its barest form before spring slowly returns life to the world once more.

We are not so different.

Life moves in cycles. We all experience periods of growth, stillness, loss, uncertainty, healing, joy, exhaustion, renewal, and hope. No two journeys are ever exactly the same. Some people walk smooth roads for a while, while others find themselves navigating steep and rocky paths. Yet every person carries their own invisible weather systems within them.

That is why it matters to remain comfortable within ourselves, even when life feels uncomfortable around us.

Being “free in your own skin” does not mean life is always easy. It does not mean having all the answers or never struggling. It means learning to live honestly with who you are, wherever you happen to be on your journey. It means recognising that difficult seasons do not define you forever. It means allowing yourself grace during the colder periods of life while trusting that warmer days will eventually return.

Every sunrise offers something quietly powerful: a blank canvas.

Each new day arrives untouched. Unwritten. Full of possibility, even if only in small ways. A fresh conversation. A different perspective. A tiny step forward. A moment of peace. Sometimes survival itself is enough for one day — and that is perfectly okay too.

There is beauty in continuing on.

There is courage in facing ordinary life when things feel uncertain. There is strength in remaining gentle in a world that can sometimes feel harsh. And there is something deeply human about learning to adapt to the changing emotional seasons we all experience.

Perhaps the goal is not to avoid life’s storms entirely, but to learn how to stand within them without losing ourselves.

To breathe deeply through change.

To accept the ebb and flow.

To remember that even the longest winters eventually soften into spring.

And most importantly, to understand that everybody you pass is walking their own path — carrying their own challenges, hopes, fears, and quiet battles you may never see.

So as the seasons continue to change around us, maybe the invitation is simple:

Wake up each morning willing to begin again.

Meet the day as it comes.

Carry kindness for yourself and for others.

And wherever life’s path may lead, remain free in your own skin.

Being solar powered is okay during summer but for the avid sun lover, the cooless of autumn and winter can be a bit soul destroying, but keep in mind that we need to endure the winter to be able to truly appreciate the spring and summer when it comes.

Be well.

Boris

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Friday I left Home at 12pm (midday), and started the journey to Katikati Naturist Park, where I was booked in for the weekend, to overnight during the weekends festivities.

Originally I had planned to stay in a Chalet (with kitchen and shower/toilet) facilities, as my fater (82) was interested on coming with me. However with about a week to go he had some reservations abut going due to some health issues.

I changed the booking as soon as i knew, and posted a message on the relevant pages to let attendees know that there was another chalet available (which I hoped would be re-booked as to not have the Campground out of income for the unit for the weekend).

Sometimes when I am traveling I stop in to see friends or family along the way, and this was one of those occasions, and taking time out during the journey would prove valuable as I was soon to discover.

Rokker was just finishing testing the audio equipment for the weekend as I arrived, just winding up cables and putting gear in the car for the ride the next day.

He stopped to talk to me and the short stop ended up being the usual update as to what was happening over the next few days and with a few digressions along the way to the latest news and a hearty conversation with Rokker and Pete.

The day was getting very hot as we chatted seemingly for hours outside, when I pointed to the roof tent on the car (in its packed condition) saying how i needed to get on the road and go shopping, and at that instant, it dawned on me that i had forgotten to pack any bedding in my hast to depart, with the audio visual needs for the following days ride.

My exit was prompt, as I started to search for places to get bedding locally, with chat GPT suggesting the warehouse in Waihi, which I noticed was not just closed but non existent as I drove past it some 40 minutes later.

My next option was suggested as Kmart in Bethlehem, another 35-40 minutes away, which i typed into the GPS and headed off. about 5 minutes down the road, i remembered that I had accepted the request of another friend (another Peter) to buy 2 dozen eggs on the way down, and after re-pointing the GPS to the farm, I was directed back another 2 km or so, where I selected some free range eggs, locally famed for their taste.

Back on the Superannuation Superhighway…

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Well that is what I soon decided the name for this road (between Waihi and Tauranga), due to what con only be described as possibly the worst drivers in New Zealand. This section of road, with a 100km/h speed limit was being used by drivers that had a problem getting their car over 70, and in some cases over 60km/h.

The road would have to be the most frustrating sections of road in the country as well, which compounds the insanity of following the country’s slowest drivers on a road that little to no passing lanes. Add to this the complete stupidity of putting roundabouts on a 100km/h road, forcing traffic to slow to 30km/h.

No wonder why my dad used to say that traffic engineers are composed of civil engineering dropouts. (if you are a roading engineer reading this, try to to think of ways to create smooth flowing traffic, not driver frustration - prove me wrong).

So as I reached Bethlehem, on the outskirts of Tauranga, I quickly located Kmart, and with the speed of a rabbit with its tail on fire, I power-shopped for pillows, sheets (which were as always from Kmart) in short supply, and a duvet (doona) for the Aussies that might be reading this. Exiting Kmart to try to find a way back to the main road avoiding a maze of ‘no entry’ streets.

Finally i was back on the main road (the Superannuation Superhighway), heading to Katikati Naturist Park, where I arrived a little more frustrated that when i left, but it is easy to forget the stresses of the road when you reach a place such as this.

The first thing I did when I found my camping spot was to open the boot of the car and take a cool beer out of the fridge, and take a moment to enjoy the taste of relaxation. Now anyone that knows me, would at this point call me out as a liar.

Of course even faster than the rabbit with its tail on fire, is the sight of a naturist stripping down to their birthday suit when they arrive and of course, the best way to enjoy a cold beer on a hot day is fully exposed to the elements in your ‘altogether’.

There was not much on for the rest of the day (both literally and figuratively), apart from setting up the Roof tent, having another beer, getting the bedding sorted out, having another beer, and sitting down to dinner and good conversation (and another couple of beers), which cumulated with a swim, a dunk in the Jacuzzi, and another swim, and another dunk in the Jacuzzi and finally another swim and shower before heading to bed.

Saturday was the day of the World Naked Bike Ride - Waihi Beach edition, an event that I have been involved with for the past 3 years - (videos can be seen online).

After waking up and having breakfast and a skinny dip, the sun was out so I put out my solar panels to charge the battery for the fridge, while I sorted out the memory cards for the video cameras (i had 5 with me to catch the ride from different perspectives. I then mounted 2 of the cameras to the car in preparation for the event.

Back on the superannuation Superhighway for the short trip to Waihi Beach Hotel where we were meeting in preparation for the event.

Many of the riders were applying body paint to send the message that the ride was created for, a mix of highlighting excessive fossil fuel use, cyclist safety, and of course the message of body positivity and education.

As the riders lined up for the following photo, it was clear that we had a larger number than the previous year, all enthusiastic about getting the messages out about the need to raise public awareness about the issues.

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The ride has been going for over 20 years around the world, and has involved thousands of people of all ages. In New Zealand it seems to be over-represented by elder people, however every year there are more younger participants eager to share the same messages, and also enjoy riding naked as the freedoms of our country allow us to do (it is not illegal to be naked in public - a fact that is not widely known to most New Zealanders).

So the ride starts and the riders cross the road, and cars that were coming down the road stopped as they realized that there was an event.

This is where I encountered my first ‘hater’, and anytime you do something that is not a daily occurrence, people can get overly emotive, and the fellow in the car that was waiting started to voice his opinion flagging the riders as perverts, which as we all know is completely false, we are just ordinary people.

From my own experience the ‘haters’ tend to be men about 35 in age, who have an obviously hard upbringing, most likely told from a young age that nudity is rude and you can only be naked around other people with sexual intent.

I blame today’s ill informed society and the false doctrine from preachers and porn sites which have obviously had a profound effect on these sad individuals.

The ride continued without any issues and as the riders passed cafes, and other street-side places, people of all ages showed their support with whistles, cheers, and many laughing as the riders waved and rung their cycle bells as they passed by.

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Around the park and back along the main road with many drivers tooting and waving as they passed by, the line of riders stretching out as they neared the destination - back to the hotel.

With the ride over, the riders packed up their bikes and grabbed a towel or sarong as we congregated at the garden bar of the hotel for well deserved refreshments and some cool drinks.

We had originally planned to have refreshments wearing our (non existent) riding uniform, however unjustified rumors of activities from the previous year put the lid on it much to the disappointment of a number of the riders.

Most just accepted it and of course it gave us the opportunity to talk to riders we have previously met, and make some new friends.

About half of the participants finished lunch and headed off to the beach for a chance to get back into the group uniform, and a few hardy souls (myself included) ventured into the rough water for a dip in the ocean and a bit of a cooling off.

I forgot to take photos as I was on the sand, and feeling a bit tired )after waking at 5:30am) I opted to return to the campground after a good time in the water.

The camp was filling up fast for the evenings events which included a naked rave with the ‘guilty pleasures mix’ compiled and DJ’ed by Rokker.

I managed to catch up with a number of people that I have met on previous rides and visits to the Campground, also including friends I had made at Kiwiburn the previous year (and some new Kiwiburners) such as Peter B, Brian, Lloyd, Ross, Allan, Ron and Cheryl, Conrad, and many more.

The music started slowly from about 7:30 pm, and was in full swing by 9pm with the dance floor rocking to the favorites from the 70’s 80’s and 90’s which got everyone off their feet and jiggling to the beat.

Although I left the party all to soon, I hear that the party continued long after the music was ceased at 11:30pm.

All reports were the fun time had by all.

Sunday is usually a sombre occasion following an event such as this, with the thoughts of getting home and back to the ‘real world’ where worries about work, money and the like cloud the brain, however Sunday saw me wake up to the welcome sound of the generator from the barista of the coffee cart inviting me to wake up with a well deserved coffee.

After a morning spent saying farewell to friends and acquaintances, I packed up the roof tent and back onto the Superannuation Highway.

Thank you for reading

I will post the video of the ride shortly.

Note: this will be available for paying subscribers initially and will later be available on the Hauraki Naturally website.

Love as Always

Boris

That was the Friday, but as the day progressed and the sky darkened, I was feeling less inclined to take the gamble with fares and tickets to get to my favourite nude beach. Friday ended up — toward the evening — as a day that cleared up, re-installing the hope that Saturday would be a nice day.

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As the alarm went off on my wife’s phone at 6am, I vaguely cursed the infernal device, and as I dragged myself out of the warm sheets into a cool autumn morning, I collected my things and my barely conscious mind and left to get into the car.

My wife works near the ferry terminal in Devonport (Auckland) and it is one of the stops for the Waiheke Island ferry, so rather than pay for parking in Auckland, I opted for the ‘Uber-Wife’ approach, getting dropped at the terminal at about 8:45am.

As I looked at the ferry board I saw that the ferry was going to be a while away, so I decided to take a local ferry to Downtown Auckland (the main ferry terminal) and take a direct ferry, rather than gamble with whether the Downtown-Devonport-Waiheke ferry was going to have space on a Saturday morning. The concept was good, but the execution was poor — as you will soon read.

I arrived at Downtown and joined the queue for the ferry as I waited for the next departure. The line grew and grew as hundreds of people lined up for the hour-and-a-bit ride to Waiheke. Soon the ferry docked and disembarked its passengers, and our time came to board.

As I reached the front of the queue and went to tap-and-go to pay, the dockside staff stopped me and told me I had to go to the machine to buy a ticket. I asked if I would still be able to get onto the ferry, and the dockside staff said I could just come back to them and they would let me on.

So I ran to the machine and purchased a ticket. As I was about to run back to the line, a confused tourist was having a problem and I took 30 seconds to help them out — little did I know that I would pay for this later.

As I slowed my run from the machine and reached the boarding area, I was stopped by the dockside staff who said, “No more passengers — the boat is full.” I turned to the staff, who gave me a ‘sorry mate’ expression, and said I would have to get the next one.

I was very disappointed to say the least. I said calmly, “Come on guys, you said it would be okay,” to which I got the response — “Sorry mate, you will have to rejoin the queue.” And although I was effectively first in the queue, they sent me to the back of the line, adding to my frustration.

Now the ferries run every half hour from Downtown, so the wait wasn’t going to be horrific, but what happened as I was standing in line was, to use a phrase, like chalk on a blackboard.

Standing in line is probably one of the most boring things you can do in life, and this was no exception. After being sent to the back and rejoining the queue, I — as I always do — began to watch people, and within 5 minutes it started: the couple in front of me welcomed two more people to join them and push into the queue, which happened three or four more times as I waited (less) patiently for the ferry to dock.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am all for helping others, but when it comes to queues it is everyone for themselves — and that doesn’t mean we all need to push harder. After all, it is not Alton Towers, and if you can’t be bothered getting your coffee before getting into the queue, then you should join at the back and not just push in to join your partner — bad form, people, bad form.

I digress…

Anyway, not long later another ferry docked and this time I boarded without any issues, vowing to let the frustration go (to vent about it later) and enjoy the scenic sailing to the island. Remembering that I hardly ever take photos when I am on the ferry, I thought I should take some snaps to share with you all

.

Soon enough we were on the bus that winds its way around the hilly roads to Palm Beach, and as we approached the Red Shed (an arts collective) I disembarked and headed for the sand.

The day was overcast but fine as I walked carefully around the rocks, avoiding the tide as it surged in and back, darting around trying to keep my shoes dry. One more small obstacle — a spur about 20 feet high with a path leading to the secluded beach.

Ahh, the sand was warm beneath my feet as I started to strip down to my birthday suit, laying out my towel next to a friend from visits past. After a short conversation it was time to sample the delights of the water, which a local told me was about 21 degrees.

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Splash, brrr, and then nice — as my naked body acclimated to the cool, clear water. I spent the next 30 minutes enjoying high tide before I decided it was time to get beached and warm up

.

The rest of the day was a mixture of bright sun and cooling cloud cover, ending up in full sun at about 2pm. Not quite what the weatherman had forecast, but a perfect type of day for the beach — not too hot and not too cold.

The day was a brilliant mix of sunbathing, swimming, and talking to people I had either known from previous visits or new friends I’d just met. It is so much easier to have conversations with naked people than on a regular beach — I guess they are all there for the same reason, and they have nothing to hide, literally and figuratively.

The sky was a brilliant blue as I left the beach to head back, and sitting on the ferry I realised I had forgotten to take photos — small mercies for camera phones.

I joined my wife for a few drinkies on the wharf at a small restaurant before heading back into the traffic.

Upon reflection, the frustrating events of a day are simply a mirror of life itself — and perhaps they make the good moments shine all the brighter.

Thanks for reading.

Stay Naked.

Love Boris

There are moments in life when a drive becomes more than just a journey from A to B. Heading north to be with Dad after his recent medical procedure was one of those drives. The motorway stretched ahead of me, familiar yet reflective, giving me space to think about how quickly roles can shift — how the ones who once carried you sometimes need you close by.

About an hour and a half north of home, I made a detour. Uretiti Beach had only been part of my life twice now, but it already felt like somewhere quietly important. The weather that day was near perfect — one of those Northland gifts where the sky is a generous blue and the sun feels steady rather than punishing.

It was only my second visit, but familiarity arrived quickly. I walked down through the dunes, felt the white sand warm beneath my feet, and let the ocean air wrap around me. There’s something about Uretiti that encourages you to slow down. I stretched out in the sun, letting it soak into skin that had been hidden away too long, and later wandered into the water for a swim. The sea was refreshing without being cold — the kind that clears your head instantly.

I stayed for a few unhurried hours before continuing north to Whangārei.

An Unexpected Shift

Dad is 82 now. Six months ago he had a knee replacement — a major milestone that changes not just mobility but confidence. When I arrived at his place, I was struck not just by how he was recovering physically, but by something else entirely.

Things had changed.

Over recent months, he had embraced a naturist lifestyle — something I hadn’t fully expected at his stage in life. That first evening, he was soaking in the hot tub, comfortably naked, relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen in years. After he climbed out, he didn’t rush for a towel or clothes. He simply stayed as he was.

And so did I.

What followed wasn’t awkward or forced. It was easy. We sat and talked for hours — about health, about ageing, about memories of Mum, about how the world looks different at 82 than it does at 50-something. The absence of clothing seemed to remove something else too: pretence. It felt honest. Stripped back in more ways than one.

At some point in our conversation, I mentioned Uretiti Beach. I described the sunshine, the swim, the ease of it all. Without much hesitation, he said, “Let’s go tomorrow.”

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Whangārei to Uretiti

The next day, we set off south from Whangārei. The drive isn’t long — roughly forty minutes — but it’s scenic enough to feel like a small adventure. Rolling farmland, glimpses of coastline, and that wide Northland sky stretching endlessly ahead.

What stayed with me most wasn’t the scenery though. It was watching Dad navigate the carpark and the sandy track to the beach. Six months post knee replacement, each step still required attention, but he moved with determination. There was pride in it — a quiet declaration that life doesn’t stop at 82.

We walked together from the carpark, through the low dunes, and onto the sand.

A Different Kind of Perfect

The weather had shifted from the previous day’s bright blue sky. It was overcast, but in that gentle Northland way where the cloud cover acts like a soft filter rather than a threat. The air was warm — properly warm — held comfortable by a steady northerly breeze that took the edge off the heat.

We chose a quiet stretch of sand.

As we undressed, there was no ceremony to it. Just a shared understanding. Two men at different stages of life, comfortable enough to exist exactly as we were. Around us, others dotted the beach — some walking, some sunbathing, some simply staring out to sea.

The breeze cooled the skin while the warmth of the day lingered underneath. The sea rolled in patiently, grey-blue beneath the clouded sky. Dad stood for a moment facing the water, taking it in. Then he smiled.

We swam briefly — carefully, given his knee — and later lay back on our towels, talking again. The conversations were lighter this time. Less about recovery, more about living. There was laughter. There was perspective. There was gratitude.

The Drive Back

As afternoon quietly ebbed away, the temperature began to drop. The northerly breeze carried a sharper edge, and the beach slowly thinned out. We dressed, packed up, and made our way back across the sand and up the path toward the carpark.

The return drive to Whangārei felt contented and quiet.

Back at Dad’s it was a quick packup, and then returning to my home and my family.

Sometimes heading north is about obligation. This time it became something else — a shared moment of change. A recognition that life continues to evolve, even in your eighties. That healing isn’t only physical. And that sometimes the most meaningful experiences are the simplest: a beach, a breeze, and time spent together without barriers.

I’m grateful I made that detour.

Love Boris

p.s. please think about supporting my writing by a paid subscription.

I thought the weekend might be a bit if a washout, naturally speaking, with wife, daughter and daughters BF all going to my 80+ year old fathers place for the weekend.

Just 2 hours north, dad’s place was a hectare with lots of green spaces and a huge deck.

Friday was a bit of a family day, with my niece and family visiting, so getting the family jewels out for some sun was a solid no-no.

Saturday however was better with just dad and our family there most of the time we (my wife and I) had the deck to ourselves.

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So I commandeered

my father’s deck chair, and proceeded to get my all over tan next to my wife.

Dad was doing some odd jobs, and that kept him busy most of the day, however he did manage some deck time, however the fierce sun made him reluctant to strip down (he has recently taken up some parts of the naturist lifestyle).

I opted to bare all to the NZ sun, and having a clear blue sky this was very intense.

As the day progressed, I set the hose to spray mode, and every time I started to overheat, I have myself a good spray to cool down.

In hindsight, this was not so much of a good idea, as the heat is the body’s way of saying ‘get out of the sun’, but i was enjoying it so much I would worry about it later.

So Saturday was lovely, and so was the company

Sunday however was a bit of a different story.

As I woke up I realized that my previous days efforts to tan were not in vain, as I looked into the mirror to admire my coloration from the previous days efforts.

I was as red as a beetroot, and there was no shortage of heat still radiating from my well cooked skin.

I tan very fast, unlike my wife, who has a much fairer complexion to me.

Nevertheless sitting in the sun was not going to be on the cards for the day, and after riding my motorcycle to my father’s it was a bit of a daunting prospect of putting on long pants, motorcycle boots and bike jacket.

So, until it was time to head back I avoided clothes, until the last minute, and when it was time to ride, there was no messing around, I had to get moving to get the cool wind to do it’s job.

The return journey was a seemingly long one, with holiday weekend congestion, and a hot day becoming a day of riding in a breeze that felt like riding against a hairdryer.

Saturday was burn day and I drafted this on Tuesday, 3 days later and the burn is subsiding. I still feel the remnants of a bit of prickly heat, but dwell in the thought if a naked day on the deck.

Thanks for reading

Love

Boris

And beaches? We have plenty of those.

Depending on how they’re counted, New Zealand is often quoted as having around 15,000 kilometres of coastline and many thousands of beaches — more than enough space, distance, and quiet corners for people to spread out, be alone, or simply exist without bothering anyone.

And yet, despite this legal freedom and geographic abundance, only a tiny fraction of New Zealanders ever choose to swim, sunbathe, or relax nude on a public beach.

This is where the conversation gets interesting.

Because the question isn’t really about freedom.

On paper, the freedom already exists. The law is permissive. The space is available. The risk of legal consequence is low. And yet, behaviour doesn’t follow permission.

So why do so few people choose it?

One explanation is cultural habit. New Zealanders grow up with unspoken rules about bodies: when they’re acceptable, when they’re hidden, and who gets to be seen. We are relaxed about many things — swearing, informality, barefoot supermarkets — but the unclothed body still sits oddly outside the bounds of “normal”. Not illegal. Just not done.

Another factor is fear of social judgement. Even when something is legal, the threat of being stared at, photographed, whispered about, or reported as “making someone uncomfortable” can be enough to shut down curiosity before it starts. The law may say one thing, but social consequences speak louder.

There’s also the absence of visible role models. Most people have never seen ordinary, non-sexual nudity outside of locker rooms or curated media. If you’ve never seen anyone else doing it, being the first feels like stepping off a cliff — not into freedom, but into exposure.

And then there’s a deeper layer: body shame. Not the loud kind, but the quiet, inherited kind. The sense that your body is either “not ready,” “not good enough,” or somehow wrong unless improved, filtered, or covered.

Naturist beaches don’t fail because people don’t want freedom — they fail because many people don’t feel at home in their own skin.

So perhaps the real question isn’t why New Zealanders don’t use nude beaches.

It’s why, even in a country with space, safety, and legal permission, so many of us still feel that our bodies are something to manage, hide, or apologise for.

And until that changes, the beaches will remain — legally free, geographically abundant, and quietly under utilised.

Thank you for reading.

Boris

A person can walk past us fully clothed, shouting abuse, clenching fists, radiating threat—and most people will quietly avert their eyes.
But remove the clothes, remove the props, remove the symbols of power… and suddenly panic erupts.

Security is called.
Police are summoned.
Bystanders film.
Fear is declared.

Why?

A naked body has no hidden weapons.
No place to conceal intent.
No uniform, no mask, no authority.
And yet, for many, it triggers a deeper alarm than an actual display of aggression.

This reaction tells us something important: the fear is not about danger.
It’s about exposure.

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We live in a world trained to associate clothing with safety and nakedness with threat—even though history, biology, and logic say otherwise. The naked human form has become a cultural red flag, while genuinely harmful behaviours are often excused, minimised, or rationalised.

That contradiction sits at the heart of my latest book:

Why Are We Afraid of the Naked Body?: Fear, Exposure and the Illusion of Threat

This book does not argue for shock, exhibitionism, or provocation.
It asks a quieter, more uncomfortable question:

What are we really afraid of when there is nothing to hide?

An excerpt from the book

A naked body does not signal danger. It signals honesty.

There is no blade hidden in skin. No ideology stitched into flesh. No violence concealed beneath honesty.

And yet, we respond as if exposure itself were an act of aggression.

Perhaps because a naked human reminds us of something we have spent a lifetime avoiding: our shared vulnerability, our unarmoured selves, and the truth that fear does not always come from threat—it often comes from recognition.

This book explores how shame was taught, how fear was inherited, and how nakedness became mis-labelled as something it has never been. It challenges the reflex to panic—and invites the reader to slow down, question their assumptions, and separate discomfort from danger.

If you’ve ever wondered why society reacts more strongly to exposed skin than exposed cruelty, this book is for you.

📘 Read more here:

https://amzn.to/3YLMrIl

Regards

Boris

And when that story is believed—by the person shouting it, and by the people watching—it becomes a convenient permit for behavior that would otherwise be recognized as what it is: intimidation.

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Image Source:WNBR.nz

A carpark lesson in borrowed virtue

Years ago (and the scene is still vivid), I watched it unfold in a car park where people were preparing for the World Naked Bike Ride.

A man in a utility vehicle drove in fast, stopped hard, and began shouting obscenities at a small group of riders. Not debate. Not curiosity. Not even confusion.

Just disgust—weaponized.

He spat out the same justification again and again: he was there to “protect” his niece. The implication was clear: your simple nudity is a threat, therefore my aggression is justified.

Then someone pointed to the sign.

The World Naked Bike Ride sign. Clear. Unmissable. Public. Organized. A known event, not a secret ambush of indecency.

And something happened that always fascinates me: the moral certainty evaporated the moment the context became undeniable.

He apologized.
He drove off.

No apology to the people he’d just verbally assaulted, of course—not really. More like an embarrassed retreat because the story he’d built his aggression on couldn’t survive daylight.

It wasn’t “for the niece.”
It was for him.
For his discomfort. For his assumptions. For the reflex to treat nudity as inherently predatory—then act as if that reflex is a public service.

The “protector” mask

This is the pattern I keep seeing:

1. Nudity appears (simple, nonsexual, often in a clear context).

2. Someone feels discomfort (which is allowed—feelings happen).

3. Discomfort seeks moral authority (because “I don’t like it” feels too small).

4. A guardian narrative is deployed: children, women, public decency, the neighborhood, my family, my niece.

5. Aggression follows—and is framed as courage.

It’s an emotional sleight of hand.

Because if the person said the honest line—“This makes me uncomfortable and I don’t know what to do with that”—they might have to sit with themselves.

But if they say, “I’m protecting someone”—they get to turn their discomfort into a weapon and call it virtue.

image source:instagram.com

English Violence Against Rider?

In England, a participant in a World Naked Bike Ride event in Colchester, Essex (reported as August 9, 2025) was punched off his bike by a man who later claimed he thought the naked riders were “perverts.”

That’s the same move, just escalated:

Assumption: nudity equals sexual threat.
Moral story: “I’m stopping perverts,” i.e., “I’m protecting people.”
Action: violence—treated as justified because the target has been re-framed as a danger rather than a human being.

And what makes it especially telling is that it happened during an event that is widely recognized and intentionally structured—exactly the kind of context that should short-circuit panic if the concern is truly about safety.

Instead, context didn’t soothe the attacker. It provoked him.

Because the point wasn’t protection.
It was permission.

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When bystanders become the threat

There is another case that exposes this dynamic even more clearly—not because of what the naked person did, but because of what others did to him.

In London, a naked man traveling on the Underground was physically restrained and assaulted by bystanders. Media coverage framed the incident almost entirely through the lens of “concern,” repeatedly invoking families, children, and public unease.

What the reporting didn’t do is just as revealing.

There was no indication that the man behaved aggressively.
No report of threats.
No violence initiated by him.
No indecent acts.
No sexual behavior.

He was simply naked (from the waist down).

Yet the article implicitly treated the bystanders’ actions as understandable—even reasonable—because they were framed as protective rather than punitive. The language leaned heavily on anxiety rather than facts, suggesting danger without ever naming it.

This is how aggression gets laundered.

By focusing on how people felt rather than what actually happened, the reporting quietly absolved the crowd. The naked man became the problem by default, not because of his actions, but because his body violated expectations. The physical assault on him was re-framed as intervention.

The familiar script appeared again: families were uncomfortable, therefore force was justified.

But discomfort is not evidence.
And nudity is not violence.

What’s striking is how quickly the moral burden shifted. The man’s body was treated as an offense serious enough to warrant physical restraint, while the actual violence—hands on him, force applied, the loss of bodily autonomy—was softened into concern.

In stories like this, nudity doesn’t just invite scrutiny; it invites permission. Permission for strangers to decide that their fear outweighs someone else’s right to exist peacefully in their own skin.

When authority becomes the aggressor

This pattern doesn’t stop with bystanders. It appears again—often with fatal consequences—when authority steps in under the banner of “public safety.”

In the United States, one of the most widely circulated examples is the police killing of Marcus-David Peters in Richmond, Virginia.

Peters, a young man experiencing a mental health crisis, had been involved in a traffic incident. He exited his vehicle naked and disoriented, then after being struck by a car he was visibly stumbling having received a head injury as he retreated from the traffic to the roadside, police swarmed him. Body-camera footage—now infamous—shows officers surrounding a naked, unarmed man, shouting commands, escalating rapidly.

A Taser was deployed (seemingly malfunctioning).
Then gunfire.

Peters was killed.

What is striking in the footage is not just the speed of escalation, but how nakedness itself appears to sharpen the response. The absence of clothing—often read as instability or threat rather than vulnerability—seems to short-circuit restraint. The body becomes something to control, subdue, neutralize.

Once again, the language used afterward focused on risk, fear, and public safety. The fact that the man was naked and in crisis was framed not as a reason for care, but as justification for force.

Discomfort was treated as danger.
Vulnerability was re-framed as threat.
Violence became “necessary.”

In these cases, nudity doesn’t provoke sexual panic—it provokes control. And when that control is exercised by institutions with weapons, the outcome can be irreversible.

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It’s Not Just the Men…

One well-known example here in New Zealand comes from the Rhythm and Vines music festival in Gisborne at the end of 2017.

An American festival-goer, Madeline Anello-Kitzmiller, was walking topless with glitter body paint when a man approached from behind and grabbed her breast without consent — an act widely recognised as sexual assault.

Video:Youtube.com

There are a few important points to note about this incident:

The festival was an R18 event where some attendees expected openly visible bodies and body art, and there was nothing inherently indecent or illegal about walking topless there.

The man’s action was a non-consensual touching, not a dispute over nudity itself, and it was rightly criticised as assault.

After the incident, Ms Anello-Kitzmiller faced significant online abuse and victim-blaming because she was topless — including comments suggesting she deserved what happened because of her clothing or lack thereof.

That abuse sparked wider conversations in New Zealand about consent, body acceptance, and the importance of not equating nudity with invitation.

This differs in motivation and context from the kind of hostility we see towards men in simple social nudity settings (like the World Naked Bike Ride or the London Tube incident). In the Rhythm and Vines case, the assault was a sexual violation by one person against another, not an act of aggression by bystanders or strangers because a body was visible in a non-sexual context.

But it is still a clear example of a woman being mistreated in a situation where her body — clothed or otherwise — was used as an excuse for behavior that was wrong.

What simple nudity reveals

Nudity doesn’t create aggression. It reveals it.

It reveals who needs a scapegoat for their discomfort.
It reveals who confuses sexuality with skin.
It reveals who believes fear is evidence.
It reveals who thinks humiliation is a legitimate social tool.

And it reveals something else too: how quickly a crowd can accept cruelty when it’s dressed up as concern.

That’s why these incidents matter even when they end with an apology and a quick exit.

Because the damage is still done:

people were threatened for existing in their bodies,
shame was used as a public weapon,
and the aggressor got to test whether the “protector” mask would work.

A more honest form of protection

If someone genuinely wants to protect children (or anyone), here’s what protection actually looks like:

Teaching kids that bodies aren’t inherently dirty.
Teaching consent and boundaries (which has nothing to do with nonsexual nudity).
Teaching discernment: context, intent, behavior—not panic at skin.
Modelling emotional regulation instead of moral hysteria.
Challenging real harm where it exists (exploitation, coercion, abuse), not inventing harm to justify hostility.

Because when we treat simple nudity as the enemy, we don’t make people safer.

We just make it easier for bullies to call themselves heroes.

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The question worth asking

When someone says, “I’m protecting others,” but what they’re actually doing is yelling, shaming, threatening, or attacking…

We should ask the question we rarely ask out loud:

Who is being protected here—really?
And from what?

Because sometimes the truth is uncomfortable in the simplest way:

They’re not protecting a niece.
They’re protecting a story that keeps them feeling clean.
And they’re willing to harm someone else to keep it intact.

Being naked does not give anyone the right to abuse you.
It does not grant permission to shout at you, restrain you, touch you, threaten you, humiliate you, or harm you.
It does not turn discomfort into authority, fear into evidence, or prejudice into virtue.

A naked body is not an invitation.
It is not a provocation.
It is not a crime.

Whether the response comes from a stranger in a car park, a crowd on public transport, a festival attendee, or someone wearing a uniform, the principle does not change: violence is still violence, and abuse is still abuse, no matter how neatly it is wrapped in concern.

So the question remains — and it is worth asking plainly:

Does being naked ever warrant abuse or violence?

And if the answer is no, then perhaps the real work is not controlling bodies, but confronting the stories we tell ourselves to justify hurting them.

thanks for reading and thank you for your continued support

Love

Boris

Now let's put this into perspective, it isn't really about the place, other that the previous visit had highlighted a place that was sorely in need of maintenance.

Now as I was driving to the gate with preconceived trepidation, I felt like a newbie nudie, like I was here for the first time, and I decided to just ‘go with it’ as many first timers do, and give the place a chance to change my mind.

As I approached the reception area, and entered, I could feel something different, and although I could not put my finger on it I felt like I was in a place that was fresh, inviting and oh so welcoming.

The naked manager sat behind the counter and as we went through the formalities he was ready to assist in any way that was needed. This hospitality was a welcome change from previous management, one that kicked off the weekend with ease.

Since I had driven the two and a half hours to the Naturist Park in the buff, there was no need to strip down to my skin suit, I just stepped out of the car and got to setting up camp.

The spot I chose was near a large tree just in front of where my friend Peter had pitched his tent, a spot that got full sin most of the day.

My roof tent takes about 5 minutes to set up, and shortly after I was ready to face the day by the pool or in the jacuzzi.

As I wandered around the park and spoke with some of the other guests and residents, I felt truly at ease, with an atmosphere that I have always imagined that the park should encompass.

It was a while before I caught up with my friend Peter due to his thoroughbred nature, his desire to run around the park for health and his immutable conversation with all he met along the way.

As we discussed the difference between thoroughbred horses and draft horses (peters build and my build) we also discussed the change in the feeling around the place, trying not to focus on the past but relishing the outlook ‘under new management’.

After a lengthy conversation it was time to get a bite to eat, so back to the ‘camper’ I went and having sustained the pangs, I decided to give as I have received.

A couple of slices of bread and I was on my way to visit some of the other residents.

It is a short walk down a tree lined path…

And I was soon at the river that runs along the boundry.

When visiting the locals it is always wise to take an offering, and today was no exception.

So with a couple of slices of bread in hand, I reached the spot in the river where the locals congregate.

There was already someone there chatting with the locals, so I offered the young lady a slice of my bread, and she joined me as we broke the bread up and tossed it into the water.

Our gifts were lapped up by the locals who you may have guessed by now are a large volume of eels, some having a greater diameter than my biceps (well they are okay si,e for a guy like me) but yes the eels were huge.

The eels also were enthusiastic as my photo shows, some coming up the stones in an attempt to beat other eels to the bounty.

It wasn't long before our bread supplies were exhausted and it was time to retire to the pool.

Around the pool it was ‘as social as you like’ with some having conversations about travels and experiences and others just enjoying the sun as nature intended.

Saturday night was a gathering of nudes around the pool having a happy hour of sorts, enjoying the drink of the day (not in excess) while continuing conversation with any who wanted to participate.

As I am writing this, it is Sunday morning and I am sitting in the early day sun, (which is rising over the tree near me), charging my solar powered battery, and revitalizing and re-energising (i too am solar powered) me for the day ahead.

I am so happy to have made the trip down to Katikati Naturist Park (NZ), and have to congratulate Brian and his wife for the continuing work being done to rebuild the park atmosphere, reputation and the environment and the ongoing committment to promote KNP.

And for readers in the northern hemisphere, surrounded by snow, why not fly south for winter, you will be welcome here.

Regards

Boris

There are moments in life that ask very little of us.
No declarations.
No rebellion.
Just honesty.

And yet, we hesitate.

We calculate.
We soften ourselves.
We wait for permission that never arrives.

I Should Be So Bold is not a manifesto, and it is not a guidebook. It is a quiet examination of the space between who we are and how we live. Through reflection, self-interrogation, and lived experience, Boris Naturi explores what it means to choose authenticity in small, ordinary moments—especially when fear, habit, and unspoken rules tell us not to.

This book is about naturism, but it is also about something far broader: the ways we negotiate ourselves smaller for the comfort of others, the stories we tell ourselves to justify restraint, and the cost of waiting for a future version of ourselves to finally feel ready.

It asks difficult questions.

What are you actually afraid of?
Who are you protecting by staying quiet?
What freedom do you admire in others that you deny yourself?

I Should Be So Bold does not promise transformation. It offers something more honest: recognition. The recognition that boldness is rarely loud, that courage often looks like staying present, and that freedom begins the moment we stop abandoning ourselves.

This is not a book about becoming fearless.
It is a book about becoming honest.

The question it leaves you with is simple—and unsettling:

read the book now: I Should Be So Bold - on Amazon.com

Regards

Boris

One of the clearest lessons I’m carrying into 2026 is this: I need to be more patient.

Not in a passive, give-up sort of way — but in a grounded, trusting way.

I’ve spent years creating. Writing books. Building websites. Sharing thoughts. Showing up honestly and consistently. And if I’m being truthful with myself, there are moments where I’ve expected things to move faster than they realistically can.

Followers don’t appear overnight.
Friendships don’t form instantly.
Traction doesn’t come on demand.

And yet, in the age of social media, it’s easy to forget that.

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Growth Is Quiet Before It’s Visible

Social platforms have trained us to expect instant validation. Likes, follows, shares — all presented as real-time measurements of worth. But real connection doesn’t work that way.

People discover you slowly.
They watch quietly.
They return more than once before they follow.

Some read without ever commenting. Some follow months after first seeing your work. Some books are bought years after they’re written.

None of that means the work isn’t working.

It means it’s rooting.

Book Sales Are a Long Game

Books don’t usually explode — they accumulate.

Each one adds to the shelf.
Each reader adds to the echo.
Each mention plants another seed.

if only book sales were this easy…

(e.g. NSFW - The Economy of desire - Ebook a book that really is safe for work, but outlines how the human body is being treated as a commodity)

A book written today may not find its reader until next year. Or the year after. Or when someone finally reaches the moment in their life where those words matter.

That’s not failure.
That’s timing.

Patience Is Not Inaction

Being patient doesn’t mean doing nothing.

It means continuing to show up without demanding immediate reward.

It means writing because the words need to exist.
Sharing because the message is honest.
Creating because it aligns with who I am — not because of how fast it performs.

The work compounds even when the numbers don’t reflect it yet.

2026 Is About Trusting the Process

This year, I’m choosing to trust that:

• Consistency beats urgency

• Depth outlasts virality

• Authentic voices travel further than loud ones

• Time is an ally, not an obstacle

I don’t need everything to happen now.

I just need to keep going.

Patiently.
Deliberately.
Truthfully.

Because growth that lasts is rarely rushed.

And 2026 is not about chasing speed —
It’s about allowing momentum to arrive in its own time.

— Boris Naturi

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I read an article on 'freeinmyskin.life’ which made me askmyself a few questions about what has transpired this year.

I am going to share some thoughts with you, and please dont take this as a depression or a mitigation of anyone else’s issues just a pouring out on media of some of the things that have taken place.

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In March I became ungainfully unemployed, as the company that I was working for retrenched and let me go (nicest way of putting it) as they reduced the level of expenses that they were outlaying on the back of a decreasing financial climate.

I started looking for work, but that was a hard task being a 50 something man with skills that some would consider a master of all but a specialist of nothing.. And as christmas approaches, no job in sight and funds are running low, I thank those few that have supported my writings this year. I love you guys.

But unfortunately this years woes did not end there, I laid my Mother to Rest about a month short of her birthday, and although we knew that her demise was on the horizon, the time was sorter than we all thought.

I do miss her smile and wicked sense of humor, she supported me in my youth to a point that I cannot even begin to put down without writing a book about it, so many times she supported me when others failed to do so, it saddened me deeply when she went, but I have to believe that she is at comfort now, considering how painful the last few weeks were for her.

I have fond memories of touring around the country as a family packed into a station wagon, going here there or just everywhere. Seeing as much of the country as we could do on the meager budget of a working class family with a high interest mortgage and the raft of bills that strangled most families in the 70’s and 80’s.

I guess this is not much different from today, another few decades later and we are still slaves to the banks, finance companies and the tax man.

Still ,the year ticked on, and without a job in sight I started to make plans for alternative income.

As most of you know I started writing books, and in no time at all, I had 12 titles on Amazon, which produced a handsome income of $20.00 per month, so not quite enough to sustain one’s self for any period of time, and certainly not enough to get the mortgage paid (yep, I have one of those hanging around my neck like the chains of slaves in days gone by).

It was a blessing that the bank allowed (after the usual bowing and scraping) to put the mortgage in interest only, which allowed me the headspace to look for other avenues for work, including the resurrection of a long since departed Web Business, and although it is back to square -1 (referring to how Farcebook has counted up my posts and somehow found them to equal a negative number) - Jerks…! I digress … Although it is like starting from scratch I feel better placed to make headway going forward.

I also started renovating part of the space in my house to create a room that can be let for some income to prepare for the inevitable time when the bank says ‘pay up’ so here’s fingers crossed.

And then another hit from left field, our dog that has been a part of our family for a number of years got to the point where her quality of life had decreased so much that we could recognize her pain as she struggled through each day.

It was a blessing to be able to be with her and comfort her as she passed away peacefully, but like that sucker punch that gets you when you aren’t looking, every step in the house is a memory, as I remember all of the places she slept, as I stepped over her time and again. Those spaces are now void, and the house is so quiet without her.

So the year comes to an end, and the world feels smaller, as we farewell friends and family, jobs and the like, I look to the future and the endless possibilities that it contains.

Today (with help) I re-installed the roof tent onto the car, and will soon prepare the car for a trip into the imagination that is the road to somewhere, with nowhere in sight.

Friends, subscribers, followers and readers, may the road that you have left behind be always in your rear view mirror, have the occasional glance, because that reminds you from where you have come, but always keep your eyes firmly on the road ahead, be watchful for the detours that are filled with adventure and wonder, but be strong of heart and soul, and love in the days ahead.

May blessings abound

Boris Naturi.

p.s. please consider a subscription, I thank you for your support

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Image (x.com) - an example of flashbait a new form of illicit post.

But naturism—true naturism—has never been about that.

For me, living naturally isn’t a spectacle. It’s not a flirtation with taboo or a performance designed to titillate. It’s not the modern version of a trench-coat flasher stepping out from the shadows for shock value. Naturism is the opposite: it’s quiet, grounded, intentional. It’s a way of life rooted in self-acceptance and freedom, not voyeurism or exhibitionism.

Authenticity doesn’t need theatrics.

Living naturally means showing up as myself—fully, honestly, and without apology. It means stripping away the unnecessary layers that society insists we wear: shame, judgement, fear, expectation. It’s about choosing comfort over performance, connection over clicks, presence over posing.

I share the way I live not to provoke, but to invite.

To invite people into a space where being human isn’t something to hide.
To remind them that the body is not a scandal.
To show that freedom isn’t loud or outrageous—it’s peaceful, grounding, and liberating.

I don’t flash my lifestyle to grab attention. I live it openly to give permission.

Permission for others to feel at home in their own skin.
Permission to move through life unburdened by the weight of social comparison.
Permission to exist without needing to excite or impress strangers online.

Naturism is not about exposure—it’s about exhaling.

It’s the freedom of morning sunlight on skin.
It’s the stillness of being outdoors without barriers.
It’s the comfort of knowing that nothing you are is too much or too little.
It’s the authenticity that grows when you stop performing and start living.

If people are inspired by the way I live, wonderful.
If it gives them courage to find their own version of freedom, even better.
But my journey has never been about creating an audience—it’s been about creating space.
Space where people can rediscover their natural selves, without spectacle, without pressure, without shame.

Because true naturism doesn’t shout.
It doesn’t flash.
It simply is.

And when you live authentically, wholly, and naturally…
That’s where real freedom begins.

Thank you for subscribing.

Boris

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For years I’ve watched naturist creators, BnBs, clubs, retreat owners, and everyday freedom-seekers struggle with the same challenge:
✨ “How do I get a simple, beautiful website that actually works… without spending thousands?”

That’s why we built something new — something practical, affordable, and designed especially for naturist-friendly projects:

➡️ Your own website on the NaturistLinks network:
https://webfootprint.co.nz/naturist-sites.php

Imagine having a clean, modern website on yourname.naturistlinks.org, built for you, hosted for you, and set up with the kind of privacy-aware, naturist-friendly presentation mainstream services often don’t understand.
No tech headaches. No WordPress plugin nightmares. No judgement about your content.

Everything is handled for you — from layout to hosting to launch.

And the best part?
✔ $200 USD for the entire first year
✔ Includes hosting + SSL + your naturistlinks.org subdomain
✔ Only $60 USD per year after that

Learn more → https://webfootprint.co.nz/naturist-sites.php

Whether you’re running a BnB, building a club presence, promoting community events, or simply wanting a personal naturist-positive home online, this package is designed to grow with you.

You don’t need experience. You don’t need design skills.
You just need your story — and a desire to be seen.

Learn how to get started here:
https://webfootprint.co.nz/naturist-sites.php

If you’ve ever said “I’d love a site but I don’t know where to begin,” this is your beginning.

Let’s build something together.
Let’s put your presence on the map.
Let’s make naturist-friendly spaces more visible than ever.

Start your site today:
➡️ https://webfootprint.co.nz/naturist-sites.php

Thank you

Boris

Launching a new website is exciting — but if we’re honest, the early days are rarely glamorous.

You build the foundations, craft the content, create the tools, refine the design… and then you wait.
And wait.
And wait a bit more.

New websites almost always take time to gain traction. Search engines move at their own pace. Social media algorithms test you before they trust you. And visitors typically arrive in drips before they arrive in waves. It’s normal — but it can be painful.

🔧 The Pain Points Nobody Talks About

Behind the scenes, every new platform wrestles with:

• Low early traffic — even brilliant ideas start at zero.

• High development hours — constant fixes, improvements, features, and optimizations.

• Feedback gaps — you rarely know what users love (or don’t) until enough people arrive.

• Operational pressure — hosting costs, security hardening, maintenance, emails, moderation, and updates.

• Emotional drag — working hard while wondering when the breakthrough will come.

This is the part of the journey most people never see — the silent, unseen grind that builds the future value of the site.

But here’s the truth:

💛 Support Changes Everything

When users support a young website — whether through sharing, donating, subscribing, or simply using the platform — something powerful happens:

• The site becomes stronger.

• Features roll out faster.

• Bugs get fixed sooner.

• Visibility grows.

• The community becomes richer, safer, and more helpful.

• The idea you believed in starts becoming a reality.

Support is the bridge that carries a project across its hardest moments.

🌍 Everyone Benefits When the Site Succeeds

A successful niche website doesn’t just help its creator — it lifts everyone who uses it.

• Visitors gain better tools, better accuracy, and better experiences.

• Small organisations and niche communities gain visibility that large platforms never give them.

• The public gains a trusted, human-curated alternative to scraping, spam, and misinformation.

• Creators and contributors gain a place where their voice actually matters.

• The entire ecosystem becomes stronger, more connected, and more sustainable.

When a community supports a site, the site supports the community right back.

🧡 Your Support Makes the Difference

If you value the mission, the resources provided, the ideas shared, or the community being built — consider lending a hand.
Even small support creates large momentum.

And momentum is exactly what transforms a slow-growing website into a thriving, permanent resource the whole world can benefit from.

Thank you.

Boris.

Firstly, it seems, even if you prompt for a upper middle aged person, it seems to spit out 20-30 year old’s.

My prompt was for a mid 50’s woman with average build and ‘generic’ figure.

The result was nowhere near what I had requested…

Although I am sure most of us will say it is a nice image, it didn’t reflect what I would have expected.

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I changed some of the settings to try and tweek the image, and (maybe it is a case of garbage in garbage out, another surreal image.

another 20’ish woman with no wrinkles and seemingly in an enaciated shape.

This is not the sort of thing that I was wanting.. back to the drawing *sic board.

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A few tweeks here and there and we have a different style, and although the picture is back to being more realistic, I just can see the reality in the image. It reads as a wet person in the middle of the desert. sort of a weird contradiction…

this series did have some advantages, in that it seems lifelike and realistic, but on the whole, it strikes me as a photo that should be in a mens magazine such as playboy or on a site more geared to personal enjoyment than as a reflection of a person who is naked in their environment.

But stay with me everyone, I am not finished trying to make this work, and the final image is photo realistic, and although I strayed away from my original path (a 50+ year old woman) as the topic for a naturist e-book, I have taught myself a lot about expectation vs result.

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This last image was a success from an ai generation point of view - apart from the fact it is not the right age, weight, etc etc

The Image seems to blend into the environment very well, with the sun reflecting on the right side, and the skin not appearing glossy, but rather a bit dusty/sandy which you would expect in such a harsh environment.

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Strangely I consider this a success when I review the pathway.

And what was I after?

A intro picture that is along the same lines as the ‘imagining freedom’ cover that I used for the e-book of the same name

The final result is okay, but not really what i was wanting.

An image representing a village street (cobblestone) where people are standing around talking (naked of course) and after many dozen images with artifacts (such as 2 and 3 arms, and the head on the wrong way around - yes that does happen) I have got some images that I am almost happy with.

The obvious exception is that all of the people in the image seem to be perfectly proportioned, in their early 30’s or late 20’s and dont really reflect the variation of size, sex, and colour (yes I ashed the AI machine for a mix of sexes).

I think AI has a long way to go, but hey we will get there..

In the meantime dont forget to read ‘imagining freedom’ and find out more…

thanks everyone

Regards

Boris

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For years I’ve watched naturist organisations, clubs, creators, and small businesses struggle with one simple problem: visibility.

Naturists are everywhere — passionate, diverse, and building amazing spaces both online and offline. But unlike other interest groups, naturist platforms often remain hidden. Search engines bury links. Social networks block posts. Mainstream advertising channels quietly restrict anything involving the human body… even when it’s wholesome, non-sexual, and rooted in wellbeing.

This is exactly why I built NaturistLinks.org.

A simple, clean, open directory where naturist websites can finally be found.

🌿 What NaturistLinks.org Is (and Why It Matters)

NaturistLinks.org is a curated, community-driven directory designed to showcase:

• Naturist organisations and associations

• Resorts, beaches, clubs, and events

• Blogs, creators, writers, and educators

• Body-positivity and freedom-focused advocacy groups

• Online communities and informational sites

• Naturist BnBs and private accommodations

• And anyone working to promote naturism respectfully and authentically

There are no algorithms to fight. No ads to pay for. No nudity bans or ambiguous guidelines to navigate.
Just clean listings, simple categorisation, and a growing hub for naturists worldwide.

You can submit your site here:
👉 https://naturistlinks.org/submit-invite.php

🏡 A Lifeline for Naturist BnBs and Guesthouses

One of the biggest groups struggling online is naturist BnB and accommodation owners.

Mainstream platforms — Airbnb, Booking.com, Expedia, TripAdvisor, Facebook, and even Google Ads — often:

• Reject listings that mention naturism

• Hide or down-rank properties that allow social nudity

• Ban photos that reflect what the property actually offers

• Restrict or remove ads without explanation

• Treat naturism as “adult content” even when it isn’t

This puts small, genuine naturist hosts at a huge disadvantage.

Many rely entirely on word-of-mouth because they literally cannot advertise on mainstream platforms without risking their listing, account, or ad campaigns.

NaturistLinks.org gives them a neutral, safe, central place to be seen.

When a naturist BnB, farmstay, retreat, guesthouse, or homestay adds their listing, they can finally reach the audience they were built for — without being censored or mislabelled.

If you know a naturist BnB or host, please send them this link:
👉 https://naturistlinks.org/submit-invite.php

🌍 A Community Directory Built by a Naturist, for Naturists

As “Boris Naturi,” my writing and advocacy revolve around openness, freedom, and the simple act of being comfortable in our own skin. Naturism isn’t a niche to me — it’s a lifestyle and philosophy grounded in wellbeing, confidence, and authenticity.

NaturistLinks.org grew out of that same mission.

I wanted to give naturists — from individuals to large federations — a place where they can be seen without judgement.
A place that supports:

• Smaller clubs with limited marketing budgets

• Independent creators building naturist content

• Volunteers running advocacy projects

• Naturist BnBs trying to survive online restrictions

• National organisations seeking new members

• And newcomers trying to find their local naturist world

🤝 How You Can Help

This directory becomes more powerful only when the community contributes to it.
Here’s how you can make a real difference:

✔ Submit your own naturist website

✔ Refer naturist BnBs, clubs, associations, and events

✔ Share this Substack post in naturist groups, forums, and communities

✔ Encourage others to list their website

✔ Invite accommodation owners who struggle with mainstream advertising

Even a single shared link can help an organisation or BnB reach new people — and that can help naturism grow in places where it’s been quiet for years.

🌞 Let’s Build This Resource Together

Naturism deserves visibility, respect, and accessible information.
NaturistLinks.org is one small step toward that goal — but with community support, it can become a powerful global resource.

I invite you to help it grow.

Submit your link.
Share this post.
Tell others.

Together, we can connect naturists everywhere.

👉 Submit your site or recommend one:
https://naturistlinks.org/submit-invite.php