Naked in a Lake: Body Liberation and Self-Discovery in Berlin

by Laurianna Murray

Image credit: Nils Lindner on Unsplash

A man whose name I can’t remember called, “I’m heading to the lake. It’s a beautiful day; you should join me. It’ll be fun. There are some nice FKK beaches.” 

That invitation would have been much more unusual if this were back in the US. (It was still uncommon in Berlin because this was a first date!) But in this part of Germany, almost every public beach has a nude or Freikörperkultur (FKK - Free Body Culture ) section. I have walked along the Baltic Sea, passing between clothed and unclothed beach areas, with hardly a blink. Last summer, I was at a beach with a new friend, and there was just a short fence between us and the FKK side. The snack kiosk was right in the middle. I stood in line for cold water, surrounded by happily free and exposed bodies (furiously texting my BFF, “OMG! Penises everywhere!”) 

I am much less uptight now that I have lived here for over a year. I’ve even been to a few swingers’ clubs. The hang-ups I came to Berlin with as an American woman of a certain age are no longer deep barriers to enjoying myself, my pleasure, and my body. Being in Berlin has connected me to my physical, sensual self. Something about the energy, how people may look but never judge, pulls me, reaches into me, and allows me to become freer and more open, truer to me. 

In the spirit of that newly developed freedom, in celebration of one last beautiful August day, and a grasp at a final adventure before my 45th birthday the next week, I agreed to go with him to the lake. Once there, he parked the car, and we walked through the woods to the more private side of the lake. The sun was shining and there was a perfectly light breeze. I am such a creature of the city now that the smell of the flowers and the colors of the trees fill me with joy and contentment. Already, this was a pretty fantastic day. 

We came to the hill crest, the lake shimmering through the trees, black water, sunlight glittering off the surface. Down the hill, at the site he usually visits, we were immediately standing among about 30 naked Germans. It wasn’t a beach, but more of what passes for a beach here: a small dry, dirty patch of treeless space in the woods, at the edge of the lake. We stood there a moment assessing the situation and then decided to see if there was someplace a little more private. 

Down the path, and along the edge of the water, were a series of alcoves with a half bench and a space of trampled grass in front of the water. Here groups or pairs of mostly unclothed people were ensconced in their own little private dirt patches.

Imagine, in the US, walking by the side of a lake, and not being annoyed, offended, or even pissed off when you see naked people just chilling, reading a book, talking to each other, drinking a beer, or swimming. You would turn your children’s heads and yell at the offenders; you might even call the police. But here, we calmly walked on until we found our own little alcove and settled in. 

After laying our blankets down, he immediately undressed. I took my dress off, and in my bikini, I rooted in my bag for snacks and wine, keeping myself distracted, and holding off the inevitable. (Just wearing a bikini had been a milestone I had only recently passed.) I had told him that I couldn’t promise I would go completely naked, and he had said he couldn’t promise to keep his clothes on. We laughed about this being both of our first “naked first dates.” The joking relieved some of the awkwardness.

He went to the edge of the lake, “I’m going in. I’ll give you a minute.” 

I sat there in my bikini, naked people all around me, but safely in their own little areas. I knew I was ready for this. I had already had sex in front of strangers and with strangers in a sex club! Nude swimming was not nearly that “extreme.” Sex clubs aside,  I know being naked should be just an extension of the confidence I have gained about myself over the past few years. 

I took a deep breath, whipped off my bikini top, stripped off my bottoms, stood up, and went to the water. His head bobbed out in the distance, still giving me plenty of space to make this happen. Thank goodness, because this was not a beach; it was just a spot in the woods where the lake meets the shore, and the mud and tree branches made for an awkward physical entry. Not sexy at all.  

Once in the water, I realized it had been too long since I had felt the bliss of allowing water to hold me up, caress, lift, and carry me effortlessly. As I remembered living in Costa Rica and how the ocean enveloping me made me feel grounded and centered in the earth, the flow of the water connecting me to everything and nothing, tears filled my eyes.

My date had come close and wanted to flirt and touch, but I wasn’t ready for him yet. He was like a gnat, flying around annoying me. I just wanted him to go away and let me feel this visceral connection with the earth, the water, the sky. I am a dragonfly. It is one of my totem animals, both of the air and the water, and it’s been too long since I could be part of the two; I wanted to have this experience. 

This body, which betrayed me with infertility and feels almost constant knee pain but protects and cradles my heart, my soul, my intrinsic being, is fluffy but strong. As I float, my large, full breasts peeking out of the surface of the water, my legs holding me up, my soft, pale stomach suspended in the space between the water and the air, I revel in its capacity for pleasure—the exquisite high of marijuana blown directly into my mouth by my lover going directly to my head, the hearty satisfaction of an gourmet meal, or the featherlight touch of a partner’s fingers on my skin. My body has taken me all over the world. It walks daily around my chosen city. It is incredible.

Hovering in the water, the sun shining on me, legs and arms splayed, head back, almost entirely submerged, floating free, I left my body. I drifted up and over the lake, looked down on myself, and loved that big girl floating there. I loved her bravery. I loved her adventurous spirit. I loved her vulnerability. I loved her strong parts and her soft bits. She is incredible, naked in the water, overcoming all those messages that say large women are less than small women, and women are less than men. I loved how available she is for love, prepared to risk her heart for the reward of connection. Naked, open, and willing to say, “Yes, this is me. Love me for all of this, not despite all of this.” That moment will be seared in my heart forever. 

When I came back to myself, I laughed out loud. I splashed in the water and cavorted with my date. I was the sexiest woman alive! There was no hope for him; he would have to fall under my spell; my power was so strong! We kissed, and I wrapped my legs around him. Somehow, he swam closer to the shore where he could ground his feet in the mud. Slowly, our kissing became rocking against each other, and slight moans slipped from my lips. My power overcame me, I leaned back and abandoned myself to the sensual feeling of the water stirring around us, his arousal between my legs, the power of my self-confidence, and his light kisses on my neck and chest. We rocked in synch, the water allowing our bodies to move with ease, until we felt the pulsing of our mutual pleasure being released. (As silently as possible because people were sitting in the next alcove over from ours and they could probably see us in the water!)           

I kept my legs around him, and he pulled me close. I lay my head on his shoulder as we both came down from the incredible high, breathing heavily into each other’s neck. 

We didn’t speak. He left the water first, and as I exited that sacred place, he grabbed his camera and took pictures. I still felt so strong and brazen; I wanted him to look at me. I felt memorialized in all my naked glory. Part of me still felt a little ashamed of my thick thighs, the cellulite shining in the sunlight, my stomach white, pale, and too big, folded over as I lifted my leg to leave the water, but the appreciative sounds he was making brought me back to my true self. I stood straight and looked directly into the camera: a dragonfly, the Botticelli goddess, this 45-year-old American divorcee who has finally become herself. 

Naked. In a lake. Outside of Berlin. 

***

Laurianna Murray

Laurianna Murray writes about the beautiful and messy stories of life, relationships, and sexual adventures. She straddles two worlds—a sexy, polyamorous life in Berlin and one traveling the world seeking new adventures. Laurianna likes to practice her Spanish while furiously swiping on the dating apps.