Nudist French: Christmas [verified]

With a sigh that fogged the air, Chantal untied her robe. She slipped into the pile, wedging between a retired gendarme and a cheerful baker from Bordeaux. Within minutes, she stopped shivering. Within ten, she was laughing at the baker’s joke about a frozen figgy pudding. By the time the lights flickered back on, Chantal was flat on her back, one leg draped over a yoga instructor, telling everyone about her first nude Christmas.

“Everyone! To the grande salle ! We shall use the only heat source left—the human body!” nudist french christmas

Chantal was a textile—what nudists called those who preferred clothes. She had reluctantly agreed to spend Christmas with Jean-Paul and his wife, Monique, but only under protest. “I will freeze,” she had declared. “And I will be mortified.” With a sigh that fogged the air, Chantal untied her robe

“Come, Chantal,” Monique called gently. “Body heat is the oldest warmth.” Within ten, she was laughing at the baker’s