Sonnenfreunde Magazine 2021 -
The man—his name was Lukas, as Uwe would learn—swallowed. “My wife suggested it. For my birthday. She said I needed to… let go.” He gestured vaguely at his own torso. “I was in a car accident three years ago. The scars—they’re not pretty. I haven’t even swum in public since.”
A crunch of dry leaves, a pause, then another crunch. Uwe opened one eye.
Uwe returned to his oak tree. He didn’t say I told you so . He didn’t need to.
Uwe chuckled. “Son, the sign at the gate says FKK . It doesn’t say ‘optional.’ But the mind takes longer to undress than the body.” He nodded toward the lake. “First time?” Sonnenfreunde Magazine 2021
For an hour, the man didn’t move. He just stared at the lake, then down at his own hands. Uwe knew that look. It wasn’t shame. It was the weight of a lifetime of “shoulds.” Should cover up. Should be ashamed. Should hide the soft belly, the scar, the ordinary humanity.
Sonnenfreunde , he thought. Friends of the sun. Not because we love the light. But because we have learned not to fear the shadows. This story is dedicated to every first-timer who stood at the edge of a meadow and chose courage. In 2021, after a year of isolation and clothed anxiety, we relearned what Uwe and Lukas know: Nudity is not exposure. It is return.
A short story for Sonnenfreunde (Issue 2021 – Theme: "Encounter") The man—his name was Lukas, as Uwe would learn—swallowed
Uwe sighed, rose slowly (his knees protesting only a little), and walked over. He didn’t bother with a towel around his waist—that was the rule here, and the rule was freedom.
The man scanned the meadow. Two elderly women were playing Schafkopf under a beech tree. A family with teenagers was splashing at the water’s edge. Everyone was at ease. Everyone except him.
A man stood at the edge of the clearing, just where the pine needles gave way to the soft grass of the naturist zone. He was perhaps thirty, lean, with the pale complexion of someone who spent his days in an office. He clutched a rolled-up towel like a shield, and a pair of swim trunks bulged from his backpack’s side pocket—still dry. She said I needed to… let go
Lukas stared. Not in horror, but in recognition.
The morning light filtered through the high canopy of the old oak grove, dappling the grass in shifting gold. Uwe stretched on his towel, the rough bark of the ancient tree against his back a familiar comfort. He had been coming to Freiheit am See for twenty years. He knew every path, every sun-drenched meadow, and every regular.
When Lukas emerged, he didn’t reach for his towel. He lay down on the grass, stretched out, and closed his eyes. The sun painted his scars gold.