Mostrando resultados por autor "Kristin Williams" en Todas las categorías

Think making money naked is all sleaze and bad lighting? Think again, buttercup! This is the no-pants business guide nobody asked for but everyone secretly needs. Written with wit, honesty, and just enough sass to keep your cheeks (both kinds) blushing, Nudity and Money takes you behind the towel into the surprisingly respectable world of making cash with your bare self, and also without selling your soul. Inside you’ll find: The Naked Hustle 101: how to know your comfort zone before you accidentally flash past it Tan Lines Don’t Pay the Bills: why creativity (not body parts) brings the...

Ever wondered what happens when a suburban Seattle woman goes to war with her HOA over backyard boobs? Or how sunscreen and pubic hair can combine into a sticky disaster? Or what it’s like to date a man who shaves smoother than a dolphin while your own “National Forest” is in full bloom? Meet Kristin. She's 38 years old, a proud liberal, a Volvo driver, and a professional nudist chaos machine. She’s got best friend Tanya (butt-bragging champion), Susan (the farting philosopher), and a rotating cast of boyfriends who never quite measure up to her bush. Together, they stumble through ...

Nudity isn’t just for beaches, saunas, or that one uncle who “forgets” to wear pants at family reunions. In this outrageous and laugh-out-loud guide, Can I Get Naked? Yes You Can, suburban Seattle’s funniest nudist reveals what really happens when you ditch your clothes and embrace the birthday suit lifestyle. Inside these gloriously bare pages you’ll discover: The unspoken commandments of chair etiquette (and how one woman named Susan keeps leaving “mystery stains” everywhere). Why sunscreen belongs in your belly button, behind your ears, and yes, across your butt cheeks. The...

Let me just say this upfront: getting naked in front of your twin flame is not romantic. It’s not sexy. It’s not a Nicholas Sparks scene with candles and whispery violin music. No. It’s more like sobbing in a yurt, covered in mosquito bites, while trying to explain your astrological birth chart to a man who may or may not be your future incarnation. And you’re definitely not wearing pants. That’s how I met Jazmyn. Tanya and I had driven down to this nudist retreat in Oregon because we needed a break from civilization, clothing, and men named Brad. (We had a double Brad situation ...

I never set out to be the naked neighbor. If anything, I was the queen of the cover-up, the kind of woman who wore a hoodie over a one-piece while everyone else was out there in their bikinis, looking like a Victoria’s Secret ad. But one fateful day my swimsuit decided it hated me. I am talking mutiny. I am talking wedgie in places I did not know fabric could reach. And by the end of that tragic day at Lake Sammamish, I learned something very important about myself: sometimes you just have to drop the trunks and say to the universe, “Fine, you want a show? You got it.” Now I live ...

Okay, so I didn’t grow up thinking I’d spend a good chunk of my adult life naked in front of strangers. I wasn’t some free-spirited, boob-painted-in-a-parade kind of teenager. I was a Pacific Northwest girl with a tendency to wear fleece in July and an unhealthy fear of splinters in places where the sun don’t shine. And yet, here I am at thirty-eight, regularly airing out my hoo-ha on public beaches and writing a book about it. Life’s funny like that. My name’s Kristin, and I believe in three things: good coffee, decent SPF coverage, and the right to let your cheeks flap freely ...

Alright y’all, let me paint you a picture. It’s 7:42 p.m. on a Wednesday. I’m buck naked in my kitchen, holding a glass of cabernet like it's a weapon of self-love, stirring a pot of risotto with one hand and trying not to let my boob graze the hot pan because that is how nipples die. Tanya just texted me, “U up?” which means she’s either drunk or about to ask me if I still have that bottle of whipped cream vodka in my freezer from our “Bachelor Finale and Feelings” night. (Yes, I do. And no, I’m not proud of it.) Now listen, if you’ve never eaten a warm chocolate lava ...

So, You Wanna Get Naked, Huh? Alright, alright, simmer down now, put your pants in a drawer and let’s talk about this. Welcome to Get Naked: Enough Said!—the only book that will make you laugh, cringe, and possibly chafe, all while exploring the weirdly wonderful world of being as God made you: butt-naked and possibly slightly sunburnt. Now before you start clutching your pearls or Googling “Is it illegal to read a nudist book in pants?” let me just say—I didn’t always live this way. Nope. I was once just like you. Wearing pants. Sweating in bras. Adjusting wedgies in public ...

Let’s just start with the obvious: Belize is hot. Like sweat-dripping-down-your-back-into-your-buttcrack hot. The kind of hot where wearing clothes feels like a personal insult from the sun. So naturally, I thought, what better place to get naked? Hi, I’m Kristin—spiritual Democrat, hopeless romantic, full-time nudist, and part-time mosquito magnet. You may remember me from my Costa Rican naked escapades involving jungle mushrooms, sunburned nipples, and a man named Andrés who ruined me (in a good way) for all future men. But now, dear reader, I’ve taken my bare buns and chaotic ...

So here's the thing. I didn’t grow up thinking, you know what would really make my life better? More nudity. I wasn’t some mystical forest child twirling through the grass with daisy chains on my nipples. I was a fully clothed, slightly neurotic, Target-bra-wearing woman with a Costco membership and a tendency to apologize when someone else bumps into me. The most skin I used to show was when I wore those tiny socks that don’t even cover your heel. And now here I am, writing a whole damn book about living naked. Life is weird. I’m Kristin. I’m 38. I’ve had 11 boyfriends, 2 ...

So here’s the thing nobody tells you when you decide to take up naked yoga: the mats are cold, your boobs have opinions, and if you’re even slightly gassy, you're playing a high-stakes game of Russian roulette with every twist and fold. And yet, here I am, thirty-eight years old, moderately flexible, wildly underqualified, and completely nude, doing downward dog next to a man named Chip whose testicles appear to have seen some things. Enlightenment? Maybe. Hemorrhoids? Also maybe. I wasn’t always like this. I mean, I’ve always been a little bit unhinged, but nudity used to be ...

Okay, listen. Before you clutch your pearls and gasp “Oh my God, she’s naked again,” let me just say: yes. I am. Probably. If I’m home and the windows are closed and nobody’s mowing the lawn next door, there’s a 92% chance I’m totally butt-ass naked right now. You clicked on a book called The Time I Answered the Door Naked… so honestly, I feel like the nudity part shouldn’t be the most shocking thing happening to you today. Now, you might be wondering, How does a seemingly functional, semi-responsible adult woman with two houseplants and a Costco membership just casually ...

A book in which I lose my bikini bottom, find my true self, and accidentally traumatize a pizza delivery guy So here we are. You, probably clothed. Me, writing this from a lawn chair in my backyard with absolutely zero fabric between me and this sticky vinyl seat. Yes, it’s hot. Yes, my butt is lightly suctioned. And yes, I’m still going to sit here and tell you the gospel truth: being naked is the most freeing thing I’ve ever done in my life, next to breaking up with Chad the Tax Guy who thought wearing Crocs during sex was sexy. (It wasn’t.) Now, before you start imagining some ...

Meditating Nude: Yes, I’m Serious. No, I Won’t Put Pants On. Let’s get this out of the way: yes, I meditate. Yes, I do it naked. Yes, it’s exactly what it sounds like—me, bare as a peeled banana, sitting criss-cross applesauce with nothing but my thoughts, my breath, and the occasional butt breeze to keep me company. And no, I will not apologize for it. People ask me all the time, “Kristin, do you have to be naked to meditate?” And I say: “No. You get to be naked to meditate. That’s the magic.” This isn’t just about hippie nonsense and butt freedom (although, obviously...

I didn’t set out to be naked. Not in life, not at that party, not in front of seventeen strangers and a suspiciously muscular cat named Pico. But here we are. Fully unclothed. Figuratively and very, very literally. Let me back up. It all started with a house party. Tanya, my best friend-slash-frenemy-slash-twin flame in chaos, had invited me to “a chill gathering of like-minded free spirits” which should have been my first red flag. If you ever hear Tanya say “chill,” what she actually means is: there will be nakedness, someone will vomit in a potted plant, and Susan will ...

Let’s talk about the one thing that’s definitely on your mind—getting naked in the Bahamas. Picture this: the sun warming your skin, the sound of waves crashing, and you—totally free, no clothes, no worries. It sounds like something straight out of a dream, right? Well, lucky for you, this guide is here to make that dream a reality—without any awkwardness and with plenty of laughs along the way. I’m Kristin, and while I’m no stranger to the concept of shedding the layers and letting my body feel the breeze, the Bahamas takes this whole experience to a new level. There’s ...

So let’s just address the obvious: stretching while naked is not for the faint of heart. Or the stiff of hamstring. I thought it would be this graceful, sensual, self-loving experience. Wake up, sip a latte, roll out my yoga mat, and gently greet the day with some bendy body positivity. What actually happened was that I pulled a butt muscle I didn’t know existed, my dog Moose barked like I was being murdered, and I kicked a lit candle clear across the room. I ended up in a semi-lunging panic, naked, trying to put out a smoking bath mat with a rolled-up Pilates ball. Welcome to my world....

Alright, let’s get one thing straight: this is not your grandma’s guide to "getting in touch with nature" or some old-timey spiritual journey where you sit in lotus pose and chant about being one with the Earth. No. This is about taking everything off—literally everything—and finally giving the middle finger to society’s idea of what’s "appropriate." I’m Kristin, your unofficial guide to a life that’s bare in more ways than one. I mean, I get it. The thought of being butt naked, with nothing but the air on your skin and a sense of freedom in your soul, can feel like a giant ...

Welcome to The Iceland Nudist Traveler’s Guide, your ultimate resource for exploring Iceland the way it was meant to be experienced—completely, unapologetically, and delightfully naked. Iceland is a country that defies expectations. With its dramatic landscapes of glaciers, volcanic craters, and otherworldly hot springs, it’s no surprise that Iceland is also a place where you can embrace a truly liberating form of travel: the freedom of being fully yourself in nature. If you’ve ever dreamed of taking a dip in a steaming hot spring with no clothes between you and the warm, mineral-...

Alright, fellow adventurers—let’s talk about something truly liberating: being naked in Sweden. I know, I know, you might be thinking, "Wait, isn’t Sweden all about snow, meatballs, and IKEA?" And while those things are definitely part of the charm, Sweden is also one of the most naked-friendly countries out there. That’s right—whether you’re soaking up the sun on a nude beach, taking a dip in a crystal-clear lake, or unwinding in a steamy sauna, Sweden is a place where shedding your clothes is as normal as ordering a cinnamon bun at Fika time. Now, before you get all nervous ...