Swimming in the pool of our Tuscan villa is without a doubt my happy place.
Purchased as a reward for a lot of hard work running a successful production company with my husband George, it is the perfect place to relax and entertain friends and family. Except for one thing: George’s penchant for getting naked.
Because while the views here include rolling hills, vineyards, and beautiful medieval towns, they also feature my other half’s bare bottom.
Over the years I have shuddered to see every part of him floating on a mat. I have to warn guests that those of delicate character probably shouldn’t come, because George will not only be naked, but he will also encourage them to go au naturel.
The first summer we had guests was a learning curve.
One of my best friends had a crying fit after meeting her naked at the front door.
The anonymous wife remembers some crazy occasions when her friends joined in with her husband’s brazen nudity (model photo).
Later (when he had calmed down) she wondered if he had early-onset Alzheimer’s, because the Tuscan George was behaving very differently from the London George, who is more of a man who wears striped pajamas.
I explain to him that here he likes to leave behind not only the stress and tensions of the media world, but also his inhibitions. He says that feeling the sun and the breeze everywhere makes him feel a lightness that he never experiences in the chaos of city life.
Needless to say, I have tried to talk to George about wearing clothes around guests who might be offended.
But he laughs, says there are far worse things in the world than the occasional exposed butt, and gives me the runaround for being too “conventional.”
I’ve been called a prude more than I care to mention, when in reality I’m not; I simply appreciate what a gracious host should or should not share with his or her house guests.
Perhaps our friends could have been more lenient with their behavior in their younger, fitter days. No doubt, in his mind, George is still all wiry muscles and auburn tan. However, now that he’s 60, the reality is more of an oily Ray Winstone.
Ironically, given the problems he’s caused, one of the things I’ve always loved about George is how comfortable he is in his own skin. We met in the early 1990s. I fell in love with his confidence, humor and intelligence. I didn’t realize that “likes to get naked in front of his friends in the sun” would be an issue in the future.
In hindsight, I was (sort of) warned on our first holiday: a last minute deal to Ibiza. George really wanted to go to the nude section of the beach and was among the other young people who stripped off at a foam party at a nightclub.
She attributes his behavior to antics in the sun and a lack of inhibitions from his years at a boys’ boarding school.
I chalked it up to mischief in the sun and lack of inhibitions from his years at an all-boys boarding school.
When we hit 30, we did well enough to buy that Tuscan villa. George was in heaven, and the more time we spent there over the years, once our kids grew up and left home, the less clothes he wore.
He has always been very complimentary of my body and encouraged me to get rid of the caftan as well. In their defense, our home is private and secluded, and there’s no greater feeling than skinny dipping under the stars, so why not when we’re together and alone? (Although I’m now approaching 60, I’m much less enthusiastic than when I was 30.)
But we had always intended to use our vacation home as a place for our loved ones to stay, and then the problem started. In addition to the shocked faces and comments about his sanity, I have lost friends because of George’s behavior.
Before Covid, a recently divorced girlfriend came to stay with us. But he simply couldn’t cope with George’s free and easy lifestyle. She retreated to her room for most of the stay, and although George didn’t seem to notice, I certainly did.
While I was driving her back to the airport, she left it with me, saying that George’s nudity had ruined her vacation. The last I saw of her was her flight taking off from Pisa airport and we haven’t spoken since.
None of our guests have seriously confronted it, although I attribute it to the courtesy of us giving them a free vacation, and that these days I have warned them in advance of what awaits them.
God knows what they say about us once they’re home, although some have been happy enough to take off their clothes.
While it may be tremendously embarrassing, his cavalier attitude toward nudity has never caused any serious problems in our marriage. I know that if I ever got really distressed about it, he wouldn’t be so dismissive.
And while I know some people may assume otherwise, in 30 years of marriage he has never been unfaithful or crossed a line with another woman. He’s not a sexual predator, just a raging exhibitionist. It may seem like a relic from the Carry On movies, but I really love it.
And George is growing up a lot these days. It’s actually quite difficult to see much below her belly now.
I should encourage you to think about losing weight, but your love of pasta is doing me and everyone else a favor.
