My First Nude Shoot: From Fear to Freedom on the Beach

I was 32 years old. Freshly out of the closet. Still carrying the weight of small-town shame, religious trauma, and the deep-rooted belief that my body was something to hide.

When I got the invitation to shoot nude with world-renowned photographers on the beaches of Miami, I said yes—then no. Then yes—then no again. I cancelled twice, terrified. Terrified of being seen. Terrified of being judged. Terrified, more than anything, of being felt.

But something inside me wouldn’t let the dream die. I’d always imagined myself like a statue—David, carved with intention, unapologetic in form. I couldn’t let that version of me disappear into fear.

So on the third invitation, I booked the flight.

The day before the shoot, I gave myself a mission: walk boldly and completely nude down the public nude beach. I had never done anything like that before. This would be my very first nudist experience.

When I arrived, my heart was pounding. My hands were shaking. But I remembered what I now teach in my coaching program—you have to just jump in.

So I did.

I stripped off my clothes as fast as I could, shoved them in my backpack, slung it over my shoulder, and began walking. I was completely naked, exposed, vulnerable—and undeniably alive.

People looked.

And I felt it: that surge of fear, and then… excitement. Then guilt. Then shame. Then another wave of fuck it. I kept walking.

In that moment, I realized this wasn’t just about a photoshoot anymore. This was about healing. This was about rewilding the little boy inside me who had always longed to be free, to run naked through the world without judgment or punishment or correction.

This wasn’t about porn. This was about presence.

It became a mission for me—to subject myself to enough nude experiences that the shame would finally dissolve. That I could meet my body not with embarrassment, but with reverence. That I could stop performing and start simply being.

That first shoot? It was terrifying. And it was beautiful.

I didn’t know it then, but that moment was the birth of something bigger. It was the first act of self-worship. The first step in a long journey toward embodiment, erotic freedom, and full-spectrum liberation.

It taught me that the body is not a thing to fix. It’s a thing to feel. To honor. To love out loud.

And that sometimes, the bravest thing you can do… is get naked.

Mark at his first nude photo shoot. Photo by Steven Menedez

Photo by Steven Menedez