I’ve never been one of those people who plays fast and loose with public nudity — strutting around a crowded locker room in your birthday suit, or lolling about the “clothing optional” hot springs on Orcas Island. “Free the nipple” is a battle cry that resonates with me only with respect to mothers feeding infants.

That said, I live in Seattle, where cavorting naked or close thereto among the general public is not just unheard of but pretty much a community tradition. We have the annual Fremont Solstice Festival naked bike ride, where participants wear body paint and typically little else, and our Gay Pride Weekend celebrates both diversity and bare behinds. I’ve never had a problem with that stuff — if anything, it’s a reminder of Seattle’s hippie roots, which are fast losing grip among the million-dollar townhomes and Amazon interns — but let’s just say I keep my paint on the canvas.

In our corner of the Pacific Northwest, being publicly topless or nude by itself is not illegal. It’s only when you do something inappropriate while in that state of undress that things cross the line to “indecent exposure.” However, the legality of public nudity is probably irrelevant to those who frequent our city’s nude beaches, affectionately and informally known and “Naughty Beach 1” and “Naughty Beach 2” (collectively, “Naughty Beach”). Amusingly, these two beaches are nestled among some of the most expensive and exclusive waterfront residential properties in the city (“This luxury home features both views of Lake Washington and Bob’s private parts!”).

I’ve been to Naughty Beach before, where sunbathers consume alcohol while enveloped in a haze of marijuana smoke and little to nothing else. They also allow their dogs on the beach, the most cardinal Seattle sin of all. My naughtiness at this beach has historically not extended past the drinking of a plastic glass of screw-top wine while avoiding holding my gaze in any one place for too long.

But this summer I decided it was time to ditch the public nudity hang-ups and also my bikini top. My friend Andrea was willing to be my topless wing-woman, though she thought it would be half-hearted to avoid going Full Monty. As someone who changes into her sports bra without first taking off her regular bra, I thought this might be a stretch but was game to entertain the idea.

On the scheduled date of Operation Half Monty, I spent an unnecessary amount of time choosing a swimsuit cover-up. En route, we were both definitely nervous, so we stopped at a gas station for a bottle of six-dollar white wine for some liquid courage. We easily found a parking space by the beach, which I interpreted as a sign that God had approved this mission.

Since we’ve had great weather, Naughty Beach was well-populated by unclothed beachgoers. The scene was a buffet of varied personal grooming preferences. The neophytes — like us — were easily spotted by their swimwear: Why bring a bathing suit if you are just going to take it off? We found a spot for our beach blanket and I busied myself by giggling anxiously and gobbling graham crackers.

We were fast approaching the Moment of Truth, which is also known as the point at which I typically chicken out. Andrea cut to the chase and stripped off her bikini top. Grateful for this gift of peer pressure, I followed suit.

We. Were. Topless. In. Front. Of. Strange. People.

The sky didn’t fall, and my Aunt Marilyn did not magically materialize to remind me about perverts and camera phones. We were giddy about our bravery, until some naked dude walked by and noted that “the first time can be stressful,” revealing that our novice status was also on public display along with…other things.

Eventually being topless lost its novelty, and we considered the prospect of jumping in the lake au naturel, using the wine level in our shared Nalgene like a liquid, dishwasher-safe hourglass counting down to go-time. However, we soon realized that this was really a situation where you have to dare to bare right out of the gate or risk looking even more like rookies. (Who would have guessed that nude sunbathing involved so much strategy?) So, to my relief, we settled for being semi-naughty for the day.

Without the looming specter of expanding the scope of the operation, I had a chance to settle in and (discreetly) observe my surroundings. Naughty Beach is a place that welcomes people of all age ranges, in all levels of physical fitness and with all manner of body types. Though some people were likely just there for the spectacle of public nudity, many seemed to treat their time there reverently and reflectively, though that could just have been the drugs. Indeed, one guy was doing naked yoga. The absence of tan lines indicated that there were a few regulars. Suffice it to say, the intimidation factor was ultimately more about being novices at the party than actually being in a state of undress.

The highlight of the experience was when some random naked guy started chatting with us about our dubious wine selection and I didn’t have a heart attack because my top was off. Andrea and I left feeling a little more worldly, but for the most part unchanged. It’s funny how once you finally do something that freaks you out, it’s hard to imagine why you thought it was so scary in the first place.

The Verdict: I would say there is a greater chance than before that I would engage in a little public nudity while gravity is still on my side — and probably after that, when I’m older and give less of a s**t about what people think. However, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to keep covered up if that’s what makes you more comfortable. It doesn’t have to mean you like your body any less, just like it doesn’t mean you are blessed with some sort of body-acceptance enlightenment if you like to ditch the togs when the opportunity arises. If life’s a beach, in the end it’s up to you to decide whether you are going to leave your bikini top on the towel.

Allison Peryea is a shareholder attorney at Leahy Fjelstad Peryea, a boutique law firm in downtown Seattle that primarily serves community association clients. Her practice focuses on covenant enforcement and dispute resolution. She is a longtime humor writer with a background in journalism and cat ownership. You can reach her by email at Allison.Peryea@leahyps.com.