“Hi, I have an interview at 3.”
“I suppose I should get naked?”
“That would be appreciated.”
The young woman I was talking to was named Nikki, the manager of Bare Oaks Family Naturist Park.
I stripped down and came out of the washroom naked apart from my backpack, which I used to carry my notebooks and recording equipment. Of course, this was mildly awkward at first—her giving me a full frontal behind the counter, middle-aged men waddling passed me with their guts over their crotch, young people walking around dripping wet, and me, just standing there, dick swinging in the breeze.
The funny thing was, after about 10 seconds, the shame of being naked completely disappeared. It didn’t take long before I was outside with a widened stance, fists on hips, soaking in the shear child-like joy of public nudity.
The park was tucked away in the back roads of East Gwillimbury, not 20 minutes from where I lived, though I had neglected to check it out until now.
Stephane, the man I came here to meet, walked up the driveway towards me. It dawned on me that I had forgotten to apply sunscreen to a few sensitive areas. I wondered if it would show poor manners to do so then. Stephane is the owner of Bare Oaks—a well-spoken Quebecois with an impressive mustache that curls off the sides of his face.
Source: Plaid Zebra
Original publication 12 August, 2014
Posted on NatCorn 7th February 2020
[scf-post-tag output=”p” separator=”, “]
Reference to an article does not infer endorsement of any views expressed.