When I was about 10, my parents were afraid that if I fell off a boat I might drown, so they enrolled me in a swim class at the local YMCA (Westfield, New Jersey). In the indoor-pool all-boys class, nudity was mandatory for the students. I loved the body freedom and the equality with my fellow students.
As soon as I was old enough not to need a babysitter, my parents would leave me alone when they went out for the evening. Whenever they left, as soon as their car was out of sight, I’d run to my room, ditch my clothes, and return to the living room or kitchen to spend the rest of the evening gloriously naked. I continued going nude around the house when my parents were out, and in my room after they had gone to bed. I remember warm summer nights lying on my bed without sheets as balmy breezes from the open windows wafted across my entire body. I felt wonderful!
I longed to repeat the feeling of freedom I’d had at the Y but had no opportunity for 12 years, until at age of 22 I moved to California to attend graduate school. A friend a year ahead of me showed some slides of the San Francisco Bay Area, one showing a road sign for which he narrated. “Below this sign is a nude beach.” I memorised the sign as he flipped to the next slide. Soon I suggested to my wife that we go to the coast and, without saying why, I took her to that nude beach, Bonny Doon. When we arrived on the beach, I spread our blanket and took off my clothes. For the first time since my teen years, I was delighted to feel the breezes blowing over my entire body! I knew I was home. Continued…Read full original article…
Source: Huffington Post UK13th October 2017