The following is the naked truth; only the names have been changed.
In the 1970s, when in their 20s, friends of ours (let’s call them Felicity and Brendan) decided it would be fun to visit a naturist resort for a day. (Yes, naturist means nudist, but adherents prefer naturist. It sounds classier.)
Living in Montreal, they heard of such a resort in the Laurentian mountains north of the city. So one fine sunny Saturday in July, off they drove.
The resort was well off the beaten track (naturally). They ended up on a narrow dirt road cutting through dense woods. They came upon a gate blocking the road. Continued…Read full original article…