Buck Naked

I was always fascinated by nudist colonies. As a kid in the fifties I never really saw pornography but many boys I knew had a nudist magazine hidden somewhere in their room. I had heard of pornography, it was pictures of bad people doing nasty things. Nudist magazines were different; they were filled with pictures of regular people doing ordinary things. The people just didn’t have any clothes on. They were naked. Can you believe it? Buck-naked!

We could sit for hours and look at naked people swimming or playing volleyball or miniature golf or just lying on a beach towel getting a tan all over. Ladies were the most interesting to look at. We could hardly keep our eyes off them. The men were kind of gross and looked goofy just standing around with nothing on.

Years later, in my twenties, I was joking around with some friends when someone suggested we visit a nudist colony. We laughed then forgot about it. It came up a few more times over the following weeks, plans were made and then dropped until three of us finally decided to go.

On the Saturday morning we were to leave, the third person dropped out. Carla and I debated whether to continue with our plan. A group of three sounded safe and adventurous, but going as a couple would be a whole different experience. I didn’t know Carla very well, she was really just a friend of a friend, a nice person and pleasant to talk with. We discussed the trip nervously, hesitant to look each other in the eye. We covered our embarrassment with laughter, wondering what our friends might say when they learned we had spent the day together undressed.

“What the heck, let’s do it” we finally agreed with a shrug and a handshake. We were off on an awkward adventure to Sunshine Park in Tom’s River, New Jersey. For the first hour we talked and laughed like any couple on a first date, then rode in silence listening to the radio. Occasionally, I stole a glance in her direction. Was this really about to happen?

Hand painted signs directed us down a dirt road through a pine forest. At the office a naked man behind the desk stamped our hands and explained the rules for visitors. “Visiting men, no clothes. Women, bottom covering is optional. Here’s a towel, enjoy your visit.”

I parked beside a small pavilion and we stood on opposite sides of the car.

“Are you ready?” I asked.
“Bottom covering is optional for women,” she said.
“You’re not taking off your clothes?”
“I don’t know, are you?”
“I don’t know, I guess I will if you do,” I said.
She looked around nervously. A naked couple was coming down the road toward the pavilion.
“We can leave if you want to, “ I offered.
Without a word she tugged at her top. I unbuckled my belt.

When we stepped out together behind my car our gazes were locked on each other’s eyes, both too embarrassed to look down. “This is weird,” I said. “Yeah, really,” she replied. It was going to be a really weird day.

The park was filled with families; moms, dads, kids, old folks. They were just regular people doing ordinary things, and that made things seem all the more weird. A couple passed us on bicycles, two boys with baseball gloves and a bat ran by, no one looked embarrassed at all. They were just enjoying a Saturday morning on a beautiful summer day.

We passed a miniature golf course. I thought, there is no more humble a sight than a naked man hunkered over a golf ball in a putting stance. Next we passed a volleyball court where teams of men and women leaped and twisted in the air. It was a like a fantasy come true for a kid who had spent so many nights imaging that very scene! In a pool people were diving and swimming, a softball game was in progress in a field by the woods, everywhere sunbathers were lying on towels getting a tan all over.

After an hour we were no longer embarrassed; after two we were enjoying ourselves like everyone around us. I overheard a woman comment about those weirdoes on their boats. I discovered what she meant when we rounded a corner and arrived at the beach. Bathers were lying on the sand or swimming in the river that bordered the park. Two hundred feet off shore, just outside a line of buoys, a flotilla of powerboats was anchored. The occupants were scanning the beach through binoculars, drinking beer and shouting an occasional rude remark at the sunbathers who ignored them completely. A police boat cruised back and forth just inside the buoys, warning boaters not to become too rowdy.

I was appalled. They really were a bunch of weirdoes. I felt no urge to cover myself; after all, I had every right to be there, enjoying myself with a bunch of like-minded people. The boaters were the weirdoes; gawking and acting like idiots. As we left the beach I suddenly was struck by the irony of the bizarre scene; until that very day I would likely have been one of the weirdo boaters rather than a nudist on the beach.

It was a fun day. We laughed and reminisced all the way home. Despite having spent the day undressed with Carla we continued to be just friends, although occasionally we would share a private, knowing look. I never returned to Sunshine Park or to any place like it. My fascination with nudist colonies was over. Been there, done that.

People are just people. Without their clothes on I was reluctant to categorize them. If I judged them at all it was by their behavior and attitude rather than by my own prejudice. I did not feel peculiar and imperfect while being surrounded by so many people comfortable with their own imperfections.

I haven’t seen a nudist magazine in many years. I don’t think it would arouse the same naughty curiosity in me that they once did. Instead, my thoughts would likely drift back to a pleasant day spent with nice people on a warm New Jersey summer.