We discovered that ladies wore regulation “tank suits.” Day after day 80-90 naked boys

in a single swim class would tussle and push, shove, and kid around by the pool
and race, play water polo, and enjoy “free play” in the warm water.
It was the same story through the remainder of public schools through the
12th grade, in an intermediate swimming class and senior lifesaving class I took
at the University of Michigan, and during free swims in the men’s pools at
Harvard and Princeton. During an intramural swim meet, attended exclusively by males,
in which http://modestperson.com/views/there-was-a-water-park-theme-park-that-i-used-to-attend-many-years-ago.php participated with my undergraduate faculty dormitory, some of the
men, including me, swam the races bare. In the pool at the Michigan Men’s Union,
swimming was normally nude. The same was accurate at YMCA pools of the interval. At
many pools men were required to swim nude; at others swimsuits were discretionary.
All of that changed when family nudist images became coeducational and fit
facilities at YMCAs and YWCAs, on college and university campuses, and in public
schools were started to both men and women. With coeducation bare diversion
ended. Now one paper reports that lads, who in my generation were demanded
to take group showers after every gym class, now infrequently shower together. Even
football players apparently wear their uniforms house after a game rather than
undress and shower in front of team-mates. Another paper reports that lads’
participation on swim teams has diminished because of their objection to wearing
brief Speedo swim suits. Men’s swimsuits have become big baggy pants that hang
dripping and heavy about the body like some punishment exacted for an unnamed
But I carry in me the imprint of 20 years or more of nude swimming. I enjoyed it.
I liked the feeling of the water on my body, the feeling of freedom floating
unencumbered in the swell. I’ve always resented swimsuits, uncomfortable, wet,
cold, difficult.
When we moved to Oakland 30 years past, our family enjoyed Stinson Beach in Marin
County, a huge, sandy strand. We enjoyed to hike along the surf from the north end
to the south. At the south end are lots of enormous stone blocking the pathway, but
it was possible to clamber in, around, and over the stone and onto a stone-strewn
smaller shore only to the south. And at low tide one could walk even farther to

the south, around a rugged cliff jutting out into the ocean. One day during a
Especially low tide I followed that route around the cliff and found myself at
the end of a little cove with its own sandy strand nestled against the stone. It
was filled with nude sunbathers. I ‘d found “Red Rock,” one of
California’s famed “free” or “clothes optional” beaches. Men and women of all
ages, from young adults to graying retirees–singles, couples, families,
friends–and a couple of youngsters, were sunning themselves, playing frisbee, joining
in card games, reading, splashing in the surf. They were jammed much closer in
this small cove than the sunbathers at Stinson Beach, but they seemed more like
a community of individuals appreciating one another’s business than the isolated families
or friendship groups set apart on their distant towels at Stinson.
I felt out of place there in my suit, so I thought, “Well, here goes nothing,”
and I whipped off my suit, stuck it in a hole in the rocky cliff, and loved
some time nude in the sun, surf, and sand before re-suiting and rejoining my
family up on what I learned after to call the “fabric” beach. I initially felt
Delight, but neither arousal nor embarrassment or shame, and, as I got used
to being in the open nude among dozens of other nude beach folk, I felt happy,
pleasant, peaceful. I loved the feel of the sunlight, atmosphere, and surf unimpeded
against my body.
With that experience I decided I wanted to learn more about these folks and
this experience. I started to return to Red Rock Beach and shortly after learned–it
must have been in the annual nude beach edition of The San Francisco
Protector–where other such clothing-optional beaches were found and visited
them also. I joined The Naturist Society and, for a time, belonged to the
American Sunbathing Association, now renamed the American Association for Nude
Diversion and read their journals. I found and subscribed to Naturist Life
International, released by a rigorous and somewhat conservative Catholic
layperson, who has created a home in rural Vermont, where he and his wife
raise (and homeschool) their five children almost completely without clothes. There
are two naturist resorts in the immediate San Francisco bay area, Lupin Naturist
Club, off of highway 17 between San Jose and Santa Cruz, and Sequoians Clothing
Free Club, at the end of Cull Canyon Road just north of Castro Valley, and I
have seen both.
What I ‘ve discovered is a
congenial, wholesome, hospitable, altogether “normal”
group of individuals who are like all other people except that they’ve
grown to be comfortable, to flourish, and to favor dispensing with clothing when
the setting lets it–in their homes, on clothing optional beaches and distant