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

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 rest of public schools through the
12th grade, in an intermediate swimming course 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 only by males,
in which I participated with my undergraduate college dormitory, some of the
men, including me, swam the races nude. In the pool at the Michigan Men’s Union,
swimming was normally naked. The same was accurate at YMCA pools of the interval. At
many pools men were required to swim naked; at others swimsuits were elective.
All that changed when physical education became coeducational and athletic
facilities at YMCAs and YWCAs, on faculty and university campuses, and in public
schools were started to both men and women. With http://nudismnudist.com
Finished. Now one newspaper reports that lads, who in my generation were needed
to take group showers after every gym course, now scarcely shower together. Even
football players apparently wear their uniforms home after a game rather than
undress and shower in front of team-mates. Another newspaper reports that boys’
Involvement on swim teams has declined due to their objection to wearing
brief Speedo swim suits. Men’s swimsuits have become enormous baggy pants that hang
dripping and hefty about the body like some penalty exacted for an unnamed
crime.
However , I carry in me the imprint of 20 years or more of nude swimming. I liked it.
I enjoyed the feeling of the water on my body, the feeling of independence floating
unencumbered in the swell. I’ve always resented swimsuits, uncomfortable, wet,
cold, http://nudismpictures.net .
When we moved to Oakland 30 years past, our family loved 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 heaps of huge stone blocking the path, but
it was possible to clamber in, around, and over the stone and onto a rock-strewn
smaller strand 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 course around the cliff and found myself at
the end of a little cove with its own sandy plage nestled against the rocks. It
was filled with naked sunbathers. I ‘d found “Red Rock,” one of
California’s famous “free” or “clothing optional” beaches. Women and men of all
ages, from young adults to graying retirees–singles, couples, families,
Buddies–and a number of kids, were sunning themselves, playing frisbee, joining
in card games, reading, splashing in the surf. They were jammed much closer in
this little cove than the sunbathers at Stinson Beach, but they appeared more like
a community of individuals appreciating one another’s company 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 rugged cliff, and enjoyed
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 “cloth” strand. 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 people, I felt happy,
pleasant, peaceful. I loved the feel of the sunlight, air, and surf unimpeded
against my body.

With that experience I decided I wanted to learn more about these folks and
this encounter. I began to return to Red Rock Beach and shortly after learned–it
must have been in the yearly nude beach edition of The San Francisco
Protector–where other such clothing-optional beaches were located and seen
them too. 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, published by a rigorous and somewhat conservative Catholic
layperson, who has created a house in rural Vermont, where he and his wife
raise (and homeschool) their five kids almost wholly without clothes. There
are two nudist 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 visited both.
What I’ve discovered is a
congenial, wholesome, hospitable, completely “ordinary”
group of people who are like all other people except that they have
grown to be comfortable, to boom, and to favor dispensing with clothes when
the setting allows it–in their dwellings, on clothing optional beaches and distant

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