It had been years since I stepped inside a gym. I was now the proud owner of a gym membership thanks to my big mouth declaring my New Year’s resolution of shedding twenty pounds.
On day one, I lifted a little weight, gyrated around on some sort of electronic monkey bars and road on a bicycle that went nowhere. After this awesome display of athleticism I wandered in the locker room to cool down and shower up. As I sat there on the bench proud and sweaty I became surrounded by fellow gym members in various states of disrobing. It was an awkward moment because I don't know how to act in front of naked people besides my wife. I know it was just a bunch of guys but I don't want to be caught looking at something that I shouldn't be looking at, whether its shyness, shame or guilt, who knows why, sounds like something for Dr. Phil to dissect. I can't speak for other people but situations involving nudity outside the bedroom or doctor’s office has been an uncomfortable experience.
My first recollections of nudity were at the age of six at the neighborhood swim center. The old men in locker room would yank their britches down and shed their clothes with no hesitation. My brothers and I would laugh at all their mounds of flesh and hair not realizing that those guys didn't give a damn what we thought. A few years later, some of the neighborhood girls would do a show and tell as I would gander and take mental notes.
The years progressed without seeing much nudity until my grandmother’s neighbor decided to walk around topless in her backyard. That was quite the show for five of us boys to fight over and who got look through the hole in the fence. We were voyeurs and peeping toms but I think she knew because of all clamoring and ruckus we created for that one golden moment.
As a young man, all of eighteen with no girlfriends on the horizon and still much of an awkward and shy person, I tried to find out where all the naked people where at. I knew about striptease establishments but I couldn't find myself in one of those joints sitting along with other men ogling naked women and pretending they are gynecologist.
I always heard about a nudist colony in the mountains near my home. I called them up and they invited me down for a tour or they could send me a color brochure in the mail. I opted for the color brochure and when it arrived I was completely disturbed by what I saw. This place was closer to a family summer camp than a Playboy resort. I didn't want to see moms, dads and children playing naked volleyball.
I often heard guys talking about a nude beach that was in a secluded area. I was going to go there by myself on a reconnaissance mission. I found the place, parked my car and trekked down to the beach in my clothes, just in case wild dogs where loose. There weren’t more than ten people laying about like lizards in their birthday suits. I sat my belongings down a good fifty yards away from fellow nudies. There was couple that looked to be in their thirties, blond and without body hair, possibly Scandinavians. We acknowledged each other’s presence and waved. I wiggled out of my clothes, while lying down, looking like an earthworm on a hot sidewalk.
I laid there with dark sunglasses, sneaking peaks at the small selection of sunbathers. I ended up falling asleep for awhile until I heard the laughing of people playing in the water. It was the Scandinavians frolicking in the water, being free, careless and fully nude. It was fascinating, weird and I wanted to be like them. I got up but wasn't going into the cold water so I causally eased into a jog along the shore. I was free, I was a hippy child and didn't feel like a pervert as I jogged. I soon left and thought that maybe I will be back someday but with a girl and sunscreen.
I never did return and it was last time I was naked outside except the one time I went streaking in my backyard. Unless you are a doctor, a nude model or a Scandinavian nudist, the naked body seems to have a peculiar effect on the ones who still got their clothes on.