Back to the Nude Beach, Part One

A few weeks ago, The Shy One texted me on the way to The Nude Beach, and just picturing his cute little butt there convinced me it’s past time to try and go back!

I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be the nudist I once was. Until yesterday, the last time I walked around naked outdoors was my ill-fatedsecond visit to The Sparkly Festival of Awesomeness, but a LOT of things have changed/regenerated since then. I'm not out here looking for a husband, that's for sure!

Even still, I knew that in the course of this 2022 beach trip I might find myself feeling too vulnerable, raw, overexposed. So I planned myself detailed during- and aftercare. I packed glitter sunscreen and spray sunscreen, lots of good snacks, iced coffee, two different beach books. I brought lots of tampons because OF COURSE this day coincided with a rogue perimenopause superperiod.

I even put grapefruit-scented face wipes and cotton candy lip balm in a cooler in the car for before the drive home. I was well-loved and well-cared-for on this riskier-than-usual self-date, that’s for sure.

I got a little lost at first, looping around the state park where they keep The Nude Beach. My GPS was like, no thanks, but I eventually figured it out. The walk from the parking lot to the beach wasn’t as long as I remembered. The sky was perfectly blue and decorated with very fancy clouds.

When I got there and claimed a spot (A little too far from the water, it was CROWDED) there they were, the dear, dear bodies, even more beautiful than I remembered them. Every category of human and every body type. The proud penises and the shy ones. All kinds of cute boobs in various states of tan-line-or-not. Enough adorable butts for Tina Belcher’s whole entire the right number of boys for me is more lifetime.

The tattoos winding across backs and down arms and curling around sweet ankles. The fat hips. The drape and spryness of age. The chaste affection in all kinds of constellations. The boldness and ease—yes please.