Since my early teens, I’ve always adored the feeling of swimming and sunning nude.

Our family had a pool in our backyard deep in the heart of suburbia, and I remember wondering whether I ‘d safely positioned the chaise couch out of the perspective of any easily offended (or readily titillated) neighbors’ eyes as I stole a couple of minutes whenever I really could get the chance to experience precisely what the summer sun felt like on my nude body
And lots of late nights, after the rest of the family had gone to bed, I’d gently slip ito the pool for a skinny dip. It was a wonderful natural high.
Interestingly enough, I decided to attend faculty at UC San Diego.

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During the orientation tour of the campus, the counselor told us incoming freshmen about nearby Black’s Beach — and expressed some surprise when many of us did not know about its staus as one of the best known nude beaches in the country.
So, I understood right then and there where I would be taking most of my study breaks.
I must say, though, that experienced what I would expect is a normal degree of trepidation when confronted with a first-time nude beach encounter. I remember going to the beach a few times, and staying clothed, attempting to decide whether I was “safe”. I saw that the beach was huge and spread out such that one could very much keep a sense of having “personal space”, at what felt like a comfortable distance from other beachgoers whose motivations for being there might be considerably less than innocent. Eventually, the lure of what I had in the back of my head always desired to experience won out, and one day I took my new boogie-board down to shore, and without reluctance lost my swimsuit.
I ran down to the water, still a little nervous, trying not to make eye contact with the few folks that were nearby. I plunged into the waves, and quickly realized I was having the time of my life. I drove the waves for some time, loving the sensation, feeling like my body was made for this.
I worn out after a little while, and decided to head back up to the shore. Feeling more relaxed and assured now, I looked around at some of the others present. I should probably mention here that I’ve been blessed with some pretty good genes, and I should probably also mention that it was impossible not to see the — well, stares — of many of the gay men present.
After a minute or two of nervousness, I instantly determined that this was basically a public place, and going nude was my choice, and that I could not actually stop anyone who needed to look at me from looking. And that as long as they kept a considerable distance and refrained from outwardly lewd behaviour or unwanted advances or harassment, I’d merely accept the “eye contact” as a compliment, and think no more of it and love myself.
I was pleased when it turned out that my fellow nude people behaved just as I ‘d figured they would. And my approach toward the nude experience is pretty much the same today — taking off my clothing is a choice I make, but I can’t control what you do. In case you wish to look, go right ahead and look, but I trust that you simply won’t harass or otherwise act distastefully.
To this day, my recollections of my many, many naked trips to that beach are of my finest memories. Lately, I’ve been land-locked, so to speak, near Sacramento, but it is consistently been in the rear of my head to return to Black’s. I’d also like to look at San Onofre.

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