Since my early teens, I have always loved the feeling of swimming and sunning bare.

Our family had a pool in our backyard deep in the heart of suburbia, and I recall wondering whether I had safely positioned the chaise lounge out of the perspective of any readily offended (or readily titillated) neighbors’ eyes as I snitched a few minutes whenever I could get the opportunity to experience precisely what the summer sun felt like on my nude body
And many late nights, following the remainder of the family had gone to bed, I’d gently slip ito the pool for a skinny dip. It turned out to be a fantastic natural high.
Interestingly enough, I chose to attend faculty at UC San Diego. 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 didn’t know about its staus as one of the best known nude beaches in the state.
So, I knew right then and there where I ‘d be taking most of my study breaks.
I have to say, though, that I experienced what I would anticipate is a standard degree of trepidation when faced with a first-time nude beach encounter. I remember visiting the beach a few times, and remaining clothed, attempting to decide whether I was “safe”. I saw the beach was huge and spread out such that one could very much maintain a feeling of having “personal space”, at what felt like a comfortable distance from other beach-goers whose motives for being there might be drastically less than innocent. Finally, the lure of what I had in the back part of my head constantly desired to experience won out, and one day I took my new boogie-board down to shore, and without reluctance discarded my swimsuit.
I rushed down to the water, still a bit nervous, trying not to make eye contact with the few folks that were nearby. I plunged in the waves, and quickly realized I was having the time of my own life. I drove the waves for some time, loving the sensation, feeling like my body was made for .
I exhausted after a while, and chose to head back up to the seashore. Feeling more relaxed and confident 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 immediately decided that this was fundamentally a public place, and going naked was my choice, and that I couldn’t really stop anyone who wanted to look at me from looking. And that as long as they kept a respectable distance and refrained from outwardly lewd behaviour or unwanted advances or harassment, I’d only accept the “eye contact” as a compliment, and think no more of it and enjoy myself.

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View was pleased when it turned out that my fellow naked folks behaved just as I had figured they would. And my attitude toward the bare experience is pretty much the same now — taking off my clothes is a choice I make, but I can’t control what you do. If you’d like to look, go on and look, but I trust that you simply won’t harass or otherwise act distastefully.
To this day, my recollections of my many, many bare trips to that shore are some of my best memories. In recent years, I Have been land-locked, so to speak, near Sacramento, but it is always been in the back of my mind to get back to Black’s. I had also like to check out San Onofre.

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