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 placed the chaise couch out of the perspective of any readily offended (or easily titillated) neighbors’ eyes as I snitched a few minutes whenever I really could get the chance to experience precisely what the summer sun felt like on my naked body
And many late nights, after the remaining part of the family had gone to bed, I would gently ease ito the pool for a skinny dip. turned out to be a amazing natural high.
Interestingly enough, I decided to attend school at UC San Diego. During the orientation tour of the campus, the counsel 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 country.
So, I knew right then and there where I would be taking the majority of my study breaks.
I must say, though, that I experienced what I’d anticipate is a normal degree of trepidation when faced with a first-time nude beach encounter. I recall visiting the shore a few times, and remaining clothed, attempting to decide whether I was “safe”. I saw that the beach was huge and spread out such that one could very much maintain a sense of having “personal space”, at what felt like a comfortable distance from other beach-goers whose reasons for being there might be drastically less than innocent. Finally, the bait of what I had in the rear of my head always desired to experience won out, and one day I took my new boogie-board down to beach, and without reluctance lost my swimsuit.
I raced down to the water, still a little nervous, trying not to make eye contact with the few people 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 a while, loving the sensation, feeling like my body was made for bbw nudist .
I worn out after some time, and chose to head back up to the beach. Feeling more relaxed and assured now, I looked around at some of the others present.

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I should probably mention here that I Have been blessed with some pretty good genes, and I should probably also mention that it was impossible not to see the — well, stares — of lots of the gay men present.
After a moment or two of nervousness, I instantly decided that this was essentially a public place, and going nude was my pick, and that I could not actually stop anyone who wanted to look at me from looking. And that as long as they kept a considerable distance and refrained from outwardly lewd behavior 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 naked people behaved just as I ‘d figured they’d. And my attitude toward the naked encounter is pretty much the same now — taking off my clothing is a choice I make, but I can’t control what you do. In the event you would like to look, go ahead and look, but I trust that you just will not harass or otherwise act distastefully.
To this day, my recollections of my many, many nude trips to that shore are some of my greatest memories. Recently, I Have been land-locked, so to speak, near Sacramento, but it’s consistently 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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