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FEELING ALIVE
... a short story about an experience at Hippie Hollow, a clothing
optional beach
[PAGE 2 of 2] [GO TO PAGE 1]
I don't know what I was expecting. I guess I was wondering if there
were going be a lot of 'swinger-type' people there. Ya know the type
... bad toupees and gold chains displayed on a bed of thick chest
hair. Ick! Thank God there was none of that, I thought as I called
myself half-witted for stereotyping an environment before I checked
it out for myself.
I spread out a blanket on a rocky shelf and didn't pay no mind to
anyone as I proceeded to disrobe. Gee, this feels nice, I thought, I
wonder why some people are so uptight about these type of beaches. Hmmm,
suddenly I was a proponent of making them all clothing optional.
I cracked open a cold one, still feeling good that I had planned
ahead and settled in, pen and pad in hand, to write my monthly
column. But, somehow the words just wouldn't come. I put the writing
device down and glanced around at my surroundings, which turned out
to be entertaining indeed.
There was a steady stream of boats motoring by; slowly of course ...
the crews taking in every naked body they could possibly absorb. My
eyes went from the water to land. There were all shapes and sizes
... big ones, small ones, old ones, young ones. It's people I'm
talking about; although I guess one could use the same adjectives
for the body parts that usually aren't exposed to everyone and their
... um, well, everyone.
I was surprised to see how many women there were in the gay section
of the park. Straight women, that is. That question was soon
answered after I struck up a conversation with Beth and her
boyfriend, Brett, who were sitting a few feet away from me. They
told me that they came down to the gay part of the beach to avoid
the gawkers on the straight side. Makes sense, I thought. After all,
for Beth this is a 'safe zone'. But, then I looked at Brett who I
thought might feel uncomfortable. But, after a few minutes of
pleasant conversation, it was obvious that he was very comfortable
with his body and his sexuality. He couldn't give a crap what
anybody thought or if people stared. I decided I liked my new
friends.
To my left there were a few African American men laying out
seemingly attempting to deepen their tans. Why? I thought, Seems
rather redundant. Oh well ... the very fact of the sun beating down
on ones skin does make one feel full of life. If I was them, I'd be
doing the very same.
Derrick, a guy sitting on a ledge above me, joined in our
conversation. He looked like a model directly out of Gentlemen's
Quarterly, except for that nasty scar on his lower abdomen that
bared the remnants of a past surgery. Derrick pointed out a man
coming around the bend, wearing nothing but a pair of tennis shoes
and a white cowboy hat. He chastised the man for wearing the white
hat. After all, white cowboy hats should only be worn after Easter;
he should be wearing a black one! Only in Texas, I thought as I
donned the only thing I had on ... a grin.
I was still smiling when a 'cottontail' strolled by and settled in
about 50 yards away. My new friends sitting around me told me that
new people to the park are identified as cottontails ... not because
they have a cute fluffy tail, but because they have a white ass, not
yet tanned from the Texas sun. Hmmm, I thought as I realized I had
been identified as one of the same upon my arrival an hour earlier.
Just call me Peter Rabbit I exclaimed, which resonated a healthy
laugh of those sitting around me.
The sun was becoming more intense as the minutes turned to hours.
Fours hours of direct Texas sun is about all anyone can stand. Skin
pink with the days intense sun, I picked up my pen again and I began
to write. But, I didn't write my column. I wrote about my
experience.
Funny ... it wasn't anything like I thought it was going to be. When
the designer clothes come off and one's skin is exposed to all,
there is nothing left to hide behind. Clothes tend to cover our
imperfections. And, let's face it; we all have imperfections with
our bodies. Without them, even more of our imperfections were
evident to the world. There were no pretenses ... how could
there be? It was a feeling I found to be invigorating.
Today, I learned that clothes tend to cover up more than just our
bodies. The content of the conversations were more genuine ... more
of 'here it is and this is me'. Yes, it was just me and the people
around me, naked in more ways than one.
I feel good. I not only feel good ... I feel alive.
LAST UPDATED: NOVEMBER 8, 2003 Possess a desire to express your thoughts about this article? If so,
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