Friday, August 28, 2015

Sentimental Nudist: Memories of Naked Labor Days

Next weekend will mark the Labor Day holiday. For the Bare Platypus, this brings back many, many memories of quality family time spent together doing what we liked to do best once upon a time: Relaxing and playing naked! See, while the job of promoting the nudist industry had the Platypus traveling frequently throughout the year, this span on the calendar was relatively quiet.  It meant we could enjoy time naturally together. So that’s what we did.  Some of the memories recounted below have worked their way into a Father’s Day homage or two, but they happened over Labor Day weekends, or close to then.  Enjoy.

First Crush.  Mr. and Mrs. Platypus have two sons and two daughters.  When one of our daughters was about thirteen, she had her first “crush.” A boy she met right on the beach at our home nudist club. Oh, she had probably seen him before.  But it changed over one holiday when she realized that he was kinda cute as they built sandcastles together on that beach.  At the end of the weekend she somewhat proudly announced that she “had his phone number and email address.”  It was all very innocent and they exchanged only a brief message or two.  Alas, it wasn’t meant to last. This daughter is now engaged to a different young man.

First Skinny Dip.  With no school to worry about, Labor Day weekends proved to be opportune times to invite some of our adult friends and their “puggles” to accompany us to our local nudist club.  It worked on several levels… especially as something fun to do to celebrate the end of summer.  So it was that one such weekend our friend and her son and daughter joined our family for their first-time nudist experience. Now, her daughter was just a few years younger than our daughters so, when we arrived she promptly followed suit (er… birthday suit) like them and her mom. She quickly dabbed on sunscreen and went for a skinny dip with the other gals.  Her younger brother—six year old “Andy”--- wasn’t so sure.  He looked at her like she must be crazy to strip everything off in front of other people. 

“Andy” doffed his shirt but his cutoff shorts stayed on… with an occasional tight tug up on them as if to reiterate that they would remain in place.  No one said anything though our sons were in their natural state, of course.  About twenty five minutes later that boy looked out at the cool water of the lake.  So inviting.  But did he want to get his shorts wet and have that yucky sand clinging to them? We parents watched from our beach blankets as, reluctantly at first, he lowered the cutoffs and a bright “cotton tail” came into view. Five minutes later the joy in his expressions said it all: “Why didn’t we ever do this BEFORE???” Andy’s family returned with us to the nudist club at least two times after that and each time he was bare before their car got from the front gate to the parking lot!

Yard Dash.  There’s something about spending all day naked at a nudist club that makes someone especially reluctant to put on clothes when it’s time to go home. One Labor Day weekend we all kind of looked at each other as the sun went down and we stood by the car in the parking lot.  “Do we really need to get dressed?,” one of us asked.  It wasn’t that long of a car ride home.  Besides, it would be dark when we arrived. One thing led to another and there we were… all six of us naked as the day we were born, in the family caravan, hoping that we wouldn’t have an awkward moment at a traffic light (the trek was through a fairly rural setting so, few worries).  When we arrived at our somewhat secluded house, we waited to be absolutely sure that there were no headlights coming or going up the street.  Then we made a mad dash for the front door, keys in hand so that we could open it quickly.  Only Mrs. Platypus donned a skimpy pareo wrap.  Had anyone drove up the road at that moment there would have been six full moons shining brightly in those beams. “Stairsteps” … from two forty-somethings… to tweens… and a three year old!  We still laugh about that family adventure!

First Bee Sting.  On holiday weekends the nudist club’s parking lot tends to fill up quickly. As a consequence we once found ourselves in the “overflow lot” which was really little more than a section of grass and clover.  As we walked across this grass our youngest son and puggle let out a yelp.  He had stepped on a bee and, of course, it hurt!  He took the whole incident with remarkable bravery. But we also noticed that he never walked across grass like that again without flip-flops.

Tropical Dance.  Holiday weekends at a nudist club typically involve some kind of special event. Mr. and Mrs. Platypus attended a luau, feasting on pineapple and glazed chicken.  During the dance that followed they shared a romantic kiss on the deck where it was held.  All four of their puggles giggled about it later. Maybe not quite “I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus.”  But you get the idea.

From our family to yours, we hope you enjoy a remarkable, and safe, special time next weekend. And we hope you can be bare for at least some of it. It’s not possible to bottle and cork what days such as this are like for those who don’t “get it.”  Yet we know our readers understand. Thanks for indulging us as we got a little sentimental just now.