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.
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