My Nudist Life

My Pet Peeve: Unsupervised kids at nudist resorts

2005-08-09T22:14:00.000-04:00

Every Monday night, Jay Leno has a great feature called headlines.
In the middle of it, Leno will strike an upset pose and turn to bandleader Kevin Eubanks.
"Kevin, what is my biggest pet peeve?" Leno will ask.
"Stupid criminals," Eubanks will obediently reply.
Then Leno will read one or two or three incredibly dumb things criminals will do during the commission of their crimes.
As if the decision to commit the crime wasn't stupid enough.
Entertaining, funny stuff.
My nudist pet peeve is neither entertaining or funny but a pet peeve nonetheless.
Simply, unsupervised kids at nudist resorts.
More specifically, unsupervised kids at nudist resorts that cater primarily to an adult crowd.
Our nudist resort is similar to Paradise Lakes in Florida in that you see almost no kids here.
That was until this year when a family I will heretofore refer to as the "Adams' Family" moved in, lock stock and barrel with a pair of kids _ an 8-year-old boy and a 6-year-old girl.
Now this normally wouldn't be a problem if they kept the kids in tow. Meaning, if they kept the kids within eyesight at all times.
These parents seem to be as oblivious to that responsibility as they apparently were to the fact that there were NO OTHER kids in this nudist resort before they made the commitment to become seasonal residents.
That should have been Red Flag No. 1.
No other kids to play with is a major problem and they should not have injected their kids into that kind of an environment. Adults here don't want to deal with kids. They come here to get away from kids.
However, IF you are going to bring them you better damn well follow them around at all times.
La dee freaking da, the Adams Family permits their kids to go on unsupervised jaunts throughout the nudist camp. Even though there is a big sign in the office that says "Children are the responsibility of their parents."
Hellllllllllloooooooooooo?????
What is the Adams' Family thinking?
The fact that there was a 150-pound bear roaming through this camp no more than 10 years ago is one story. The fact that these kids could have easily wandered off into the woods is another one entirely.
Earlier this year, we had a single man who brought two kids "lose" them.
The guy went through the camp on a three-wheeler, obviously in distress, yelling, "Pete ... Sharon ... Pete .... Sharon" over and over again.
I just shook my head.
"If you were doing what you were supposed to and keeping these kids within eyesight, you wouldn't be in this position," I said to myself at the time.
(To myself, because I didn't want him to punch me in the teeth.)
There are all sorts of legal issues here I don't even want to get into, but unsupervised jaunts is where I draw the line. I never complain about anything here, but I made an exception in this case.
When I saw the two Adams' Family kids walking around, I stopped what I was doing and made a trek to the office.
"How seriously does management take this sign?" I asked the girl in the office, pointing to the children are the responsibility of the parents sign.
"Very seriously," she said.
"Well, we have two unsupervised kids walking around," I said.
"I'll say something to the owner," she said.
The next day the two kids were in tow of the mother.
Two days later, I saw one of the same two kids walking up the road.
Alone.
I was peeved.
Again.

The Single Man Issue: I'm against them

2005-07-31T22:01:00.000-04:00

At almost all nudist camps or resorts I've been to, there have been a couple of unassailable and definitely unrelated truths I've found:
1) No matter how "asexual" the nudist establishment tries to portray it, there is a strong undercurrent of sexuality everywhere. I'm talking about a good, healthy, exciting sexual tension _ much like good cholesterol vs. bad cholesterol. The kind of sexual electricity than can power a resort. It's stronger at some resorts/camps than at others. Let's put it this way: On a scale of 1-10, the sexual electricity level at Paradise Lakes and Hedonism II is about a 9-10. At Beechwood Lodge in the Poconos of Pennsylvania, it's about a 2. Everywhere else I've been to is in the upper half of the scale.
2) Single men are more of a problem than they are a resource.
It pains me to say this, because I'm a single guy.
But based on the observations of 20 years as a nudist, 99 44/100 percent of all of the "strange" behavior comes from single guys.
Let me give you just one story of the hundreds of similar ones I've observed:
In our club, we have a whirlpool with an observation window. More than once and with more than one guy, I've seen this:
Guy looks in the window. If there are only guys there, he walks away.
Five minutes later, guy comes back, looks in the window again. Only guys there. Walks away again.
Ten minutes later, the same guy looks in the window again. There is now a young couple there. So he opens the door and walks in.
This same thing has happened with hundreds of single guys over the years.
Often, the guy will not even check the window. He'll walk in. If all guys are there, he'll walk out without saying a word. Five minutes later, when an escorted female arrives, he'll check the scene out and hop in the whirlpool.
Usually the strangest "single male" behavior happens on our biggest weekend: Fourth of July.
Invariably, on the Fourth of July weekend, we have an unusually high number of transient single males. Transient single males are those single males you usually see once or twice a year, not even members of the club.
We have 21 weekends a year and usually no one looks in anyone's window.
Except on the Fourth of July weekend.
My site is off the road and it's hard to look into my window without making a special effort to do so.
Yet every Fourth of July weekend I have one or two (or three or four) transient single males walking by and often peering through my window.
I have yet to have a hot, young and naked 21-year-old single woman walk by and peer through my window, but I will let you know when that happens (probably in my next lifetime).
That same night, a friend of mine who I will call Linda left the outdoor nightclub early. She was followed to her trailer by _ you guessed it _ a single male.
She turned around to confront him just outside her trailer, knowing that her husband was inside.
"Excuse me, why are you following me?" she said.
"I just wanted to see if you were all right," he said.
"Please just leave," she said.
Then there is the phenomenon of the black guy. We never get black women in our resort, just black guys.
Why is this?
Your guess is as good as mine.
Many of these guys are decent-looking and presumably can attract a woman to the club, but for some reason or another they don't.
There are way too many guys and too few girls as it is and we don't need any more, white or black or pink or green.
Yet we never seem to run out of them.
The solution is that nudist clubs must do a better job of "gender-balancing."
Make it free for single women and make single men pay more than couples.
Eliminate the "transient single male" entirely. Make the single male become a full-fledged member with all of the responsibilities that come with membership.
Nudist clubs must see the "big picture" and start thinking about creative ways to gender-balance or they will die.
Just accepting every single guy who walks in the door because he has 40 bucks is penny-wise and pound-foolish.

Nudist resort, camp or colony?

2005-07-28T10:01:00.000-04:00

I know the "politically correct" thing to say is "nudist resort" but, as I look out my window today, really the best word to describe this beautiful place is camp.
As much as the management of these rustic places market the word resort and beg you to us it, people camp here.
When I think of the word resort, I think of places like the Arizona Biltmore Hotel or even nudist resorts in Florida like Caliente and Paradise Lakes.
The Arizona Biltmore is hands-down the best place from a physical plant standpoint I've ever visited. It holds a special place in my heart since it was there 10 years ago that I accepted the top writing award in the country for best feature story in my "real world" job. My newspaper company picked up the major coin for my weekend stay there, including the fully-stocked bar in my room. I almost passed out when I opened the refrigerator door. I never even had a "fridge" in my rooms before, mostly at Motel 6s and Howard Johnson's (but I did a maid at HoJos, see story below).
I don't think of traditional Northeastern nudist places like Penn Sylvan in the Reading area or Goodland Country Club in New Jersey or even the one I live in now for the next month or so, which is the best of that genre, as "resorts."
Hell, using the word resort for places like these is a real stretch. On the other end of the spectrum is the word colony.
When I was growing up, the term "colony" was a popular one when referring to nudists, like ant colony or Pilgrim colony. Or even a cult colony, like those who followed people like Jim Jones and David Korech to their deaths.
Colony is a four-letter word to nudists. I don't know anyone who has ever liked the term.
I haven't heard that in a long, long time, though.
We once had a fire in a trailer here about 15 years ago. The local daily paper had photo of the firemen putting out the flames with a huge headline at the top of the front page: Fire Destroys Trailer in Nudist Colony.
Ugh.
We got a few yucks out of that one here for several days after that.
It still elicits a smile 15 years later.
But when it comes to the traditional Northeast, Mid-Atlantic or New England areas, the word resort doesn't quite fit those kind of nudist places.
Camp works just fine.

Afternoon delight with brown sugar on top

2005-07-10T12:17:00.000-04:00

I never usually get a chance to do black girls.
Not because I don't want to, or am not attracted by them.
I'm attracted by a particular kind of black girl, slender with a cute face.
Never really had that opportunity because I'm not exposed to black girls where I work or at my nudist camp.
That was true until one day in Rocky Mount, N.C., halfway between Pennsylvania and the nudist resort in Florida I was traveling to at that time.
I was about 28 or 29.
I checked into a Howard Johnson's Motel about 2 p.m., got the key to my room and then quickly undressed, got a shower and was ready for a few hours of shut eye before continuing on to Florida.
As I was drying my hair, naked and incredibly horny, I heard a soft knock on the door.
"Housekeeping" I heard a woman's voice say.
I took my towel to the door, covered up and looked through the peephole.
There stood a beautiful black girl, not more than five years younger than I but much taller.
She looked a lot like the black girl they were working into the cast of the last season of Friends, Aisha Tyler.
I heard another soft knock.
"Housekeeping," she said, this time only slightly louder.
I thought, "What the hey?"
I dropped the towel and opened it on a crack.
"Hello," I said, with an inviting smile.
She smiled back.
"Do you need service, sir?" she asked, taking a peak at my throbbing member, then looking directly into my eyes with another smile, then back at my member again, this time more throbbing and more excited.
With my heart beating 100 miles a minute, I opened the door a little wider.
Mike Jr. was now saluting her like she was a five-star General.
Mike Jr. was inviting her in, but Mike Sr. was speechless.
I didn't know what to say.
"Well, what services are you offering?" I sputtered.
"Anything you need," she said, looking down and smiling again.
I then took a bold move, pushed by Mike Jr.
"If you don't mind what I'm not wearing, you are more than welcome to come in," I said.
"All right, sir," she said.
"Only if you don't call me, sir," I said. "Hi, I'm Mike."
"Hi, I'm Janelle," she said, now taking her first step inside the room. "I'd rather like what you're wearing. You mind if I touch it?"
"I'd love you to touch it."
She gently stroked it while wearing her maid outfit. Powder blue with white trim.
I was soon to become her white trim.
"Baby, this is HARD," she said, then looking at my grateful eyes. "Oh sweetie, you are sooooo cute."
I moaned.
"You mind if I suck this mother-fucker, hon?" she said.
"Mind? I'm already in Heaven. Do whatever you want."
She then discarded the Maid outfit, her panties and everything else. In five seconds, she was completely naked, and then continued to suck my dick.
I gestured her to get on the bed. She sucked some more.
I reached down to put my fingers in her pussy.
It was soaked.
I then repositioned myself. We were both doing 69.
Her moans were muted, but audible. Then were cheering me on.
I got my first look at black pussy.
To my surprise, the clit was a darker color, too.
I licked some more and stopped, only to catch my breath.
I could not believe this was happening.
"Why you stoppin'?" she said. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."
I could have been wrong, but it seemed like it was the first time she's ever been eaten.
"There," she said, as I moved my tongue ever closer to her egorged clit. "Right there. Right there. Right there. ..."
She said "right there" over and over, like someone would say, "Oh my God."
Right there.
She was the best cheerleader a guy on the pussy-eating field could ever have had.
"Right there, baby!! Right there. Oh yeah. Right there. Put a finger in there, too. Oh yeah. Fuck me, baby. Fuck me."
I felt compelled to obey her wishes.
My face was so wet I thought I was going to drown. I wiped it off while I fucked her from behind. I was sweating like a pig afterward.
What a workout for both of us. It certainly beats the stairmaster any day of the week.
"Do you need a towel, honey?" she said.
"That's what you came in for in the first place, right?" I said.
"Something like that," she said, laughing, collapsing on the bed.
Afternoon delight in Rocky Mount, N.C., with brown sugar on top.

Author's disclaimer: If there are any 17-year-old black kids with red hair walking around Rocky Mount, N.C. wondering who their daddy is, the answer is no, I will not go on Maury Povich to do the DNA test.

I have the world's smallest (porn collection)

2005-06-27T22:20:00.000-04:00

Other than Billy Graham or the new Pope, I think I might have the world's smallest porn collection.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not a prude. When Blue Ridge Cable included the Spice Channel as part of its monthly package (something like 11 bucks), I got Spice before HBO.
I had it on all the time. In fact, I had it on accidentally when my hot 36-year-old housekeeper, Nancy, came in a few minutes before her scheduled appointment.
"Sorry, I meant to turn this off," I said.
"I LOVE porn," she said.
So I left it on for her. (She spent a lot of time dusting the TV and the VCR that day. I didn't mind.)
Then they made it hard (to get porn, I mean). When I went over to Digital (cable, that is), they said I couldn't pay $11 a month and get it on all the time anymore, I'd have to pay $10.95 each time.
After doing the math, I thought, "screw this." (No pun intended.)
So for the last three years, I've pretty much gone cold turkey from porn. I'm sure Nancy, who is now 39 and living in California, has seen more porn than I have since that day three years ago.
I don't love porn like Nancy did, I like it, but I'm not going to pay for it and I'm not going to walk into a video store and I'm not going to waste my time licking a stamp and ordering it.
So I'm down to one old VHS tape.
It's The World's Luckiest Jock, subtitled 101 Cheerleaders and a Quarterback, starring Erik Everhard (I doubt that's his real name, LOL) and literally 101 girls.
The plot line is a star quarterback comes in from a winning football game and is serviced by 101 cheerleaders in the locker room. There are a couple of leaps of faith the director asks the audience to take, besides the fact that there are 101 female cheerleaders in the male locker room. One, there are no other guys in the locker room and, two, no school ever has 101 cheerleaders.
However, there is press there. The first line of the film shows the, err, head cheerleader unzipping his pads and saying to the guys with the pens and tape recorders, "I don't think the press wants to see this."
Pretty soon the QB is naked and there's a line of 101 girls sitting with their cheerleader outfits on benches waiting to, err, service his manhood.
They all do and then they take turns making, err, love to him. It's all done in two hours, but I'm sure it took several days or weeks to film (LOL).
They are all so incredibly beautiful but what makes the movie to me is the smiles and the sheer looks of joy on their faces. It wasn't acting. These girls were really into it. As far as porn films go, it's Citizen Kane, The Wizard of Oz and Gone With the Wind all rolled into one incredibly erotic piece of art.
It makes me wonder why I was quarterback at an all-boys Catholic High School.
In my next life, I'm going to correct these little mis-steps.
Damn.

At a nudist camp, the frisky woman is Queen

2005-05-30T20:56:00.000-04:00

In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is King.
A very wise man once said that.
In the land of nudist camps, resorts and places, the frisky _ even aggressive _ woman is Queen.
At least she is to me.
I often think about some of my best times on the dance floor and, invariably, they turn to the actions of aggressive women.
Aggressive women rule. I don't know if aggressive is even the precise word, but maybe fun and playful are two better choices. Or frisky. I love the kind of female personalities you can find on, say, clothed females naked males.com.
I am incredibly attracted to a woman who will take me on the dance floor and do whatever she pleases, when she pleases, without even asking.
Especially when I'm naked.
I would put my friend, Karen, in that category.
She thinks nothing of taking my naked and willing body and shoving it against the mirror of our nudist resort.
And I love every minute of it.
When it comes (or cums) to cunnilingus, my favorite aggressive woman story is the one below where I describe our encounter on the dance floor with Denise.
She began to kiss me and I her and then she started to stroke my love tool.
Stroking my love tool is always a good thing.
I ended up eating her pussy that night in a tanning booth at the winter nudist party.
It's a delicious memory in more ways than one.
Then there's Adrienne from North Carolina.
The first time I asked her to dance, the inevitable happened after only a couple aggressive thrusts of her pelvis against mine. She cleverly positioned the slit on her red panties against the tip of my penis.
Mike Jr. _ or little Mikey _ came out (and up) to say hi.
"It looks like little Mikey likes you," I said during the slow dance.
She looked down at my rock-hard member and said without skipping a beat in an adorable Southern accent, "Wow. He's not so little!!!!"
That turned me on incredibly. A great compliment that followed an admiring stare.
"It turns me on so much when you look at it," I said.
And it does.
I will always have a soft spot for aggressive women but that soft spot will never be "down there."

Why I love Meredith Vieira (and The View)

2005-04-25T10:18:00.000-04:00

Guys aren't supposed to love The View. It's a chick show, the way some movies are chick flicks. Yet there are horny, sane, heterosexual guys out there who love the show. Count me among them. I must admit here and now that I LOVE The View and especially Meredith Vieira.
Not only is Meredith beautiful and smart, she's horny as hell. There's nothing to be ashamed about being horny. As a guy, I know the feeling all too well.
One morning I almost choked on my slim fast instant breakfast bar when Meredith opened the show with, "I'm so horny I was thinking about doing it with every guy I saw on the street on the way in today. I'm not kidding. I'm serious. Do you ever get that way?"
Most of the other co-hosts agreed and another spirited hot topics day started. I wish the whole show was hot topics.
I don't know about the mostly women audience, but I know this particular guy loves all of those beautiful qualities Meredith Vieira possesses, both inside of her and out.
She and her co-hosts give you a lot of insight to the way women, in general, think. The show makes me thankful I work nights. I haven't missed a one, making it part of my routine before heading out to the gym.
Heading out to the gym requires putting clothes on, something particularly vexing to this single guy who has never felt the need to wear clothes while walking around my own place during the winter time. It's even better in the summer, since I live in a nudist resort those three months.
So that leads me the No. 1 reason for Hotter-Than-Hell Meredith's appeal to me: At last count, in the eight years The View has been on the air, she brought up the topic of nudity and nudism 37 times on the show.
And she's always so positive about it. I get the feeling she thinks it's cool.
And, of course, it is.
The other "girls" on the show give Meredith and her nude topic lip service and move on to talk about something else, but you could see by the look on Meredith's face that she wanted the segment on her nude topic of the day to "keep rolling" as they say in the business.
God bless Meredith Vieira. She does more than her share to keep those hot topics almost as hot as she is.

Goodland Country Club: My first day as a nudist

2005-04-19T10:23:00.000-04:00

They say your first time is the one you'll remember the most.
It wasn't as true for me with sex as it was with nudist resorts.
My first trip to a nudist resort was memorable and fantastic.
I've always held a secret fascination with nudity and nudism since I was a 10-year-old boy, but from the time between 10 and 21 never knew where the nudist camps were.
I even remember as a 10-year-old listening to the transitor radio under my pillow at night when the guests were a couple from a nudist resort. They described in detail their life of not having to wear clothes, both inside and outside.
"How cool," I thought, as a kid. "How free. God bless them. If that's what they want to do, they should be able to do it."
Then I saw an full-page, err, spread, with artfully shot photos in the Sunday section of the metropolitan newspaper here.
It was about Goodland Country Club, in Hackettstown, N.J. The photos showed people at the Olympic-sized pool, shooting billards in the clubhouse, playing volleyball (what else?).
As a 21-year-old recently graduated from a distinguished university, I decided now was the time to try it.
As I approached the long driveway toward the stately old house, not quite a mansion, I almost turned back, my heart was beating so fast.
I steeled myself, though, by hanging onto the wheel.
"I've got to do this."
After paying the nice old German guy, who fit every stereotype of an old-line nudist I had in my head, I headed to the pool.
It was a Tuesday afternoon in June, there was no one there except the most beautiful human form I have ever encountered.
She was thin, tanned, in her late 30s, with dark hair, lying on her stomach, presumably sleeping.
I didn't want to disturb her or invade her space, so I slowly opened my chase lounge.
It creaked.
She woke up.
"Hi," she said, with the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. "You look like you are new here."
"Yeah, I don't have a tan."
"You can move your lounge closer."
She got up and sat up in her lounge, facing me as I told my clothes off.
"Yeah, you don't have a tan. First visit to a nudist resort, huh?"
"How'd you guess?"
This was about 1 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon in the 1980s. It was the time my life changed.
Literally.
I set my chase lounge directly facing hers.
We were spread-eagled, facing each other, our forms facing upward to the sun and our eyes glued to each other's.
We talked.
We laughed.
We talked some more.
She asked me what I did.
It didn't take longer than a minute before Mike Jr. started to respond to her beauty, a spontaneous erection.
My 8 1/2 inches got full, thick and hard as a rock. (And that was just the ruler I brought as a bookmark.)
I immediately looked for a newspaper to discreetly cover up then caught her eyes darting that way, smiling that beautiful smile again.
"Sorry," I said, with a sheepish grin.
She sensed my frantic search for a cover-up.
"No need to say sorry. There's nobody else here. I don't mind."
Then she looked at my rock-hard member directly.
"I've never seen a guy with red hair down there," she said.
"How can you see the red hair?" I said, with a sly grin.
"It's behind the rock," she said, with another sly grin.
We laughed.
Mike Jr. stayed rock hard from 1 p.m. through 6:19 p.m. when she had to leave to go to work. I did not seek immediate medical attention because in those days I didn't think I needed it.
All during that time, we had an otherwise very normal conversation, easy flowing. We couldn't stop talking to each other or laughing. Two strangers, one male, one female, both stark naked, becoming fast friends.
As the hours went on during the free-flowing conversation, she took more peaks at my wood and felt comfortable enough to smile as she did so, even, at times, spreading her legs to reveal a rather moist love area.
I returned her peaks of my wood with my own peaks at her beaver and her smiles with smiles of my own. I found her wetness interesting, even if I didn't fully understand it at the time.
Being so young, I dismissed it as sweat or maybe suntan oil runoff. Many years later, it excites me to think she might have been experiencing some sexual feelings "down there" as well.
By, alas, I was never a good "closer" on the sexual end.
Girls, you have to hit me over the head if you are interested in that way.
It was probably the greatest five hours of my life that did not involve cunnilingus.
She got up and shook my hand (believe it or not), "Thanks for the best five hours I've had in a long, long time."
"Me, too," I said.
I thought I'd go back, but between starting a new job and not being able to get back, it was five years before I returned to Goodland Country Club again.
To this day, I've kicked myself for not being more aggressive and asking for her phone number but I'm not that way by nature.
I've never seen her again. She's probably in her late 50's now.
She probably has no idea of how she changed my life for the better.
I thank her every day.

My rendevous with the tram car girl

2005-04-04T11:42:00.000-04:00

A glitzed-up version of the white Paradise Lakes tram car runs in Wildwood, N.J.
Quite often, the best sexual experiences aren't the ones you seek but the ones you find.
I did not seek, but found a terrific one during what I would call as the "Golden Era" of the Paradise Lakes Nudist Resort in Tampa, Fla.
I call it the Golden Era because that's what it really was.
Paradise was all its name implied it would be _ a lush tropical Paradise for nudists in the motif of the Garden of Eden, only this time with all of the modern amenities.
The date was the spring of 1993 and Paradise was just transforming from the end of its Golden Era into the one it has now.
Don't get me wrong. Paradise is still one of my favorite places, if not most favorite, in the whole wide world.
It's just that it's not what it used to be.
It was more raw, more naked, then. People were naked morning, noon and night back then.
The nightclub was mostly naked and, on really hot nights, 75 percent naked.
The owner then, Fred Bishoff, often took the microphone and said, "Free drinks to anyone who gets naked."
People stripped and stayed stripped.
It's just not the same anymore.
Now when you go to the nightclub naked, people are almost as shocked as if you went to a Catholic Church naked.
That's not the way God intended Paradise to be.
Along with the nakedness, in the Golden Era of the "old section" everything was right there.
You walked 10 feet from your room to the pool.
You walked 10 more feet from the pool to the nightclub.
With drinks in hand, you could move the post-nightclub party to the hot tub, which was covered.
Everybody had a blast.
It's not quite the same any more.
Yet change came because the place grew and, with that growth, came the advent of the tram car.
The management used the tram car _ really a glorified golf cart _ to transport people from the old section to the new section.
I stubbornly clung to the old section with loyalty normally reserved for a first car, but the "action" was in the new Club Paradise so I hopped aboard the tram car and made my way there at night.
Naked, as usual.
During my seven days or so, I struck up a conversation with a beautiful young female driver of the car.
We talked, we laughed, we hit it off.
I knew she was beautiful, but she was also an employee so I thought there might have been some fraternization rules so I did not pursue her. She also was never naked, as far as I could see.
One night I went back to my room, which was in the B building, which is the old area.
I decided to get a whirlpool before bed.
It was about midnight and there was nobody in the jacuzzi except me.
Until the tram girl walked in, stripped her clothes and said, "Mike, mind if I join you?"
"Please do."
Me pushing 30 and her around 19, I was flattered by her attention.
We talked some more, laughed some more, talked about our futures, told some stories.
Since I am about the worst guy at interpreting sexual signals from women (girls, you practically have to hit me over the head, unfortunately), I had no idea she was interested in that way.
Until she hit me over the head _ in the figurative sense, at least.
"Mike, you are giving me the best mind-fuck I've ever had," she said.
I was blown away and somewhat taken aback.
It's usually in these kind of times Mike Jr. takes over and does the speaking for me.
"Why does it have to stop at the mind?" I said.
I floated over, moved my naked body against hers and kissed her.
She kissed me hard back.
We moved the 10 feet to my room and the mind fuck became a full body and mind fuck. I licked her pussy like it was my last meal.
In many ways, it was _ at least there in the old section before the resort went from full nudist to shockingly textile.
She said it was her best sexual experience ever.
I hope it was. It was good for me, too.
In three days, I was gone but the affair with the tram girl was one that I'll remember forever. She came up and visited me that summer at an unnamed nudist resort in the traditional Northeast, but alas had to go back to Florida.
I'll never forget my final taste of vacation in the old section before gravitating to the club. Soon, the tram car would be forgotten but never the tram car girl. The taste of Paradise has been good since, but never quite as sweet as it was on that night.

Cunnilingus at the winter nudist party

2005-03-31T21:40:00.000-05:00

What do nudists do in the winter?
It sounds like a joke but, for most of us, it's not.
There are different ways of coping.
Many of us travel to Florida.
Most of us go to winter spa parties, either at our home resort or at a spa or fitness center we rent out for one evening a month.
For nudists in the Mid-Atlantic part of the country, say Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Maryland and Delaware, it's the spa and fitness center route since most nudist resorts are basically June, July and August facilities.
The best and most popular of these parties was run by the Tri-State Metro Club in the early 1990s at a golf club in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania. Tri-State would rent the facility, nudists would spend money like drunken sailors and both Tri-State and the club would be happy.
The golf club, complete with a pay bar and a very friendly and mostly female staff of bartenders, was a Nirvanna for nudists used to the rustic facilities at most Northeast resorts.
Great bar, friendly people, great dance floor, room for hundreds.
It was just a fun way to spend a winter evening, even though the sometimes wild and crazy sexual behavior would be monitored. You knew your limits back then, if you know what I mean. Still, you pushed the envelope, the girl you were dancing with pushed the envelope and everybody had a good time.
The most amazing thing about it to me, to this day, was being asked to dance by the beautiful female bartenders who thought nothing of grinding against my naked body in their very business-like outfits of black pants, fluffy white shirt and bow tie.
My favorite dances were the slow dances.
Mike Jr.'s, too.
The girls didn't seem to mind Mike Jr.'s hardness, grinding some more, laughing some more, while talking to each other on the dance floor.
Hell, neither did I.
By the time I got back to the bar, I had "relaxed" to maybe half a hard-on.
I would dance with my naked female friends, especially Karen and Cherie, and they would ressurect Junior all over again. Then the "Bataan Hard-On March" back to the barstool would be repeated.
(This was long before the days of Viagra and Cialis, so I didn't know I may have needed medical attention. I lived.)
The party did a tremendous volume of business in those days, but the administration of running a club like Tri-State was a pain in the butt to people who had "real" jobs.
When one of the founders of the club died, no one really stepped into the void.
There were no people to run the Tri-State Club and it folded.
At the time, the only other winter spa party was occuring some 70 miles to the south in Delaware fitness joint.
It was run by a nudist, Jim, and his friends.
They loosely monitored the dance floor, nothing like Tri-State.
When Jim got into a relationship with a woman, he got out of the business.
This time, though, the non-nudist owners of the fitness center took over.
They pretty much take a "Sargent Schultz" view of the evening.
You know.
"I know nothing. I see nothing. I hear nothing."
Of course, when there's a complaint about someone _ which is rare, they handle it.
Now, though, at this party, anything goes.
You are likely on a given evening to be having a great discussion at your table and a blow job breaks out on the dance floor.
The next thing you know, another blow job breaks out and there are six or seven couples playing with each other simultaneously.
I don't mind at all.
It certainly breaks the monotony of a long, cold winter.
And, Lord knows, I've certainly been a beneficiary.
Since everyone is dancing naked, everything is right there.
I was dancing with a total stranger, I'll call her Denise, and she started kissing me and I her and then she reached down and started to stroke my love tool.
I blurted out, "I'd love to eat your pussy" never really knowing what her response would be.
To my surprise and excitement, she took me by the hand and led me down a long hall of treadmills and stairmasters until we got to an unlocked tanning room.
She sat down on a chair, like one of those director's chairs, next to the tanning bed and pointed to open area below her clit, while she used her index finger to play with the area right around her clit.
I buried my tongue in that open area of her vagina for what seemed like 10 minutes, but turned out to be an hour. When she was ready for feeling my tongue on her clit, she whispered, "higher."
She helped me by putting her hands around my head and moving my tongue slowly closer to her clit. She was soaking wet and ready.
I loved it. I thought her moans were going to tip off the management that we were in there, but I really didn't care.
When it was over, we walked out of the tanning booth and headed back onto the dance floor.
She was smiling, I was smiling.
She reached up to my moustache and lips and wiped off the remnants of what I could only surmise was an orgasm.
"My God, you've got a lot of me on you," she said just before we went back to the dance floor.
I've checked that tanning room door every party since and it's been locked.
Just as well. The memory of that evening will forever be locked in my head.

My fascination with weather gals

2005-03-30T00:17:00.000-05:00

Cecily Tynan (left), Carol Erickson, Cheryl Lemke and Kristina Abernathy
When I'm surfing on TV, I find myself always ending up on Channel 45, which is The Weather Channel.
First off, I'm fascinated by weather _ how it is here in the winter time (ugh), how it is near Tampa, the nudist capital of the world (yeah!).
That's the biggest part of it.
The other part, I'll admit, is sexual attraction to the weather girls.
The girls on the weather channel hypmotize me.
For some reason, Cheryl Lemke might not be the most beautiful but she's close and I love her.
Love her.
Not in a stalking way, or a brotherly way or even a totally lustful way but in a I-wish-I-knew-her-but-know-I-won't-ever-even-meet-her kind of way.
I would break my own personal ban on marriage to marry Cheryl Lemke.
It's that intense.
She's a sweetheart.
Of course, there's Kristina Abernathy but every guy lusts after her. (Hell, I wouldn't kick her out of bed and she's probably the most beautiful, but give me Cheryl Lemke any day and I'll be happy.)
Then there's the feisty girl in the morning, Alexandra, I like her because she's flirty with the old guy with the gray hair.
Who can forget Kim Perez? Or Sharon Resultan? Or Stephanie Abrams, Jen Carfagno or Heather Tesch? You get the idea. I could go on and on.
Hillary Andrews is so enthusiastic about the weather and her job it is scary in an appealing way, if that's possible. She works with the Oriental guy at 10 a.m. (Sorry, guys, I can't remember your names. You just get in the way anyhow.)
Locally, I love Cecily Tynan and Carol Erickson. Incredible examples of some well-structured DNA.
Beautiful.
Unattainable, but beautiful nonetheless.
Back to my fascination with The Weather Channel, though.
I've felt this way ever since finding TWC about 10 years ago.
Incredibly, I read an interview with Bill Cosby the other day.
This is what he said when someone asked him what he liked in the way of TV shows:
"I find myself always ending up on The Weather Channel," Cosby said.
Me, too, Bill.
Me too.

Thinking of my friend, Janet

2005-03-28T15:10:00.000-05:00

A story first published in January, 2005 ................
How it looks outside my window right now, where a blizzard mixes with Eagles' fever.

As I sit here, I can only think of my friend, err, Janet. I think of her beautiful smile every time she picks me up at the airport in Tampa once a year. I think of why she's smiling.Here I am, stuck inside and she's relatively warm in Florida, free to walk outside of her house naked whenever she wants. (At least she was when she lived in Paradise Lakes, a nudist resort north of Tampa.)
Janet originally is a transplant from a state even farther north than Pennsylvania, where this kind of thing is more the norm. In Philly, this happens once, maybe twice, a year.In the very cold state she's from, maybe 10 times.
Smartly, Janet up and left there some time ago. She didn't have much money, just a belief in herself.She's done pretty well down there. She survives and is happy and, really, that's what living is all about.
As far as I'm concerned, she's living what I simply call "The Dream." She's me in a woman's body, really.
I've done a lot of things in my life and have few regrets but one of the things I'm most proud about is having the guts to ask Janet to dance. It was about seven or eight years ago and I saw her walking around the resort with her boyfriend and she had the most beautfiul body I've ever seen and pretty dark brownish blonde hair.
"She's clearly out of my league," I thought to myself.
She was taller and absolutely stunningly beautiful with eyes that sparkle and a smile to match. I usually don't have the guts to ask taller girls to dance. However, in the packed Paradise disco, I noticed her standing in the aisle behind me, wearing a black dress.I was with my friends, Mike and Paula from Indiana, and we were having our usual yucks. Janet was behind us and I could see her laughing out of the corner of my eye. Stuff I was saying was causing her to laugh. Not surprising, because I'm often funny.
Fueled by the Miller Lites and Mike and Paula, I got up the courage to ask her to dance. I was braced for rejection, since I was naked and a stranger. It was the kind of bracing you do before impact of a small plane crash.
Much to my surprise and delight, it was a smooth landing. She said yes. I remained calm on the outside but my insides were screaming yes and high-fiving themselves.
We danced. The spontaneous combustion of our bodies had a powerful effect on Junior.
Janet, in a reverse role, was a "gentleman" _ or "gentlewoman" _ and guarded my excitement by keeping her body in front of mine all the way back to the barstool.
Another friend, Cherie the bartender, noticed my arousal and decided to have a little fun of her own. She smiled, rolled her eyes in my direction and grabbed a fistful of popcorn. Cherie is now a psychiatrist. I wonder if this story comes up in therapy sessions.
"What are you looking at?" I said, laughing.
She smiled again, looking directly at my throbbing manhood.
She playfully fired the popcorn kernel by kernel. Some landed on top of the shaft. Some stuck in my pubic hair.
It was all in good fun.
Janet and I had a wonderful lunch in the Key West Bar the next day. Both of us were butt naked. I think we had salads, but the only endearing memory I have of the day was that I could not keep my eyes off her stunning and beautifully tanned naked body.
I never had any expectations that Janet and I would be anything more than buddies, although I asked her back to my room every night. (I still don't know where I found the balls to do that.) Every night, she politely declined.
Until the last one.
"No intercourse," she said.
"Absolutely," I said. "No intercourse."
So we, err, played. It was incredible fun and I loved going down on her. I kept getting this feeling at that moment that I was the luckiest guy in the world. I'm not incredibly good-looking, maybe average or slightly above, and there I was going down on the prettiest girl in Paradise and she was returning the favor. Nobody understood that reality better than I.
It was one of the most exciting episodes of my life.
Heck, if I knew this was going to happen, I would have drank diet coke but I had a Miller Lite buzz. I still remember every detail. Meanwhile, Janet and I are friends to this day and it's been strictly platonic ever since.
She's got a guy now and she's happy.
That usually what happens when you are living the dream in the warmth of Florida.
It's a lesson I learn in a particularly hard way on days such as these.

Why I've never been to a strip club

2005-03-27T20:51:00.000-05:00

It's called The Wing Bowl.It all started 12 years ago when the local sports talk radio station bemoaned the Eagles "never being in the Super Bowl, so we have to create our own bowl for that weekend.
"The "competition" consists of a bunch of fat guys eating wings on the Friday morning before the Super Bowl. By morning, I mean morning _ it starts at 5 a.m. and fills the 20,000-seat Wachovia Center.
It's extensively covered by local TV.Wing Bowl has now taken on a life of its own.Oh yeah, what fills the arena is a bunch of beautiful women wearing bikinis in early Feb. A lot of these women, err, flash.Now that's what fills up the arena, not fat guys.
There's no guy who appreciates the awesome and inherent beauty of a women's naked or near-naked body more than I BUT .... I'll take a pass on Wing Bowl.My wing bowl routine usually involves yawning and going back to sleep.I've never been to a strip club and never had any desire to go to one.
A lot of my friends find this very curious.My reasoning is quite simple.The only reason the women are stripping for you is that you are giving them money.
Give me the average-looking girl with a decent body over strippers any day. I find that more at nudist camps and in nudist environments than I ever have in what I call the "Real World."
You would think after 20 years going to nudist camps, I would become "jaded" to a women's body.It's quite the opposite, really.I never ceased to be amazed by the awesome beauty of a woman's body, but in the right setting.
That's a fulfilling feeling I don't think I'd ever get in a strip club.

Caliente, Como and Paradise Lakes

2005-03-27T00:22:00.000-05:00

There's nothing like Pasco County, Fla.Three major nudist resorts within an eight-mile radius and several other satellite nudist parks, home developments and resorts.Nudists are a major political entity there.It only seems they could hold campaigns naked there and no one would blink.A recent 10-day trip to Caliente, Como and Paradise proved, well, revealing in more ways than one.The first stop was Caliente, a superb top-of-the-line $50 million resort.
A little fine-tuning and Caliente is in a position to blow away the competition.First, the good stuff.Caliente already has the physical plant ... a spectacular pool, a sensational nightclub, terrific workforce and gym second to none. There is a fridge in the poolside room, something Paradise can't say, plus a microwave (not in Paradise, either).
Here's the rub.
For what it costs to stay three days at Caliente, you can stay five at nearby Paradise and have, arguably, a better time. We'll get to that part of it later.Here's another:You can't get to the pool from your POOLSIDE room. You have to walk up a hill and walk into the main building.
That has to be changed if the Caliente owners are serious about competing. Open up the other side to the pool. Give your guests who pay for poolside rooms a poolside experience.
LAKE COMO: Where it all started. A terrific, but different, experience. The people are very friendly. Smoking has died everywhere in America but the lakeside Butt Hutt, one of the really interesting nudist places in the country. The crowd there is very old. Starts in the 60s, with most of the people in the 80s.Another plus is free internet access in the library. Bring your laptop and the phone bill is on Como.
While I was typing this, a naked woman in her 60s started a conversation with me and five minutes later, ended up inviting me to her place. The thought struck me that this is the only place in America where a totally naked stranger has ever invited me to her place. Maybe it happens in swing clubs, but I don't go to those.Being almost 20 years younger than her, I didn't go. Even though she had a great body, if anything developed, it would be a weird feeling to do it with someone old enough to go to school with my mom. And if she would have asked, yes, I would have done it with her. I respectfully declined to "check out her computer", saying that I had to get some work done in the library.
Heck, maybe she really wanted me to check out her computer.I could only remember the line from the 1950s movies, something like, "come up to my place to check my etchings."It turned out to be more like itchings.Heck, I have that same itch every seven seconds or so. But I digress. It's tough to match that level of friendliness, though. The rooms at Como are something out of the 1940s, with rickety floors and paper-thin walls. The TVs are in the living room, not the bedroom, and get only three channels. I thought I would die of boredom, so I slept on the couch, with the one station on, afraid to make the slightest sound that would wake the person in the next room.I was never more ready to leave a nudist resort in my life.I couldn't wait until the three days were over when I could get back to Paradise Lakes.
PARADISE LAKES: My old stomping ground, a place as comfortable as an old shoe.The nightclub is incredibly free. My first night, a Wednesday, was the most nude I've seen it in the disco in 10 years. There were 50 people on the dance floor and a good 40 were completely nude. It was a terrific time and a memorable night.The subsequent evenings were less nude, but the crowd was more nude than at Caliente.It's great having a poolside room at poolside. Hundreds of beautiful naked women between 18 and 80 cavorting right outside my door every day. To me, that last sentence is the very definition of Paradise. Or Heaven.
What Paradise needs to do to blow away the competition is to have refrigerators in its poolside rooms. That would be a clear indication it is looking at the big picture, not the penny-wise and pound-foolish approach it stubbornly clings to now.The nightlife is hopping seven days a week at Paradise, while Caliente really rules only one night (Saturday).Friday is the best night of the week at Paradise, but you can have a good time all seven days of the week there. The crowd is young, energenic and friendly.
My grades:
Paradise (A-) _ the minus being only for the lack of a poolside fridge.Caliente (B) _ with great potential to go to A due to an existing physical plant. The big minuses are the lack of consistent nightlife and poolside access from poolside rooms. Both can be fixed.Como (C) _ Good nudist experience, but substandard rooms and almost no nightlife to speak about. People there deserve major props for friendliness.All in all, if I had to go back to one place, knowing what I know now, it would be Paradise. Maybe something will happen in a year to change my mind, but I doubt it.