Tag: Nudity

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The Drain, by Ray S

Finally the rain softly and lightly announced its arrival. Little by little the drops became bigger and more insistent. Finally it fell with full force pelting the window panes. A couple of claps of thunder and just as suddenly as the cloud burst had come, the clouds opened up and there was the sun again.

With umbrella in hand I left the house headed for my office. The sidewalks were all shiny and washed and gutters were still flooded with the tidal wave headed for the drain.

The walk to the office gave me the time to reflect on the long ago rainy time when we were six or seven. Four of us were playing “Kick the Can” in a vacant lot near the edge of town. A rainstorm like the one today came up and being caught all drenched, all of us simply stripped naked and proceeded to dance in the rain like little elves escaping the wolf in the forest.

The merriment was in full blast until a local constable arrived on the scene at the behest of the self-appointed morals squad, Mrs. Templeton. Hers was the only house near our play field.

We were rounded up with wet clothes in hand and sternly lectured to on the lack of morality and the nasty, dirty actions we were participating in.

Actually the thought of sex hadn’t even caught up with us at this age, except casually taking note of each others’ endowments, if even noticeable.

Another thought while walking, another time maybe five or seven years later evidencing the discovery magic of puberty and all of its causes and results. You could liken it to Pandora’s Box or letting the Genie or Johnny out of the bottle. With no thanks to Mrs. Templeton and later Sister Charles/Ophelia, some of we heathens began our long residence in the closet. I always envied my friend with the power and conviction to never get into a closet. He never needed to for he had always known who he was and the gay road was his high road. Some of us strayed down a path of conformity and even various degrees of happiness, then only to find the “honestly real me” before it was too late to live a liberated life.

At the intersection waiting for the “WALK” light I looked down at the curb and gutter to see the rain water and my memories wash down the drain, to wait for another rainy day and maybe the very right man to steal my heart away.

© 28 November 2016

About the Author

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Clothes by Pat Gourley

I really was never much of a clothes person. Growing up on a
farm did not lend itself to high fashion and certainly not in rural Indiana in
the 1950’s. My family could certainly be considered lower middle class even in
the heady economic postwar years and clothing budgets were always tight. Also
attending Catholic grade school and continuing on with the Holy Cross nuns
through high school dress codes if not uniforms were required. I wonder in
hindsight if perhaps my parent’s real motive for insisting on Catholic
education wasn’t that the dress codes really cut down on clothing expenses?
I often did farm chores in the morning before catching the
school bus and the most important thing on my mind was not my regimented
clothes for the day but making sure I did not smell like pig shit going out the
door. As soon as I got to college my hippie days started in earnest and we know
what fashion mavens’ hippies can be.
Thanks to some rather ironic and unfortunate body changes due
to HIV medicines where one wastes extremity fat but seems to pile it on in
one’s mid section viscerally I have become a total fan of scrub pants, which
often come with an elastic waste band. The elastic waistband is one of the
great inventions of modern civilization. 
And nurses bless their hearts have made this the primary mode of work
dress. That has meant for years now that I can live almost 24/7 in relative
comfort. I have in fact incorporated wearing black scrub or chef’s pants to
nearly any social outing I participate in. I do own a few sport jackets but
these most often get paired with a tasteful t-shirt and the subtlest black
scrub pants I can find. T-shirts are of course another modern clothing
invention worthy of praise.
As far as shopping for clothes go I would really rather watch
paint dry. They just need to be baggy and loose fitting and of course comfort
rules always over fashion. This is a fashion statement that also endeared me to
the Radical Fairies. Especially when Harry Hay put out with the first call for
a large national gathering and in that call said something to the effect that
if clothing was to be worn at all it needed to be and I quote “flowing
non-hetero garb”. Since this first Radical Fairie gathering was in southern
Arizona in late summer the nudity won out over even the flowing non-hetero garb.
The opposite option to clothes I suppose is no clothes or
that wonderful word ‘nudity’. This option was truly reinforced for me in my
bathhouse days primarily in the 1970’s. The bathes were such a great gay male
creation. I mean lets all get together in place where clothing is truly frowned
on and actually considered rude. Nudity even if a bit of towel is involved
really does throw all pretexts for why we are here out the window. The lack of
clothes in the bathes really was a great facilitator for the main course if you
will, a great time saver.
The bathes though took a real hit in the mid-1980’s with the
AIDS epidemic beginning to really pick up steam and for me personally they were
no longer a legitimate avenue of play. I did miss the communal nudity with many
other gay men and perhaps that is why I was briefly attracted to a group called
the DAN-D’s, an acronym for “Denver Area Nude Dudes” that described itself as a
“nonsexual, social naturist club” in the early 1990’s. I did though only attend
a couple of their events the most memorable being a nude bowling outing
somewhere up in Northwest metro Denver. Trust me even the most buff individual
can look a bit strange pitching a bowling ball down the alley and jumping for
joy at a strike.

I was though delighted to find the DAN-D’s current web site
and that they seem to be thriving almost 25 years after being founded in 1990.
They actually have an event this evening if anyone might be interested. It is a
nude shopping spree at a local men’s underwear store on Broadway. Clothing
apparently not optional but a purchase does not seem to be required. It is
between 5 and 8 PM and I assume the store will be closed for this “private
event”. There is a modest membership fee to join the DAN-D’s but if you hang
out in front of the store you might be able to tag along in as someone’s guest
for the evening.
© September 2014
About the Author
I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled
by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in
Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an
extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.
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Goofy Tales by Ray S

Ten A.M. and it is getting hot already. Today is a holiday and the Eda M. Fisher Junior High School is closed. I am home alone at our one bedroom studio apartment. Mom and Sylvia are at work even though it is Washington’s Birthday holiday.

I am trying to figure out what I can do with the day besides make up my studio couch bed, clean up the kitchen, and squeeze some fresh Florida orange juice.

Too early to go to the movies at that big theater on Collins Avenue with the funny name, CINIMA, and I am so new to that school I do not know anyone to pal around with.

Instead of getting dressed for school, I just put on my bathing trunks, and with that, the idea surfaced that it could be interesting to investigate the roof top deck of this modest two-story apartment. I could check out the hot water solar heat apparatus; see what the place is like where I’d heard people went to sun bathe.

The more I thought about this adventure the more possibilities crept into my imagination. What if I decided to take a sunbath and if no one was around why not risk being discovered doing so nude? What a wickedly wonderful thought for a lonely 14-year-old boy whose thoughts were now soaring into unknown territory. I couldn’t understand why the idea of being discovered by another like-minded but older man came into my head.

Up the stairs, beach towel in hand, and on to the threshold of the unknown. The rooftop was divided into an area of solar heat water pipes and then a space with a privacy fence and benches all around for socializing and sun bathing. Quite nice and a degree of privacy.

Anticipation, being the dominant emotion, the thrill of doing something forbidden, the possibility of discovery and whatever would or could follow, seemed to move me magically into some other world.

Beach towel in place on the deck in a seemingly remote corner, I dared to slip out of my trunks and exposed myself to dear old sol and whatever might transpire. I became aware that all of this activity was causing a pleasant feeling of arousal, and as I lay there with my eyes closed basking in the warmth of the sun, my hand helped with this newfound feeling of well-being. The day was off to a good start.

“Hey, Kid! What are you doing?” The jarring voice of a would be teen Venus standing over me in the altogether called. When I came to my senses I was confronted with, “that’s what girls looked like without clothes.” It certainly wasn’t anything like the showers at boys gym class.

If in retrospect I had any knowledge of a Botticelli nude–female, that is–this specter looming over my prone body would have fit the bill. She knelt down beside me and whispered, “Here, let me show you what we can do with that.”

Perhaps 15 minutes later Venus was joined by a boyfriend. I imagined his name was David. They spread their towels on the deck, he slipped out of his bathing suit and suddenly the spirit of Eros overcame me again.

It was at this moment I realized that I could and would wait for my David to come and carry me away to somewhere where the gods know how to play anyway they want to, and Venus, lovely as she is, could climb back into her clam shell.

© 23 February 2013




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Nudity: A Story Noir by Ricky

In the Naked
City, there are many stories; this is mine.

     This particular topic caused me some difficulty in finding memory points from which to start. One of the problems facing me on this issue is that whatever I write might be quite revealing. So when one strips down the topic to its underlying components, there remains nothing hidden from public or private contemplation of the sum total of the subject so disclothed.

     Fortunately, some things cannot be bared in this life. The detailed workings of human thoughts are not displayed for all to see but, the results of those thoughts can be a strong indicator of what those thoughts were. Thus, allowing any witnesses to the activities viewed to speculate on the thoughts that prompted the actions; essentially the actions become a window in which thoughts are laid bare. Hence, we can easily detect (or at least infer) naked: greed, fear, display, lust, hatred, desire, power, and jealousy in others. Ironically, our language usage does not allow the terms naked: joy, happiness, intelligence, strength, or love and beauty (except in the context of pornography). The concept of nudity is generally associated with societal negativism and so the social majority perceives or associates nudity with something undesirable, dirty, nasty, and perverse.

     It would not be fair or accurate to blame organized religions for the negative view of nudity considering the hundreds of years of art featuring nude statues of men, boys, women, and girls that exist (or existed) in many religious and public parks and buildings. In addition, the palaces of monarchs and museums contain many paintings, statues, and carvings that are not only art, but also interpreted by some of our era as being erotic, highly erotic, or even pornographic. So it is not the fault of organized religions of this attitude towards the pubic display of the human body, but the fault of the individuals who rose to positions of power within those organizations who promoted their idea of morality and decency contrary to centuries of acceptance. 

     People change the concepts and attitudes in societies, not the organization itself. Organizations and governments cannot do anything of themselves. The people in leadership and bureaucratic positions within those entities cause acts of liberation or oppression—people thinking something and then causing their thoughts to become doctrine or law which then result in actions of change. In other words, people cause the problems not organizations; just like, “Guns don’t kill people. People kill people.”

     In my babyhood, it was somewhat customary for a baby to have a bare-skin rug photograph taken. Mine is in my baby-book. In today’s paranoia, anyone possessing or taking such pictures could easily be charged with child pornography depending upon the intelligence (or lack thereof) of the district attorney.

     So, enough fluff; here is my revealing account—take notes for there will be a test at the end.

     From birth to age 1, I was fairly presentable at all times, however, once I learned to dress (or more accurately undress) myself, I enjoyed baring my soul and body around the house and even outside sometimes, if mom wasn’t watching me close enough. Obviously being in my birthday suit at bath time was a given and strangely enough, quite enjoyable. But, being bare for the frequent application of pain to my backside (for disciplinary purposes) was definitely not enjoyable, (I was a slow learner of obedience).

     After a fateful spanking when I was 4 or 5, my parents could not easily get me to remove my clothing for any reason as I was so afraid of another such spanking. Ironically, I had no reservations about trying to see others in a state of undress. I did not begin to “grow out of” that fearful frame of mind until I entered puberty at age 9 ½.

     Right after turning 10 my father took me to visit his brother and my cousins in Washington State. My uncle had a steam bath in his back yard and one evening one of his adult friends, my father, my two cousins, and I took one. It was my first time being naked (not nude) in front of a group of males. I was shy because of the adults (and that spanking) and mostly kept myself covered up. The adults didn’t bother to cover and neither did my younger cousins (who mostly pranced around) — I was so self-repressed, but I did do a lot of peeking.

     It wasn’t until I turned 11 that my next very significant disclothing event occurred with full intent and purpose. That was the summer I learned how nudity affected the process of reproduction (while being naked with my instructor) after which a neighborhood girl and I decided to try it. Fortunately for us (or unfortunately depending upon your moral code or at least point of view) she said that my slight penetration was painful, so being a “gentleman” (howbeit a nasty one) I quit trying.

     From that time on until I was 21, all my naked comings and goings were with my peers (except when at 16 my father added himself to my group of playmates. He was only involved with me and not my other friends.) In high school gym, the mandatory gang shower after class resulted in many naked boys successfully avoiding embarrassing erections while showering, all the while sneaking peeks at each other’s nude equipment. At the time, I was the only boy in my gym class (all four years) who was not circumcised, so I was constantly catching careless boys looking at me. At 21 years, two female peers introduced me into the “Joy of Totally Naked Sex Club”, which I thoroughly enjoyed, but still missed male with male oral action. When I got married at age 25, there followed many years (27years and 9 months) of much nudity.

     After my wife passed away, I discovered a place a little NW of Boulder where men could be naked out in the woods without harassment. I also went several times to a hot springs once owned by a nudist club south of Colorado Springs originally named “The Well” but now known as Dakota Hot Springs.

     This is my story from the Naked City and I certify that it is the truth, the whole nude truth, and nothing but the naked truth.

© 11 April 2011


About the Author


Emerald Bay, Lake Tahoe, CA

Ricky was born in June of 1948 in downtown Los Angeles. He lived first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach both suburbs of LA. Just prior to turning 8 years old, he was sent to live with his grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years while his parents obtained a divorce; unknown to him.

When united with his mother and stepfather in 1958, he lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, he moved to Denver, Colorado where he lived with his wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after 9-11.

He came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. He says, “I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.”

Ricky’s story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.