Since my early teens, I’ve always loved the feeling of swimming and sunning nude.

Our family had a pool in our backyard deep in the heart of suburbia, and I remember wondering whether I had safely positioned the chaise lounge out of the perspective of any easily offended (or easily titillated) neighbors’ eyes as I stole a few minutes whenever I could get the opportunity to experience what the summer sun felt like on my nude body
And several late nights, following the rest of the family had gone to bed, I’d gently slip ito the pool for a skinny dip. It was a fantastic natural high.
Interestingly enough, I decided to attend at UC San Diego. During the orientation tour of the campus, the counsel told us incoming freshmen about nearby Black’s Beach — and expressed some surprise when many of us didn’t know about its staus as one of the best-known nude beaches in the state.
So, I knew right then and there where I ‘d be taking the majority of my study breaks.
I must say, though, that I experienced what I’d expect is a standard degree of trepidation when confronted with a first-time nude beach experience. I remember visiting the beach a few times, and staying clothed, trying to determine whether I was “safe”. I saw that the beach was huge and spread out such that one could very much maintain a feeling of having , at what felt like a comfortable distance from other beachgoers whose reasons for being there might be considerably less than innocent. Eventually, the bait of what I had in the back of my mind constantly desired to experience won out, and one day I took my new boogie-board down to shore, and without hesitation lost my swimsuit.
I rushed down to the water, still a little nervous, attempting not to make eye contact with the few folks that were nearby. I plunged into the waves, and immediately realized I was having the time of my life. I drove the waves for some time, loving the sensation, feeling like my body was made for this.

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I tired after a little while, and decided to head back up to the shore. Feeling more relaxed and assured now, I looked around at a number of the others present. I should probably mention here that I’ve been blessed with some pretty good genes, and I should probably also mention that it was impossible not to see the — well, stares — of lots of the gay men present.
After a moment or two of nervousness, I quickly determined that this was basically a public place, and going nude was my pick, and that I could not actually stop anyone who needed to look at me from looking. And that as long as they kept a respectable distance and refrained from outwardly lewd behaviour or unwanted advances or harassment, I would just accept the “eye contact” as a compliment, and think no more of it and love myself.
I was pleased when it turned out that my fellow nude people acted exactly as I had figured they’d. And my attitude toward the nude encounter is pretty much the same today — taking off my clothing is a choice I make, but I can’t control what you do. If you would like to look, go on and look, but I trust that you just will not harass or otherwise act distastefully.
To this very day, my recollections of my many, many naked trips to that shore are some of my finest memories. In recent years, I Have been land locked, so to speak, near Sacramento, but it is always been in the rear of my head to get back to Black’s. I had also like to look at San Onofre.

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