I like you so much better when you’re naked!

The day has finally come.

I’ve tantalized you with tales of my nude adventures.

I’ve teased newcomers with my “I Do Nude” category label.

I’ve even shown you Dave’s snail.

Plus, I’ve dropped a few pounds, and, as I know from previous experience, those pounds could come back at any second, so.

No better time than now.

No reason to put it off.

Today, and today only (well, of course, and all the days that follow as long as my blog is still online which after this post may be numbered):

JD

Does

Nude

0

0

0

DAMNIT, Kanye! We all know The Bloggess has the best naked body of all time; I’m not saying mine is anything special. I just wanted to do nude for my readers this ONE TIME without being interrupted. Geez.

(Stalks off in a naked fury.)

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• Props to Speedcat Hollydale and the numerous others who did it first and did it better. And thanks to dcr for his link to Speedy’s post.
• Apologies to the world.
• A special thanks to my overeager photographer.
• And, yes, I do have boobs. Somewhere.
  

Kanye came from here.

Naked JD came from here. Oh, I’m sorry. Is that link not working? YOU PERVERT!

SEX!

CASINO!

This weekend, Dave and I decided to turn our humble bedroom into a pleasure mecca with Sex Casino, just one of the many awesome and sex-ay games available at your one-stop shop for adult toys: Eden Fantasys (warning: the link takes you to dildos). The folks at Eden Fantasys were kind enough to send me this game to review, because I don’t just do “things.”

I do SEXY things.

We made sure the cats were occupied with a toy of their own . . .

. . . and then we proceeded to check out the contents of the box.

The basic components are: playing cards, sexual favor betting chips, naughty dice, scratch & win lotto cards, and sexy spinner, with which you can play any combo of 25 “outrageously fun bedroom games.”

The cards, which are shaped like large, sexy tongue depressors, say “Have you been serviced?” on one side and “Orgasm Service Station” on the other. So that’s nice to know. Anyway, there are several card games you can play, including strip poker, which we skipped, because Dave was already naked.

The manual is a little overwhelming. The foldout has instructions on both sides.

Gus! You’re supposed to be in the living room!

After we stop giggling and taking pictures of each other’s butts, we get down to business. I mean, sex.

Who doesn’t have sex with their laptop?

“What, you’re gonna write about this WHILE we do it?” Dave asked incredulously.

“I’m just gonna take some notes.”

First we select “Play for Foreplay,” which requires each player to guess the number of chips in the other’s hand. The winner is the recipient of whatever “act” is on the chip(s). “This game can certainly be a real teaser,” promises the manual.

Dave wins the first round. I reveal my chip: “Oral.”

“All right!”

“Let’s play another round.”

“Where’s my oral?”

“We’ll do everything at the end.”

Next up: “Finger Play.”

We automatically begin thumb wrestling.

“Let’s try the naughty dice. We’re not being very sexy here.”

“That’s because you won’t give me my oral.”

“You know, ‘oral’ can refer to several things . . .”

“No! It always means a blow job!”

There’s nothing in the fine print to confirm whether or not “oral” does in fact refer only to blow jobs, so we move on.

Sexy Dice! This game is simple: one die has a sexy verb; the other has a naughty body part. “Game ends when you both can’t take the teasing anymore.”

Examples of possible rolls:

Suck –> Booty

Lick –> Feet

Blow –> Naughty Bits

Massage –> Ears

Kiss –> Neck

Nibble –> Lips

Damn! I get “Lick Feet.” Good thing I trimmed my toenails. Dave plants a dainty kiss on my toe and then rolls a “Suck Booty.” Double damn!

“Did you take a shower?”

I cautiously apply my lips to the meatiest part of his left buttock and begin to suck. I’ll tell you: it’s a little weird suckin’ on a butt. I let go with a loud “PLOP!”

“I gave you a hickey!”

We take a picture.

“Massage Butt.” Dave approaches my butt as if it were a particularly stubborn wad of dough and begins kneading furiously. This feels about as sexy as getting my teeth cleaned.

“Lick Neck.” I scoot around behind Dave to do some licking.

“I can’t feel anything!”

“Well, I’m just doing it with the very tip, like sexy people do.”

“Come on, get some tongue in there.”

I obligingly slap my entire tongue wetly up and down his neck.

“EW! It feels like someone just smeared me with a gluestick.”

SEXY!

Next we try the sexy spinner, which commands us to “Tickle Hot Spots. “

Neither of us likes being tickled, and we can’t figure out if “hot spots” are synonymous with naughty bits or with ticklish bits. Other options on the spinner include “Lick All Over” (PASS!), “Strip Tease” (already naked), “Talk Naughty” (BWAH!), and “Nibble Earlobe” (yuck).

The funnest game was the Scratch & Win Lotto cards. “You will reveal a sexy surprise waiting to be played out. The fun of these games is that you just don’t know what you will be asked to do!”

What: Quickie

Where: In the Kitchen. Don’t worry about undressing completely, just drop your pants or lift your skirt and have fun getting it on!

How Long: 2 minutes!

Dave: “2 minutes? Well, I am 45, you know.”

JD: “You don’t think you can last 2 minutes?”

Dave: “I don’t think I can get it up in 2 minutes.”

We finish up by trying to toss the dice into each other’s belly button.

“Now what do you want to do?”

“Just have sex?”

“OK.”

Is it over yet?

_____________________________________

Thank you to the folks at Eden Fantasys for letting us play Sex Casino! This was a fun game that resulted in more laughs than sexy moments, but I can assure you: Dave lasted WAY more than 2 minutes, and I finally got the satisfaction that the butt massage failed to provide.

I find a party by the ocean

Thank you to everyone who voted . . . for Dave’s snail! Dave looks pretty pleased with himself, doesn’t he? I hope there aren’t any real snails crawling around there in the sand. Anyway, now that you’ve all taken a GOOD look, won’t you please enjoy these journal excerpts from our Jamaican vacation? (Oh, yes, I really DO write like this in my journal.)

All Women Are Not Created Equal

I think I once blathered on about how the people you see on a nude beach are the people you’d see at Wal-Mart. That was true until the day we saw . . . Candy-Bambi, so named for our fantasy that she must be either a stripper, a Hooters girl, or a prostitute. In fact, she was a very nice woman who just happened to be young and gorgeous and married to an old fat guy. Dave pronounced her perfect, except for the tattoos: one on her butt and one on her lower back. “If only you could just rub them off,” Dave said wistfully. Seemingly minutes after he said this, we saw her husband doing just that: rubbing off her fake tattoos. Dave had to stay in the pool for a long time after that.

All Men Are Not Created Equal

After a few days of looking at naked men, they all start to look the same. Actually, no, they don’t. Take Long Dong Tonto, for example. Why “Long Dong Tonto”? Well, he dressed as Tonto at the fantasy costume party. As for the other part, let’s just say that a snail would be totally inadequate. Maybe an eel. A giant mutant eel.

Nudists Have Manners, Too

Sometimes I take a big mouthful of coffee and promptly choke on it, spitting it all over my keyboard. Annoying. This happened while I was on the beach one morning, looking out at the ocean. I’m just going to pretend those people sitting behind me didn’t see me spluttering and spitting coffee all over the beach and then walking purposefully away. Well, what was I supposed to do?

“What famous 1970s actor . . .”

I fully expected to win the poolside movie trivia contest. “Where did two lovers plan to meet . . . ” “EMPIRE STATE BUILDING!” “Who played Wyatt . . . “ “KEVIN COSTNER!” “How long did . . . “ “TWO YEARS!” “Where . . .” “WHAT’S EATING GILBERT GRAPE!” But I was counting on Dave to win the sports trivia contest. However, with such answers as “chicken cordon bleu” and “heart surgery,” I took that one home, too. And I WOULD have won the music trivia contest if the guy playing the songs hadn’t been so bone-headed. After playing snippet after snippet of “Dancing in the Streets” (after which everyone in the entire resort and universe yelled “DANCING IN THE STREETS!”) he smugly announced, “Sorry! That was “Sixties Medley.” Argggh.

The World Is Their Litterbox

Two stray cats lived on our resort: Hortense and Buddy. Apparently their job is killing lizards and rats, tho I don’t see how they worked up an appetite for vermin after the platefuls of chicken and fish they were given by the guests at lunch. “I wonder where they go to the bathroom?” “Oh, probably back there in the woods.” As if she’d heard us, Hortense showed up at our patio later that day. After meowing loudly, she headed across the lawn to the beach and began to . . . dig. Of course. The beautiful sandy beach we’d walked over barefoot so many times. She  covered it up and proceeded to climb a palm tree.  Aw. Just like our cats. I wore sandals on the beach from that point on.

One Cool Day

I succumbed (gladly) to wearing clothes on the one day that was cloudy and cool. Dave remained nude for as long as possible, then reluctantly put on his Lablatt Blue fleece pullover . . . and nothing else. Walking around bottomless isn’t such a good look for most men. When it started to rain, Dave added to his already fetching ensemble the sheer plastic rain poncho he’d gotten at Niagara Falls. The thin plastic had the unfortunate effect of clinging to his exposed region, which . . . I don’t even know how to complete this sentence. Just go back and look at the snail. We’ll all feel better.

“I’m Sorry, But I Have to Say . . .”

I love to create a playlist for each vacation and have my iPod shuffle me up some tunes for the day. The first song of the first day of vacation is the most important—it sets the tone for the entire trip. Would it be “Lovely Day” by Bill Withers? “Sunshower” by Ocean Blue? “Montego Bay” by Bobby Bloom? The first song of my Jamaican vacation? Buckcherry’s “Too Drunk to F*ck.” Hmmm.

Bats Are NOT Mythical Creatures

I got up early enough most mornings to be terrorized by bats. I’d dash to the clubhouse for my coffee as they wheeled and swooped overhead, occasionally getting close enough to almost touch my hair. I told Dave about the bats, but he seemed skeptical. “How do you know they’re not birds?” Why are people so reluctant to believe in bats? They’re not actually vampires, you know. Bats live among us!

Pedi-Pain

Here’s a tip: don’t develop a blister one hour before a pedicure. Especially if that blister plans to burst. Even if you make it through the clipping, the sloughing, and the buffing, the pouring of nail polish remover over the tender, exposed skin of your blister will cause you to scream profanities, which doesn’t go over well among the nice Jamaican manicurists.

Naked Milestones

Into every naked vacationer’s life come naked milestones. On this trip, it was to be the Naked Inauguration. The televised ceremony was shown in the clubhouse and was probably the only thing that could drag me inside, away from the sun. As we watched, I liked to imagine that, among the shots of the people in Selma and Kenya, there would flash on the screen a shot of a bunch of naked people with champagne and sunburns, with the caption: “Nudists Forego Sun to Watch Inauguration.” This would coincide Obama saying: “It has not been the path for . . . those who prefer leisure over work.”

Beach Nap

If you’re going to fall asleep on the beach, ask your husband to take his emtpy glasses with him when he deserts you to go swimming. That way, when the beach waitress wakes you up to ask if “you’re OK, darling,” that tableful of empties doesn’t make you look like such a derelict. (Although the drooling and disorientation are your own damn responsibility).

“And then Edward stepped out from the trees . . .”

Every woman on the beach, at the pool, on the patio, at the breakfast table . . . ALL of them clutched a certain black-covered book. Yes, even me. No wonder I was so afraid of bats.

Someone’s Reading this Blog

The buffet counter at the Naked Pool Lunch has been moved to higher ground! The food is now placed at chest level to alleviate the chances of doodle dipping. (Thank god. I’d hate to spoon up some Thousand Island dressing for my French Fry Salad after Long Dong Tonto had been there.)  Guests are still asked to cover their unmentionables before eating, which, according to some online forums is a matter of contention. According to one angry nudist: “If I want to cover up, I’ll stay on the prude side. I certainly don’t drag my genitals over the food.” Gross! I think “genital dragging” is much less appetizing than “doodle dipping,” don’t you?

___________________

I hope these journal entries helped you feel that you were right there with us: relaxed, naked, running from bats, and spitting coffee on the beach. If you’re still not feeling the vibe, take off your pants, drink a Red Stripe, and watch the Inauguration on YouTube. Everyone should have at least one naked milestone in their lives.

You just took for granted that I want to skinny dip

YES! We went back. Remember when Dave and I went to this fabulous Indiana nudist resort last summer? And a bunch of irate but very nice nudists bombarded my site with comments defending it? And I promised to return and be less judgmental?

Well, I think the nudists will be happy and my readers will be disappointed.

There really wasn’t anything to be judgmental about. It was a lovely day, the water was perfect, and the people, like last time, were very nice.

We did not go back to the snack bar. Dave dared me, and I was willing, but when he said he’d probably just get a cookie, I was terrified I wouldn’t get any lunch. So we stopped at Subway. Were those clothed men still sitting at the table in the snack bar trailer? We’ll just have to assume they were.

Last time our visit coincided with a bevy of clothed male workers taking down the platforms from the Nudes-a-Poppin’ (NSFW!) show. Many patient nudists wrote to explain that this type of work goes on during resort hours because only members (nudists) are available to help. On this visit, they were setting up for the show, which meant more clothed guys. (Dave remarked, “These aren’t members, they’re just dudes!”) But regardless, the workers and staff were exceptionally nice and helpful.

So what can I get judgmental about? Don’t worry; there’s always something. Let me think . . . I know! The sun was too hot! Can’t they control that? Don’t nudists have some sort of special pact with the sun? Tone it down, up there. We’re NAKED!

For putting up with all the nudity, won’t you please participate in a clothing-optional quiz? The first commenter to guess the correct answer will receive a fabulous prize package (described below).

THIS JUST IN! WE HAVE A WINNER! Kathy from The Junk Drawer correctly guessed “scalp.” I’d love to include a picture as proof, but I don’t want anyone to see my female pattern baldness. Congratulations, Kathy! Please claim your prize!

Clothing-Optional Quiz

Which part of JD’s nude body got sunburned?

1. ears
2. tops of feet
3. upper lady parts
4. lower lady parts
5. neck
6. butt
7. scalp
8. nose
9. right shoulder blade
10. kneepit

Fabulous Prize Package

This handy kit, created exclusively by JD, can be used for your next nude outing or any place you may be forced to use a port-a-john:

• JD’s Butt Spider Spray
• JD’s Butt Sanitizer
• JD’s Butt Protector

Since the Butt Spider Spray is half-used and the Butt Protector is only a piece of tin foil with a rip in the center, the lucky winner MAY exchange this prize package for one (1) of the following:

• 500 EntreCard points
• An autographed photo of Gus
• A copy of Star magazine’s “Celebrities without Makeup” issue

Stay tuned for more nude and un-nude adventures!

For those of you who never even knew that I visited the Ponderosa Sun Club (PSC) in the first place, this re-post is for you.

The suddenly popular “I Went to the Ponderosa Sun Club” post, originally published on 9-12-07, tells of Dave’s and my visit to a nudist resort last summer. But the real story is revealed in the comments generated recently by a flock of passionate nudists, all of whom I’m happy to welcome to the sometimes nude world of I Do Things.

I urge you to set aside a few months and read some of the comments. Join the discussion. Should I have been so sensitive about my big, naked butt? Were we wrong to order the hot dogs? Why is Dave called Sky Dog? Would you ever visit such a resort?

This re-post serves as my official announcement: I’m going back. Sky Dog and I will visit PSC this summer AFTER the Nudes-a-Poppin’ show is well out of the way, when the water is warmer, and when the people are nakeder.

And, yes, we’re going to the snack bar.

Stay tuned to hear all about it.

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I wanna be a nudist
And live by the sea

Photo courtesy of Free Images

I am not a nudist. But I’ve been on three nude beach adventures, twice at resorts in Jamaica and once at Haulover Beach in Miami. For me to be nude in public there must be

a beach or pool
total strangers
no clothed people
no bowling

But this summer we decided to try out something a little closer to home.

The Ponderosa Sun Club (sort of not safe for work) in Roselawn, Indiana, sounds innocuous enough until you find out they’re famous for their “Nudes-a-Poppin” (definitely not safe for work) pageants.

But when the nudes aren’t a-poppin’, the club is a family-friendly resort for naturalists of all kinds. As I said, my husband and I don’t consider ourselves naturalists, but we do love a good nude swim. And I know it’s sort of cancer-y, but I love getting an all-over tan. It may be an optical illusion, but I’m pretty sure my stomach looks flatter when it’s tan.

We pulled into Ponderosa’s driveway past the sign that, instead of reading “Abandon Clothes, All Ye Who Enter Here,” simply had the club’s name and the silhouette of a presumably naked couple against a sun. We checked in at the front desk, paid our $35 day visit fee, and looked at the brochure.

“Bare in mind, you are not at a show, you are here to be a nudist.” I hoped “Bare” was on purpose (a bad pun is always more acceptable than a spelling error), but you never know. We also learned that you can get kicked out for gawking (good thing I brought my mirror sunglasses!) or driving around in your car.

As we drove around, gawking, we passed some naked tennis players (Guys? Naked except for a baggy T-shirt? Not a good look), a naked woman fishing, a naked volleyball game. All naked, all tan. Dave asked plaintively, “Are we always going to be the whitest?” “Well, they’ve been doing this for a while.” “Yeah, but doesn’t anyone just . . . start?” He was quickly distracted by a naked couple tooling past in a golf cart.

The Ponderosa is on 88 acres of really pretty woods, with campers, cottages, tennis courts, and other recreational buildings surrounding the large pool area. The pool looked great, but the water was freezing. A very large woman noted, “It’ll feel better after I’ve stood around and sweated.” Um, yeah, maybe.

On the Ponderosa’s Web site, they repeat that “NO clothing is permitted in the swimming pool area” and “Clothing is NOT optional” about 100 times. This turned out to be a big lie. Not only were a few of the pool loungers fully or partially clothed, there were several burly college-age guys—clothed!—removing the platforms and other stuff from the previous weekend’s Nudes-a-Poppin show. VERY uncomfortable. At one point, I was sitting on the edge of the pool, and from behind me I heard a male voice: “The water can’t be too cold if you’re sittin’ there.” I turned around, and . . . Fully Clothed Guy! Arrrgggh.

But this was just a taste of the horrifying discomfort to come.

While the overall experience was fun, relaxing, and people were friendly and respectful, I do have to warn any prospective guests about the snack bar.

At the end of the pool area sits a trailer, and inside that trailer is the snack bar. Now, most of you have in your minds an image of the typical pool-beach-resort type snack bar: you walk up to a window after perusing a menu board (hot dogs, chips, ice cream bars, etc.), and tell the nice man behind the window what you want. Well, get that image out of your minds.We walked into the stuffy trailer only to find ourselves in someone’s home. Like, a normal trailer home with a living area and a kitchen. In the kitchen, a woman was busily preparing something for a customer, and at the other end, two CLOTHED men were sitting at a table.

We were naked.

It was dead quiet.

There was no menu.

We shifted around uneasily, shooting each other looks that said, “This is sooo uncomfortable, but we’ll be laughing about it for the rest of our lives.” The guy in front of us was getting a meatball sandwich and it took FORever. When it was our turn, we asked what was available. Lots of stuff, it turns out, but we opted for hot dogs, figuring they’d be fast. They weren’t. The nice woman took one hot dog and put it in the microwave (Put them both in together! I screamed in my mind). Meanwhile the guys at the table behind us said nothing. My butt never felt so big. The microwave ticked away. We looked at the ceiling, at our feet, at the door in desperation . . . we were never getting out of there.

After what seemed like several days, we got our hot dogs and ran. I vowed never to return. To the snack bar, that is. A tan stomach is too much of a temptation.

If you want to visit the “PSC” (as we nudists call it):

• Bring your own chair and a towel. And for God’s sake, bring your own food. There’s a Subway not far from the club.
• Men, erections are not tolerated.
• Ladies, go ahead and bring a sarong, cover-up, or a pair of shorts into the pool area. THEY CAN’T MAKE YOU BE NAKED!

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For more of my nude adventures, please check out:

• I Went to a Nude Beach
• I Am At This Moment Lying on a Nude Beach
• I Have a Suntanned Butt
• I Put My Clothes Back On

And if you’re sick and tired of my nude adventures, may I suggest:

• I Saw Viggo Mortensen Naked

Underneath my clothes
There’s an endless story

Yes, I’m fully covered. All you squeamish readers can come on back. The nudity is gone, covered up with underwear, pants, shirts, sweaters, coats, scarves, gloves, hats, and hoods. But underneath all those layers remains the most awesome tan ever.

I wish you could see it. Specifically, I wish you could see my butt. It is nothing less than majestic.

I showed up for Zumba the Monday after our return wearing as little as possible. Jaws dropped. Oh, am I wearing white? Well, it’s laundry day. These shorts? They must’ve shrunk. I was sorely tempted to use a fast merengue as an excuse to whip off my clothes, so that the true glory of my tan would be revealed. But then, a lot of other stuff, best left covered, would have been revealed too. More jaws would’ve dropped, and not in the good way.

But! You can’t get an all-over tan without being all-over nude. And as I said in a previous post, all-over nudity does have its hazards.

The Nude Buffet

I gave in this year and joined Dave at the lunch buffet set up at the nude pool. Eating in the nude is not that bad. Keep your eyes on your plate and you’ll be fine. In fact, after spilling barbecue sauce on my favorite white shirt, eating nude does have its perks. Anyway, everyone was asked to bring a towel to lunch, tho it was never made clear whether the towel was just for sitting on (cuz, like, people were planting their naked butts everywhere else, so why would it matter now?) or to wrap around their lower halves to prevent . . .

. . . doodle dipping. I can think of no better way to say it. I was standing in the buffet line next to a guy that kinda looked like Tom Skerritt only naked. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that his . . . appendage was dangling dangerously close to a bowl of butter pats. I held my breath as he bobbed and dipped—never quite touching but coming oh so close. “Don’t eat the butter,” I hissed to Dave. After that, I was wary of all penis-level food at the buffet.

Nude Lock-Out

Did you know your iPod can deactivate your hotel room keycard?

I still don’t understand how my iPod could also have deactivated Dave’s keycard, which was sitting innocently in his shoe the whole time, but regardless, I could not get into our room with either card. And I was naked.

I found Dave at the swim-up bar and explained our dilemma.

“Are you sure you had the right room?”

I would have given him a hard look, but in fact, both of us had almost stumbled into the wrong room twice.

“Yes,” I said through clenched teeth. “I could see all my pill bottles on the dresser. We’re locked out! Naked! We’re going to have to walk to the front desk! Naked!”

(Now, it wasn’t that bad. There were towels. But wouldn’t it have been funny if there hadn’t been?)

Anyway, Naked Dave took control.

“I’m sure I’ll have better luck with the keys,” he said, masculinely.

He did not.

“Are you sure you had the right room?” I couldn’t help asking.

We wrapped ourselves in towels and walked to the “textile,” or “prude” side to find a manager type. Now, Dave and me, naked in towels: I look pretty nondescript. Had I been naked, well, there might’ve been at least one identifying feature. Dave, however, is tall, pale, skinny, and bald-ish. When the nice manager said he’d come find us at the pool with our new keys, I KNEW he’d be looking for Dave, who had retreated back to the swim-up bar. Sure enough, I saw the manager a little while later, scanning the pool area. I waved. Nothing. I walked up to him. Nothing. I put my towel back on. Nothing. Finally I said, “I’m the one that needed new keys.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said doubtfully.

“You were looking for a tall, pale, skinny, bald guy, right?”

“Yeah!!!”

In Summary

Was all of this worth an all-over tan? After that Zumba class, I actually took a shower at the Y, something I NEVER do. But just this once, I strolled slowly through the locker room, letting as many women see that, yes, it’s ALL tan. For that one day of admiring, envious glances, it was indeed worth putting up with dicks in butter and getting locked naked out of my room.

Yo, I’m back!

And I’m really not too unhappy about it. Re-entry can be difficult, especially coming from sunny, 80′s, lazy, nude to cloudy, cold, work, clothes. Two years ago, when we returned from Jamaica, I literally had to take to my bed for a week. I just couldn’t deal with anything. This year, tho. I’m dealing. In fact, I’m pretty damn busy with work. So, until I have time to bring you the quality writing you deserve, here’s a bunch of sentences.

Highlights of My Nude Resort Vacation (not all necessarily having to do with nudism)

• I saw 3 shooting stars.
• I didn’t gain any weight (despite eating 17 desserts at each meal).
• We got locked out of our room—NAKED!
• I did not do Nude Yoga.
• I did do Nude Aquacize.
• I enjoyed awesome quality time with Dave.
• I did not need my Vicodin!
• I did need my new muscle relaxers (after trying to lift a beach chair) and they are quite effective!
• I celebrated my birthday with a massage and dinner at the fancy French restaurant, where we were served sorbet that tasted like medicine and Dave observed that the decor reminded him of a funeral parlor.
• I tried to snorkel but was too chicken EVEN WITH A RAFT to go in the deeper water. I was also too afraid to breathe through the mouthpiece, so I just held my breath and dipped my head under for 10 seconds. Lame.
• I found a crab and named him Crabby. I found a shell that started moving after I added it to my collection. I named it Shell and returned it to the beach.
• We got so lazy we stopped using consonants.
• I drank! Strawberry daquiris, rum punch, and wine with dinner.

If You Want to Visit a Nude Resort:

• Men, don’t be afraid to touch your nipples. They need sunscreen, too.
• If you’re eating at a buffet, for God’s sake, avoid any uncovered food at penis-level. I watched with great alarm as a guy unknowingly dangled his doodle into the butter.
• If it rains, who cares? You’re naked!

Take me back to the place that I know
On the beach

“This time next week, it’s a pretty good bet I won’t be wearing pants.”

The context in which this quote was uttered by Dave is irrelevant. All you need to know is that he’s referring to our vacation to Jamaica and the—

Oh, wait. I totally have to share the context. We were just settling down in our favorite back-row seats at the theater to watch No Time for Grumpy Old Men, or whatever it’s called. Dave wondered if anyone would notice if he took off his shoes. Because I’m eight, I wondered if anyone would notice if I took off my pants. This quite naturally led to Dave’s pants-removal prediction.

What the hell is all this leading up to? Quite simply, by the time you read this post, I won’t be wearing any pants. I won’t be wearing ANYthing, because the resort we’re staying at has a “nudist” side and a “prudist” side. And let me tell you: We ain’t no stinkin’ prudists. The main part of the resort is clothing-mandatory, as is the prudist side. But on our side, it’s all nude, baby: nude beach, nude pool, nude walkways, nude hotel rooms and stairways, nude balconies and patios, nude poolside lunch, and nude water aerobics.

Nude! It’s not just for bath time anymore!

I have to stress: we’re not nudists. We just like hanging out nude sometimes . . . in public . . . with other nude people. What distinguishes us from nudists is that this is not a lifestyle. It’s a vacation. We don’t play nude volleyball or hang out at trailer camps with nude families. Swimming nude is fun. Eating barbecue nude is not.

We went to this resort last year, and it was a lot of fun. But I do plan to do a few things differently this year:

• I plan to drink! Last year, I didn’t drink, partly because I’m just not much of a drinker, but also because I was loaded up with Vicodin for a sore tooth.
• I won’t have a sore tooth this year, so I will not be taking Vicodin . . . for tooth pain. I’m still bringing Vicodin, because what if I stub my toe—or worse? Nudism can be dangerous.
• I am testing out my new flip-flops before I go. Last time, my brand-new flip-flops wore a bloody groove between my big toe and second toe, and since all I’d brought were flip flops, I was forced to hobble around wearing only socks. Yes, nude and wearing socks. It’s not as sexy as it sounds.
• I plan to wear clothes! I know, we’re staying on the nudist side of the resort, but last year I did feel a smidge self-conscious walking around naked everywhere. They don’t force you to be nude, and if you don’t already know this: Nothing feels better than pulling on a pair of underpants after a long, hard day of nudism.
• I am taking the Nude Yoga class. And I’m making Dave go with me. Have you ever tried this pose in the nude? No? Me neither.
• One thing I definitely plan to repeat is the nude beach massage. Get this: you’re nude (tho covered with a towel) on a beach getting a massage. Palm trees overhead, the sound of surf nearby, perhaps a dacquiri within arm’s reach . . . if someone could feed me chocolate donuts through the face-hole thing, I could lie there forever. I wouldn’t need anything else. Oh, except a catheter.

Have a great week everyone!

If you want to do nude from the comfort of your home:

• Join us at Grand Lido Braco (pants optional)
• Ask some questions and get some answers about nudism
• Read about our other nude adventures here and here

I wanna be a nudist
And live by the sea *

Photo courtesy of Free Images

I am not a nudist. But I’ve been on three nude beach adventures, twice at resorts in Jamaica and once at Haulover Beach in Miami. For me to be nude in public there must be

a beach or pool
total strangers
no clothed people
no bowling

But this summer we decided to try out something a little closer to home.

The Ponderosa Sun Club (sort of not safe for work) in Roselawn, Indiana, sounds innocuous enough until you find out they’re famous for their “Nudes-a-Poppin” (definitely not safe for work) pageants.

But when the nudes aren’t a-poppin’, the club is a family-friendly resort for naturalists of all kinds. As I said, my husband and I don’t consider ourselves naturalists, but we do love a good nude swim. And I know it’s sort of cancer-y, but I love getting an all-over tan. It may be an optical illusion, but I’m pretty sure my stomach looks flatter when it’s tan.

We pulled into Ponderosa’s driveway past the sign that, instead of reading “Abandon Clothes, All Ye Who Enter Here,” simply had the club’s name and the silhouette of a presumably naked couple against a sun. We checked in at the front desk, paid our $35 day visit fee, and looked at the brochure.

“Bare in mind, you are not at a show, you are here to be a nudist.” I hoped “Bare” was on purpose (a bad pun is always more acceptable than a spelling error), but you never know. We also learned that you can get kicked out for gawking (good thing I brought my mirror sunglasses!) or driving around in your car.

As we drove around, gawking, we passed some naked tennis players (Guys? Naked except for a baggy T-shirt? Not a good look), a naked woman fishing, a naked volleyball game. All naked, all tan. Dave asked plaintively, “Are we always going to be the whitest?” “Well, they’ve been doing this for a while.” “Yeah, but doesn’t anyone just . . . start?” He was quickly distracted by a naked couple tooling past in a golf cart.

The Ponderosa is on 88 acres of really pretty woods, with campers, cottages, tennis courts, and other recreational buildings surrounding the large pool area. The pool looked great, but the water was freezing. A very large woman noted, “It’ll feel better after I’ve stood around and sweated.” Um, yeah, maybe.
On the Ponderosa’s Web site, they repeat that “NO clothing is permitted in the swimming pool area” and “Clothing is NOT optional” about 100 times. This turned out to be a big lie. Not only were a few of the pool loungers fully or partially clothed, there were several burly college-age guys—clothed!—removing the platforms and other stuff from the previous weekend’s Nudes-a-Poppin show. VERY uncomfortable. At one point, I was sitting on the edge of the pool, and from behind me I heard a male voice: “The water can’t be too cold if you’re sittin’ there.” I turned around, and . . . Fully Clothed Guy! Arrrgggh.But this was just a taste of the horrifying discomfort to come.While the overall experience was fun, relaxing, and people were friendly and respectful, I do have to warn any prospective guests about the snack bar.

At the end of the pool area sits a trailer, and inside that trailer is the snack bar. Now, most of you have in your minds an image of the typical pool-beach-resort type snack bar: you walk up to a window after perusing a menu board (hot dogs, chips, ice cream bars, etc.), and tell the nice man behind the window what you want. Well, get that image out of your minds.

We walked into the stuffy trailer only to find ourselves in someone’s home. Like, a normal trailer home with a living area and a kitchen. In the kitchen, a woman was busily preparing something for a customer, and at the other end, two CLOTHED men were sitting at a table.

We were naked.

It was dead quiet.

There was no menu.

We shifted around uneasily, shooting each other looks that said, “This is sooo uncomfortable, but we’ll be laughing about it for the rest of our lives.” The guy in front of us was getting a meatball sandwich and it took FORever. When it was our turn, we asked what was available. Lots of stuff, it turns out, but we opted for hot dogs, figuring they’d be fast. They weren’t. The nice woman took one hot dog and put it in the microwave (Put them both in together! I screamed in my mind). Meanwhile the guys at the table behind us said nothing. My butt never felt so big. The microwave ticked away. We looked at the ceiling, at our feet, at the door in desperation . . . we were never getting out of there.

After what seemed like several days, we got our hot dogs and ran. I vowed never to return. To the snack bar, that is. A tan stomach is too much of a temptation.

If you want to visit the “PSC” (as we nudists call it):

• Bring your own chair and a towel. And for God’s sake, bring your own food. There’s a Subway not far from the club.
• Men, erections are not tolerated.
• Ladies, go ahead and bring a sarong, cover-up, or a pair of shorts into the pool area. THEY CAN’T MAKE YOU BE NAKED!

* Today’s lyrics are courtesy of, erm, Regurgitator!