Since my early teens, I have always adored 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 sofa out of the perspective of any easily offended (or readily titillated) neighbors’ eyes as I stole a couple of minutes whenever I really could get the chance to experience precisely what the summer sun felt like on my naked body
And many late nights, following the remainder of the family had gone to bed, I’d gently slip ito the pool for a skinny dip. It turned out to be a wonderful natural high.
Interestingly enough, I decided to attend school at UC San Diego. During the orientation tour of the campus, the counselor 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 understood right then and there where I ‘d be taking most of my study breaks.
I must say, though, that I experienced what I’d expect is a normal degree of trepidation when faced with a first-time nude beach experience. recall going to the shore a few times, and staying clothed, attempting to decide whether I was “safe”. I saw the beach was huge and spread out such that one could very much maintain a feeling of having “personal space”, at what felt like a comfortable distance from other beach-goers whose motivations for being there might be significantly less than innocent.

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Eventually, the bait of what I had in the back of my head constantly wanted to experience won out, and one day I took my new boogie-board down to shore, and without reluctance lost my swimsuit.
I ran down to the water, still a little nervous, attempting not to make eye contact with the few folks that were nearby. I plunged in the waves, and quickly realized I was having the time of my entire life. I rode the waves for a while, loving , feeling like my body was made for this.
I tired after a little while, and chose to head back up to the seashore. 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 several of the gay men present.
After a moment or two of nervousness, I quickly decided that this was essentially a public place, and going naked was my choice, and that I could not actually stop anyone who wanted to look at me from looking. And that as long as they kept a respectable distance and refrained from outwardly lewd conduct or unwanted advances or harassment, I would merely accept the “eye contact” as a compliment, and think no more of it and enjoy myself.
I was pleased when it turned out that my fellow naked folks behaved exactly as I had figured they’d. And my approach toward the nude encounter is pretty much the same today — taking off my clothes is a choice I make, but I can’t control what you do. Should you like to look, go on and look, but I trust that you won’t harass or otherwise act distastefully.
To this very day, my recollections of my many, many nude trips to that beach are a few of my greatest memories. Recently, I’ve been land locked, so to speak, near Sacramento, but it is always been in the back part of my mind to get back to Black’s. I had also like to look at San Onofre.

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