One of the places Adrian took me to for weekend getaways when we were dating was Mi Casa near Woodstock, New York. The motto above the door said, Mi Casa Es Su Casa—my house is your house.
The accommodations were simple but clean—nothing memorable about them. The food was very good, I think, but again, I don’t remember much about it. What I do remember is that outdoors around the swimming pool, clothing was optional and the air was always thick with marijuana.
I’m not the kind of person who relaxes easily among strangers, but hanging out at Mi Casa felt comfortable and safe. There was a sense of community among us all, and joints were passed around freely.
One afternoon Adrian and I lay on large towels on the grass, feeling lazy after taking our swim. Along with the joints that day, someone passed around jars of body-paint, and people started to paint their partners’ bodies.
I leapt enthusiastically into this activity, carefully painting a wild design on Adrian’s face, his chest, and then a large arrow pointing to his groin. “Great _____,” I printed in large letters.
A man sitting nearby asked if he could take a photograph of us, and we let him. He said he would mail us a copy, so we gave him our address.
Whenever I come across that old photo, I stare at it and smile.
Of course, you have to put photos like that in a safe place so the children don’t find them.
Adrian and I loved to be nudists wherever we could, even in our own back yard.
Living in the house we had in San Diego was like being on vacation all the time. The swimming pool in the back yard offered enough privacy that we often swam nude, and I have pictures of those times, too.
After our swim we could get dressed and sit on the deck with a glass of wine watching the sun set. That house had privacy and a view.
Lots of family and friends came to visit when we lived in San Diego. Who wouldn’t want to?
We lived in that house for only two years, though. I never could stand long vacations.
One time Adrian and I were driving somewhere in the middle of a dessert when we came across parked cars and people gathered at a watering hole. It was not a large area or an official recreation spot, but there was water and some plants and a number of people were enjoying themselves splashing around without their clothes.
We automatically joined them, but then decided not to stay. This place did not have the good vibrations we’d felt at Mi Casa.
One time we went to a real nudist camp in south Jersey, where you have to sign in and follow the rules and all. We rented a small cabin there.
After the long drive to get there, I was tense and hot and irritable as we brought our stuff in to get settled. But the minute I got all my clothes off, I felt a wave of peace breathe through me.
I don’t know what it is about not wearing clothes, but the tension level just drops automatically. Everyone at the nudist camp was relaxed and friendly, but not overly friendly.
Except for that one couple we met in the pool who wanted to swap mates. I guess you’ll always find a couple like that anywhere you go on vacation.
We didn’t let them spoil our day.
One of the rules at the nudist camp was that you had to remove your clothes when you got there. They didn’t want non-nudists to walk around fully dressed gawking at the rest of us.
When we swam in the lake and sunbathed on a raft out in the middle, some boaters came by to gawk. We gawked back at them.
I don’t remember the food, again, so I guess that part of a vacation is not so important to me. What I remember is how relaxed I felt, and how glad I was to be there with Adrian.
I need to hunt down those secreted photos now.
