Going Au Naturel: Why I Enjoy Nude Swimming

In the early 1970s, during my senior year in college, my lesbian friend Joan invited me to a nudist camp outside New Orleans. Her friend Ron would drive us. "Sure," I said. I thought it sounded interesting — not totally comfortable, but worth a try.

The next Sunday morning, as we drove through the city streets in Ron's battered VW, he told us what to expect at the camp. Looking out the back-seat window at the classic New Orleans shotgun houses, I said, "You know, I think the hard part for me will be taking my clothes off when we get there. That feels awkward."

"Maybe I'll just take them off now," I went on. "Get it over with." As I pulled my T-shirt off, Joan said, "I see what you mean. I'm going to do that too." And she proceeded to disrobe.

A few minutes later, when Ron stopped at a traffic light, I saw the driver in the next lane glancing at us with a funny look on his face. It must have looked odd, seeing two nude women in a car with a clothed male driver.

But my decision was a good one, because indeed, it was easier to start off naked. I climbed out of the car, and there I was — take it or leave it. Not that I didn't have moments of self-consciousness during the day: with my pillowy breasts and thickish waist, I felt far from the idealized image of a woman's body. But as the day went on, I noticed that very few people had perfect bodies, and my sense of awkwardness gradually faded.

I never went back to the camp, but a few months later, after graduating, I moved to the West Coast, where I discovered nude beaches. I loved the silky, sensuous feeling of water caressing my skin, untrapped by a synthetic bathing suit. Swimming naked was a psychological cocktail, both exhilarating and calming. No filter — just the water and me.

When I met my husband, Barry, it became even more fun, and 50 years later, we still seek out opportunities at beaches, rivers, lakes and waterfalls. We bring our bathing suits, but avoid using them if possible. Over the years we've become experts at shimmying out of our clothes quickly and slipping into the water. Speed is key: the faster you are, the less people notice.

A side benefit of swimming nude is that it saves the hassle of getting in and out of a sticky bathing suit, rinsing and drying. Nude swimming is so sensual, practical and simple, I'm amazed more folks don't do it.

No matter how discreet we are, though, we've learned that some people plain don't like it — so strongly that even now, in our 70s and 80s, they report us to the police. A few summers ago, for example, my extended stepfamily of about 20 adults gathered for several days, camping at a recreation area near the Appalachian Trail in New Jersey.

One morning just before lunch, Barry and I decided to have a quick dip at the nearby boat ramp. The place was empty except for a couple setting off in their boat with their young daughter, who looked about 5. "New motor, my wife's birthday present to me!" the guy said, grinning. We chatted with them, admiring their boat and describing the sailboat we'd once owned.

A few moments later, I said, "Would you mind if we had a quick dip without our bathing suits?"
 
"Yeah, just give us a few minutes and we'll be out on the lake," said the man.

"Sure," I said. When the boat was almost out of sight, we slipped out of our clothes and enjoyed the cool, refreshing water. Then we got out, dressed and joined the family for lunch.

A couple of hours later, while Barry was taking a nap and I was swimming across the lake with my stepbrother, three peace officers drove up in separate vehicles to the lake, asking people if they'd seen an older couple swimming nude. Evidently a complaint had been filed.

From the water I watched them standing around, scanning the scene. Our family members immediately guessed it was probably us, but everyone kept their mouths zipped. If they hadn't, we might have received a warning or been fined for indecent exposure. What a use of resources – three armed police officers in three vehicles, driving to a remote lake to search for a couple older than most grandparents, enjoying a brief nude dip in the water.

Another time, we were camping in our van on the Oregon coast with my cousin and her husband. While she and I cooked dinner, Barry changed into his pants after kayaking. He was wrapped in a towel and facing the van, but as he changed, the towel slipped and he briefly exposed his butt. It wouldn't have been a problem, except that just at that moment a woman driving an SUV with an adolescent girl in the passenger seat happened to see him, and shouted an expletive at him.

Ten minutes later a cop arrived and explained apologetically that he was required to follow up when a complaint was made. 

I'm not a nudist evangelist. I'm fine if people want to wear bathing suits, and if others are around, I usually wear one, too, though I much prefer the unbuffered feeling of swimming naked. I sometimes wonder whatever happened to my fellow baby boomers, those exuberant free spirited folks who watched the nude scenes in "Hair."

The most frequent reason cited for the cultural modesty — or prudishness — common in the United States is our Puritan origins. But as I've aged, it seems to me that more Americans associate nudity with the darker side of sexuality — danger, exhibitionism and voyeurism — unlike in northern and eastern Europe, where clothing-optional beaches abound and nakedness isn't seen as necessarily sexual, let alone shameful. It's just neutral.

I feel for the teenage girl who witnessed her mom swearing at Barry, implying something criminal about a 75-year-old man's naked body.
 
Unlike that girl, I had a lovely experience of nudity early in life, one that foreshadowed my lighthearted attitude as an adult. One afternoon the summer I was 10, my cousin and I were giggling and splashing around in a lake near our grandmother's home. As we played, we decided to secretly swap bathing suits underwater. Squealing from excitement and a sense of mischief, I tugged mine off under the surface, and to my shock suddenly felt almost skinless — as light and buoyant as a leaf.

More than 60 years later, I experience that same childlike playfulness when I swim naked today — tingling, gurgling, laughing and at one with the water.