The Five Year Old Naturist

I was five that summer. The woods were full of kids, running from house to house. The neighbor kids were all boys but I fell behind the pack, pounding along the mossy footpaths lacing the forest. One afternoon I followed my older brother outside. He meet up with his buddies and I was soon forgotten as they engaged in the mysterious art of being boys. The air was stifling and my green polo shirt stuck to my back. While the boys played in a clearing, I climbed a tree to reach cooler air. Easing out on a long branch, I positioned myself about 15 feet over the boys, lazily observing them. Bucky, a kid my age, wiped the sweat from him forehead and pulled off his shirt with a sigh of relief.

I looked down at my sweat-stained polo. In a single movement, I ripped it off and flung it to the ground below. The wind hit my sweat and a delightful tingle went up my back. I closed my eyes and puffed out my chest in relief. Cool air wrapped around my torso and snaked up into my damp armpits. The tiny hairs on my stomach prickled with shock. I took a deep breath and smiled.

"Hey! What are you doing?" My brother startled me out of my reverie. "Put your shirt back on!"
"Why?" I asked, surprised.
"Because you aren't supposed to take it off!"
"But Bucky took his off."
"Girls can't take off their shirts. Come down here and get your shirt on!"
"I don't want to wear it. I'm hot."
"Get down here right now!"

My brother was red with anger and embarrassment. His friends looked at me with dumb grins. Bucky held up my shirt helpfully. I couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. I wrapped my legs tighter around the branch and scowled. "I'm not coming down!" My brother threatened, pleaded and reasoned with me but every word strengthened my resolved to bare my chest. Soon they tired of me and moved on. After I was sure the boys were out of sight, I slid down from the tree and picked up my shirt with distaste. I pulled the shirt over my head and headed home. I knew I had done something wrong but I wasn't sure what. There was a feeling of shame that I couldn't understand. My shirt stayed on for the rest of the summer.

Fast forward twenty years. While hiking through a state park, I accidentally wandered onto a nude beach. Unknown to me, I had discovered Black's Beach while hiking through a State Park in San Deigo. I've since learned that Black's Beach is the largest nude beach in the United States and quite the gathering point for "naturists." I was about 50 yards down the beach before I noticed something amiss. There was something strange about the beach volleyball players. With a gasp, I realized me and my fanny pack were dreadfully out of place. I stopped short to collect myself. 'Just play it cool, Hollywood,' I told myself. 'Keep your eye on the horizon and put one foot in front of the other.'

To walk across the mile long beach meant cutting an hour off my hike back to the hotel and I was already going to be late for our dinner reservation. 'I'm a mature adult. This isn't a big deal.' With a deep breath, I continued walking. I cleared a handful of sunbathing nudists without incident. I was feeling proud of my open-mindedness when a man five feet to my left rose from his towel and raised his arms in a massive stretch skyward. It was impossible not to stare in shock. Losing all care of dignity, I turned and ran back the way I had come, opting to hike back to the hotel over the cliffs. I hoped my excuse for missing dinner would be accepted by my friends.

I miss the five year old me.