Pulling the Trigger

AUTHOR'S NOTE: There is no sex in this story. This is the narrative of my first experience at a nudist resort, which happened recently. Enjoy!

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I drove home from work feeling disappointed. As the sun was rising, a light rain began to tap and dance on my windshield. I had planned on doing something outside today, something to get me out of the routine of working at night and sleeping all day, only to repeat the process again and again. I had missed the sunlight for too long, and it showed; what sun I had darkened my forearms and face. My chest, legs, and back were as pale as milk.

Over the years, I'd developed a distaste for wearing clothing when I didn't need to. I very seldom wore anything more than boxers in my apartment. I was pleased to know that my girlfriend, Anna, felt the same way. When she came home from work, there was generally an explosion of clothing as soon as the door shut, until she was left in her panties or nothing at all. We spent most of our time alone like this. I'd been "allergic to clothes" as I called it for almost ten years, starting when I was 18 and a freshman in college. Anna was a closeted nudist like me, but had little desire to go to a naturist resort. She had always been more conservative and reserved than me, and there was nothing wrong with that. I had never gone naked around anyone I hadn't been romantically attached to, despite the desire; I chickened out every time.

Today, though, I'd planned on changing that, but by the looks of the weather, it seemed to be something I'd have to put off yet again. I parked my car in front of my garage, and trudged up the steps to my second floor apartment. The rain had let up into a fine drizzle, but I didn't get my hopes up. This was Florida, and it had rained so much this year it bordered on incredible, even given Florida's usual high rainfall. As I stepped inside, I followed my routine: I quickly unzipped my boots, kicked them off at the door, and dropped my work clothes into the laundry. I turned on the TV, opened my computer, set my fantasy football lineup, and dicked around on Facebook for a while, as SportsCenter on ESPN started over twice.

After an hour and a half of aimless Facebook browsing, I looked up to the picture window in my living room. Sunlight was beginning to peek through the Venetian blinds. After checking the local radar online, my hope brightened. I might have the chance to go to one of the many local naturist resorts after all. I put on shorts and stepped outside to my covered patio. The clouds in the sky were reminiscent of clouds in the opening theme of The Simpsons, billowing and blindingly white.

Excited now, I ran in to my computer, and began looking up the local naturist resorts. One had daily fees of over a hundred dollars; I immediately scrapped that one. I'm a paramedic, not an anesthesiologist; I can't afford that crap. The other had decent rates for a first visit, but required one to make an appointment before arrival to schedule a tour. Scratch that one. The last I saw was the least expensive of the three, but offered the least in terms of amenities. There was still a pool, hot tub, and sauna, but it looked like the residential portion was mostly trailers and RVs. Twelve bucks was all it took to get in, no appointments needed. I decided to give it a shot. The trailers and RVs didn't bug me too much; I'm a blue collar guy as it is. I tossed a towel, sunscreen and bug repellant in a bag, grabbed my hat and sunglasses, and got properly dressed.

Before I knew it, the 20 minute drive was over, and I had reached the resort. A lady in her mid thirties sat in a gatehouse. "Hi, welcome to Lake Como. How can I help you?" she beamed.

"I'm here to take a tour, please." I replied.

"Awesome! May I see your driver's license, please?" I handed it to her, and she looked it over quickly. "Great, when I raise the gate, hang a left and another left, and find a spot. Come on in and we'll talk further."

I thanked her and drove through. I was a bit apprehensive. Like my girlfriend, I, too had lost some weight, but still had about twenty pounds to go until I was truly happy with myself. Overall, I was in decent shape, but still had a bit of a beer gut. I'm a solid five feet ten and weigh in at two twenty. Being only twenty six years old, I decided to get in shape now and not have to worry about losing weight as I got older. Regardless, I was still apprehensive.

I parked and stepped inside the small gatehouse. "I'm Rhonda, how are you today?" the lady who had taken my license asked. I noticed that everyone I saw in the immediate vicinity was clothed. Rhonda wore a loose, lightweight dress in a floral pattern, and I could tell by the way she moved that she wore no bra underneath.

"Quite well, you? I'm John." I responded. We quickly went through the paperwork and I hung out, waiting for the tour guide to show up, who was running another tour. I chose to stay in my golf shorts and polo for the time being. After about five minutes of idle chatter and waiting, the tour guide entered. He was the lone nude man amongst the clothed ones, and he moved with no sense of shame or exhibitionism. This was simply the way he lived his life.

"I'm Roger," he smiled and extended his hand. I shook it and introduced myself. We stepped outside, where a golf cart awaited. I sat on the front seat beside the driver's seat, where he adjusted his towel before sitting on it. "Rule one of naturism is this: always have your towel, always sit on it. Just a hygiene thing, you know?"

"Makes sense. I brought one, I'd read that was the way things worked." I replied. Despite my hesitance, I wasn't put off by a fully naked guy sitting on the bench seat beside me. It wasn't sexual, it wasn't pervy. It was simply the way the folks here lived. As we drove, we passed people walking to and from the residential area to the pool, hot tub, and sporting areas; most were nude, some women topless, some clothed. Each smiled and waved, some calling a greeting as they drove past on their own golf carts. There wasn't any pressure for people to do anything they didn't want to do. There was no sexual charge either. Places like South Beach in Miami or Spring Break in Panama City had a sexual charge so thick it would fry most electronics. Not this place. With the exception of the lack of clothing, the people acted like ordinary people. The place was nice; not stuffy and snooty like an all inclusive resort where they had butlers and a maître-d, but nice. No bullcrap, no nose-in-the-air attitude. This was my kind of place. They were very earth-conscious. There was a communal garden where you could claim a raised bed and plant vegetables and herbs. Recycling cans were more common than garbage cans, each one describing what you could put in it. I took it that this was the realm of the hippies, the earth-conscious, and the type of people who shopped at Whole Foods. So, in other words, my people.

The tour ended, and I went back to the gatehouse. "So, John, what did you think? Are you going to stay?" Rhonda asked.

"Definitely. This seems like my kind of place." I responded.

"Great!" she exclaimed, in a genuine way. Nothing about her demeanor seemed fake at all. I stepped out, and back to my car. I opened the door, and tossed my shirt in. I stepped out of my shoes and into flip flops; despite being the first day of October, it was still hot in Tampa, and I didn't want to cook my feet. Now was the moment of truth. Now or never. I unfastened my belt, unbuttoned my shorts, and slid them and my boxers down my legs, stepping out of them.

The world still revolved around me. The birds still chirped, the sun still hung in the sky, clouds sailed past overhead. I was pleased to see the world hadn't come to an end at the sight of my paleness. A breeze came out of the west, and feeling the breeze on parts of my boy that had long been kept under clothing was a novel experience for me. I stood tall, spread my arms, and greeted the breeze. After the wind died off, I took my backpack, shut the door, and took off. I didn't bother locking my car door here; these seemed like the type of people who wouldn't steal. Besides, where would they put it?

I decided to head to the pool first. If you haven't tried skinny dipping, I highly recommend it. The feeling of the water caressing you as you swim, and the feeling of stepping out of the water and not having a pair of swim trunks or a swimsuit plastered against you is an unbelievable feeling. You dry off a lot quicker too. I took a quick shower before I slathered myself in SPF You Gotta Be Friggin' Kiddin' Me sunblock. I took a seat under the awning that surrounded the perimeter of the pool deck and took in the people around me. The naturist community has a reputation for being older people, and that was the case here. I was the youngest person in the area by a good twenty or thirty years. Given the fact that it was about eleven in the morning on a Friday, I expected his to be the case. Most people my age were still working, and these people were retired. My odd work schedule allowed me this time.

I looked down at the sea of skin that was me and could hardly believe I was doing this. My cock was not the seven inch monster I sometimes wished it was. I was a solid six inches erect, but as the saying goes, I'm a grower, not a shower. Flaccid, it was maybe three inches, and that's a solid maybe. I was worried about showing my cock in public. I was worried everyone else's would hang much larger, and I'd be seen as the dude with a peanut cock; a couple glances told me that these people flat out didn't care about cock size or breast size. After I felt the sunscreen had had enough time to soak in, I stood and entered the pool. I'd been skinny dipping as a child and a teenager in a remote pond near my house, and the amazing feeling of the water on my upper legs, groin, and butt felt amazing. I'd almost forgotten how good it felt. I sighed aloud and floated aimlessly on my back.

"First time out?" a fifty-something lady asked. I rolled over and stood on the floor of the pool.

"Yes, it is, and I'm kicking myself for not doing it sooner." I replied. "Why did I wait 26 years?"

"Hey, no time like the present. You got a head start on me, I didn't start until my kids left the house and I married my second husband. Now look at me, I haven't had tan line since the first Gulf War." I did note her lack of tan lines, and also noted a tattoo of a seahorse around her left nipple and a thin gold nipple ring in the other. "Just make sure you wear a lot of sunscreen and reapply it well. You're fair skinned and it'd be bad to get roasted your first time out."

I snickered to myself. You can let the kids grow, but a mom will always be a mom, even to someone who isn't her kid. She did have a point though. Although I'm descended from a triracial isolate group from the mountains of Kentucky, Tennessee and West Virginia known as Melungeons, historically comprised of Native Americans, freed and runaway slaves, white people, as well as whoever else happened to show up, my body didn't reflect it. While most Melungeons look like Rashida Jones in terms of skin tone, hair, and eye color, I look like an Irish immigrant. I have blond hair, green eyes, fair skin, and a stocky physique. For the way I look, I may as well be an off the boat Irishman. I get sunburns by merely thinking about the sunlight on a partly sunny day.

"So, John, what do you do?" she asked.

"I'm an EMT, I work with the Pasco Fire Department."

"Wow, talk about stressful work. What's the worst you've seen?" She asked, partly out of morbid curiosity.

"A fatal accident outside the prison in the eastern part of the county. An employee was turning left into the prison in his truck. There's no turn lane, so he had to wait in the main traffic lane. A truck hit him from behind, which shoved him into oncoming traffic. A sedan coming the opposite way couldn't move in time, and hit the truck head on. The driver of the car was deceased on the scene from blood loss, as her arm was severed off by the crushing door." I stopped and swallowed hard. That scene from my memory has long haunted me. "The driver of the truck who hit the stopped truck was texting. He didn't even see the guy waiting to turn in to the prison. It was a rough day, right at the end of shift. I had to throw away my uniform from that day, there was so much blood on it."

"I'm so sorry to hear about all that," she said, ashen-faced.

"I knew getting into it that I wouldn't be able to save everyone. Death takes us all at some point. I also knew that jerks like him would be the cause of the deaths of others. I knew all that, but it's still hard to handle. The best call I was a part of was a lady who was going into labor. She had to drive herself to the hospital, as her husband was deployed in Afghanistan. She couldn't make it in time and called EMS. We got there, had just enough time to get her in the back of the truck, and delivered her son there. She named him after the three of us on the truck that night. To have that sort of reaction—and the call her husband gave us when he got home, showering us with praise and thanks—it borders on unreal. That's what I live for, the nights where I know I did something that had an impact on someone. So what do you do?" I asked, turning the conversation away from me. I hate patting my own back.

"I was a realtor. I started my career in New York and then moved down here once both of my kids went to college down here. My boy studied law enforcement at Florida State and my girl studied business at Miami. I worked for about twenty years in the Tampa area before I retired, back in '12. So what made you become a naturist?"

"I've never liked clothes." I answered. "I have long gone naked or mostly naked in my own house, it just took me awhile to get over the hump to drop trou in public. I went today on a whim, and I love it. What got you do drop the clothes?"

"Well, John, when I first moved here, back in '91 or so, one of my first clients was looking for a house in a nudist community. He was an empty-nester like me, and was single, like me. After looking around on the various communities he was looking at, I had changed my mind about the whole thing. I used to be a total prude, living for the image of a professional businesswoman. He invited me to an event, and for whatever reason, I agreed. I fell in love with being naked, and then fell in love with him and married him." She gestured to her husband, who was reading a crime drama in a chaise lounge beside the pool. "Mark, say hi to John! He's a paramedic, if any of us dusty farts falls out, we're in good hands!"

He laughed. "Hey John, good to see you! Hopefully we won't need your professional services here."

"You know it." I replied. I left the pool and took a walk around the nature trails they'd laid out, thoroughly enjoying the sights of birds I'd never seen before and a virtually unspoiled (except for the path) natural paradise. By the time I'd made it back, the bar had opened, and more people began to trickle out from their homes and from their jobs. I strode into the dimly lit bar, dropped my towel on a stool, and ordered a cheeseburger and a Yuengling. The bartender was a beautiful girl, about my age, with a killer body and a friendly smile. She was clothed, wearing jogging shorts and a tank top emblazoned with the Jamaican flag. She appeared biracial, with mocha colored skin, thin dreads pulled back into a ponytail, large coffee-brown eyes, and a bright smile. We introduced ourselves, her name was Erin.

"Are you from Jamaica?" I asked when Erin had a moment.

"No, my mom is. I was born and raised in Miami. I moved here for college. I'm new here, only worked here two days."

"You only have a one day head start on me," I replied as I sipped.

"Oh, you work here too?" She asked, her eyes brightening.

"No, just visiting and scratching something off my bucket list. Are you a member, or just working?"

"Just working. Who knows, I may join later. I've never been naked around someone other than a boyfriend."

"Well, whatever your decision may be, nobody here will judge."

"That they won't, and that's why I like it here. The last place I tended bar at, guys were always hitting on me. Fully clothed ones. Here, surprisingly, I feel very safe. I can see it's not about the sex, it's about chilling without wearing anything."

At that point, a very chesty woman wearing only a pink miniskirt approached. She had the sun-drenched look of a sun worshipper; sun-bleached hair and a deep tan. "Hi, my name's Dee, do you want to play some darts?"

"Sure," I replied. I ordered another beer and walked over to the dart area. A handful of people were standing, chatting and drinking. Dee introduced me, and I could barely remember their names. The last one she introduced me to was a girl probably younger than me, maybe mid-twenties. She had a shock of raven hair that looked like she'd recently swam and didn't bother brushing it out afterwards. She wore a loose sundress with a deep-plunge neckline, and the way she was leaning on the table came very close to having a bra-less breast come out. Her face was attractive, her body the average build for a woman in her early twenties. She was the classic girl-next-door type. She introduced herself as Martina.

"First time visitor?" she asked with a smile.

"Yep, and I love it." I replied.

"Me too." Her boyfriend stepped out to smoke, and she followed him, gesturing for me to as well. "I know you're probably thinking, 'If you love it, why are you fully clothed?' The truth is, I'm not really that proud of my body. I recently lost about seventy pounds, and my skin hasn't caught up yet." She indicated her belly, which looked flat to me from behind the dress. "Add in the fact that my tits sag like someone twice my age, and you can see why I'm self-conscious. I know I've made good progress, and I still enjoy swimming nude in the pool and the hot tub, provided I'm by myself, but I can't quite bring myself to be as casually nude as you are."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Martina, but you look great." She smiled a lopsided, unsure grin that said to me she didn't believe me. "I definitely understand where you're coming from. I used to be in great shape, with a flat stomach and formidable upper body muscles, but that was high school. I'm almost ten years out now, and not playing hockey or practicing martial arts anymore has taken its toll. I'm not Adonis, I'm twenty six and have a beer gut. I've lost some weight, but still have a ways to go before I reach my goal. I once loved how I looked. Now, I don't. It took me awhile to love myself as I am. My girlfriend helped me a lot in that regard. She told me that she loved me no matter how I looked. She saw past my body, and broke me out of that shell I was in. I did this today with a little bit of fear. How would people react? Would they laugh at my cock, my gut, my abnormally hairy ass? And then I realized that these people don't care. They're glad I'm here, a younger person with their same interest, but past that, they don't care what I look like.

"Don't take this as a lecture, please. I don't intend on coming across that way."

"You're fine, John. Keep going," she smiled that genuine smile that lit up her features. If we had both been single, I might have made a move, but I respected her relationship and have no intentions of ever cheating on my girlfriend. I'm strictly a one-woman man.

"What I'm trying to say is, I know your pain. I don't judge you for keeping your clothes on. What you do with your body is your right, whether or not you're nude is your right. I can tell these people don't judge you either. Should you choose to go nude, they'll support you, and they don't pass judgement for you keeping your clothes on."