considering that one event made me incorrigible. My mom determined to consider

I can’t entirely blame my
Mom here, because in kindergarten at an alternate school I ran a “witch gang”
of girls who caught the lads for me to kiss. The teacher, the principal and my
parents believed we were horrid, but it was howling great enjoyment at the time.
However, when a worse situation appeared two years after this fifth grade kiss, it
never occurred to me to tell anyone because I ‘d burned an important bridge
What happened is this: two
boys, Jack and Britt, ages 15 and 14, came to my house early one morning when I
was alone and still in my shortie pajamas. I ‘d opened the door because my
friend Peggy had just telephoned to say she was coming over. (Jack was her
boyfriend, and Peggy liked to draw pictures of organs, presumably his. Drawing

them with her was another instance of curious indifference on my part.) Jack and
Britt had seen before, so although I was uneasy about it, I let them
in and started off to my room to get dressed. But they followed me down the
Jack caught me from
behind, wrestled me to the floor, place his hand between my legs and I froze at
that instant. Britt, standing over us, said, “Hey, she enjoys it!” I think my
obvious and extreme mortification was what stopped it from going any further.
But it went far enough to quite efficiently short circuit the link between
my genitals and my brain for several years. as soon as I lost my virginity, I ‘d to ask,
“Is it in yet?” and I do not believe it was only the substantial amount of alcohol I Had
consumed that had dulled my senses.
A few years after another
fifteen-year-old boy attempted much the same matter with me, but this time on the
Footpath of a deserted road at night. Having already been desensitized,
literally, it was much less traumatic. Better still, I had the delight of
Capturing him myself, with just a little help, and presenting him to the police.
So, how in the world was I
Competent to become a nudist? Well, if nudity were primarily sexual, or somehow
asexual or anti-sexual, or less than invigorating and joyful, I probably never
would have. And if I hadn’t desired revolutionary change in my life I likely would
have gone on as I was, but more slowly. As it was, I made do and made progress.
By the time I was thirty,
I ‘d finally overcome disgrace and frigidity to the point of having the capability to fully
Love sex, so long as my partner demonstrated he could be trusted
unconditionally. This meant that sex had to be taken quite seriously. My first
marriage had failed, partially for sexual reasons, and in between was black. The
girl who ran witch gangs and experiments wrote dryasdust computer programs,
wore suits, spoke little, and dreamed too frequently of spiders and 15-year-old boys
and their smiles.
Well, I managed to locate
someone I could trust and adore, and did so for a few quite joyful years,
until he died suddenly of a heart attack. The despair overwhelmed me for quite a
while. And then a good friend — a jolly, bearded man who arranged the
after-hours shifts of coworkers who babysat until I was prepared to leave for my
empty house — encouraged me to visit a location in the Santa Cruz mountains called
“Getting In Touch.” This was aa massage school and nudist retreat, now .
And this was where I started to recover, partly because I ‘d to, and partially because
the environment made a beginning practically unavoidable.
My first visit was for a
weekend massage workshop. I arrived early and there was no one available to show
me about or get me oriented. I was perfunctorily seen to the locker room
and encouraged to relax a while at the pool or hot tub. I believe not making a
big deal about it, presuming that I could manage getting naked in public for the
first time free of guidance, actually made it easier than otherwise. I stripped
down, alone in the locker room, stepped out the door and Wham! Two instant
miracles: no part of me was split from another and the wind in my pubic hair
tickled deliciously! I wished right then that I hadn’t made a point of having my
legs waxed, another new experience, the day before.
This felt so great, with no
intimation of shame whatsoever, it was simple to dare the next move. So I traveled
around the building and took the long, long walk across beach erotic video to reach the
pool. When I got there, I noticed one young man nearby in the hot tub, not
looking my way. So far so great. But then there was the difficulty of making the
transition from a standing position to a reclining posture on the sofa. And
not knowing what was okay. I mean, there are quite inscrutable rules
about not exhibiting some of our clothing — our panties — when we are dressed,
so maybe there were equally inscrutable rules about not showing some of our
bodies while bare.
I managed to lie down,
straining my knee joints in order to be as decorous as potential. Eventually I
got a bit bored and a little more adventurous, and determined to get in the hot tub