Living the Naked Life

Truth is . . . the nudist life isn’t as all that strange, it’s just naked-er. Like most people, I wake up, check my phone, hit the bathroom, and make breakfast. After coffee, I do the dishes and take out the trash, then flip open my laptop to work on my book. The only difference between me and your average Joe? I do everything bare-ass naked. But it isn’t all that exciting, to be honest. Spend a day or two in the buff and you quickly forget most of the planet thinks you’re a weirdo. Hell, you start thinking everyone else is weird.

Admittedly, there’s a great sense of freedom, comfort, and sensory input that comes with a clothes-free lifestyle. It’s like trading in your tight jeans for loose pajamas. Sure, most guys like to stick to the minimum tighty-whities, ala Homer Simpson, but I guess I’m an odd duck. If I have to stuff my junk in some elastic straightjacket, you might as well put me in a parka. The testes were meant to be exposed to the air. After all, it’s the only organ to have developed outside the body, because those boys require cooler temperatures than your standard 98.6 degrees. Underwear is a hot, stuffy, disgusting rag just waiting to cause infection, which is why, I think, you sometimes see nudists in shoes or shirts but never hiding their not-so-privates.

Naked is normal.

I’m a nudist because it feels good, but unlike other feel-good drugs, wearing nothing costs nothing. Bonuses include never having to search through an overstuffed drawer for sleepwear, which saves money on clothes and detergent. You also spend a lot less time washing clothes, drying clothes, folding clothes, ironing the wrinkles out of your clothes, putting clothes in the hamper, finding hangers (but never wire hangers) for those clothes, then cramming those hangers between all the other hangers in your closet until the whole thing bursts like a dam and the rack you bought from IKEA falls apart and needs reassembling. If I’m scrubbing yesterday’s Marinara off a plate and some of it gets on me, no worries! If I’m watching Kyle Hill on YouTube with a bowl of Mac-N-Cheese and a noodle goes flying, same thing. Stains are never a problem on bare skin, which is why tattoos are painful and expensive. Sometimes, after pulling weeds under a hot sun, I jump in the pool for a cool minute. No need to look for a suit—I’m always wearing one! And when I get out of the water, my body dries almost instantly. In my home state of Florida, our AC often gives up the fight and it can get up to 100 degrees indoors. As a naked guy, I cool off easy. I even set the thermostat higher to save on $$$ and save the planet.

OK, Nick, you may be saying, all this is well and good, but there must be something bad about the nude life, right? Well, sure. There’s a lot more jiggling going on. Human beings are mostly bags of water, so even if you’re 99% muscle, some jiggling will occur, especially when you’re mixing a bowl of pancake batter. Morning wood can also be hassle if the kids are home. I don’t want to explain why dad’s penis magically changes sizes, so I usually stay in bed until things calm down. Then again, even in boxers “tenting” is a thing, so this is really just a gross guy-thing, not a nudist thing. Another con: if the wife isn’t home and there’s a knock at the door, I have to run for my shorts. I don’t really mind greeting visitors as God made me, especially if it’s a Jehovah’s Witness; more people need to be exposed to everyday, casual nudity if we ever want to stop getting banned on Facebook for posting vacation photos. But my wife doesn’t really want to start a revolution and I don’t blame her. Still, reaching for clothes just to grab the Amazon package sitting inches from my door is just a ridiculous exercise. Worse case scenario: the lady walking her dog catches a glimpse of penis. Or the kids outdoors get a PG lesson in human anatomy far better than what they’ll find on Google. Late at night, when the world is asleep, I don’t even bother with the shorts. I might even take a stroll around the block. Finally, there’s the delicate matter of the neighbors. From Google Earth, our houses look like an apartment. Their second-story windows look directly over our fence and into our yard, but there’s no way I am going to start swimming in trunks, or sit in my yard sweltering in overalls. I know they can spy on me, but it’s been twenty-years and I have yet to receive any blackmail. And if you can’t be free in your own home, where can you be?

Now, it wasn’t always like this. Before COVID hit, my naked-time was limited to school hours. Family dynamics can be confusing, whether you’re a nudist or not. My wife has no problem with stripping off at our local resort, she’s just perpetually cold. Honestly, I think she’s one of those women from Venus. But when the kids came along, I worried a lot about our conservative families, my Christian Orthodox parents and her (I kid you not) Muslim parents. I didn’t want to burden our children with secrets, and also didn’t want them confused about why daddy only wears clothes when the in-laws are in town. My kid once traipsed through the house in her birthday suit on her sixth birthday, but nobody quite knew what to say because everyone is confused about nudity in social situations. So I started covering up at home, except in the pool, because swimming in clothing should be a crime. Family showering was also a pretty cool thing to do until puberty. But there was something about being naked 24/7—in the living room, at the dinner table, on the couch—that just felt weird. That is, until the infamous 2020 lockdown. With everyone homeschooled and the resorts shut down, I’d lost my freedom. Since before the age of pubic hair, I’d dreamed about the clothes-free life on a nightly basis: my parents and sister and brother coming home to find me on my bare butt watching He-Man. They would say to me “Hi, Nick,” and I would say “Hi” back and that would be that. No weird looks. No judgment. Nothing. Maybe my dreams was an Inception-like plot to mess with me. But with the threat of death looming all over the news, I started to think: why not? I’d hate to be coughing out my last breath in the ICU, with my hospital gown, never having worked the courage to reject such a silly taboo. I mean, you only live ONCE and you’re only young ONCE. Why was I so worried about what other people thought? That’s when my awesome wife encouraged me not to worry, that I didn’t have to hide anymore. “Really?” I said. “You don’t mind?” She assured me she didn’t, that she agreed with me on a philosophical level, but that she was just too damn cold to participate. “And it’s not like we haven’t seen you naked a hundred times before.” Being the only naked person in the house can seem pretty weird, especially if you’re new to the idea, but the novelty wore off quickly and ‘skin’ became like just another outfit. Trust me, nipples, butt-cracks, vulvas, and penises don’t have to be “sensitive content,” despite what social media will have us believe. Whatever you got down there is the same thing 3.5-billion people have already, and friends and family stop noticing it after a day or two. If you’re lucky, they might even join you! Nudist families are more common than you think.

A nude family is a happy one!

Living naked 24/7 is literally a dream come true. If not for work, going out for groceries, or hitting up our local Cheesecake Factory, I’d probably be burning all my clothes in a glorious bonfire. I don’t know what living in Alaska is like, but here in Florida where it’s hotter than Satan’s balls, dressing up every damn day feels pointless and stupid. And things aren’t getting any better with global warming. In a few decades’ time, folks will be dropping dead with heat stroke, and I am sure even then mothers will be clutching their pearls and husbands will be losing their monocles should they spot a naked me cooling off at the park. Sure, style can say a lot about your personality, and I do enjoy the occasional Spider-Man T-shirt, but jeans, socks, and shoes can be torture most of the time, and what am I really saying to the public in my LEVIS? That I am just like every other 40-something dad who really doesn’t know what to wear? That I am split between I-used-to-go-to-Church slacks and I-think-I-might-go-jogging-later shorts? I don’t need a Queer Eye for fashion. I know who I am. And if I am to be honest, to truly express myself, I can’t be walking around like a billboard for a bunch of name brands I care nothing about. Polo can’t compete with a million years of natural selection. Skin is in, and it’s not going away any time soon. And If I am to be me, then I have to be me. Just me.

Things you can do that are more fun in the nude: swimming, laundry, algebra, painting miniatures, Scrabble, video games, sleeping, showering, having sex, Twister. But there are few exceptions I don’t recommend: frying bacon, sliding into third base, Twister.

Everything is more fun in the nude!

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