On our walk to the main clubhouse, we saw couples holding hands, their rear ends swaying contrapuntally.
We passed the tennis courts filled with couples playing mixed doubles; it looked like agony without sports bras. During the colder months there are dances, darts tournaments, and holiday-themed events there. Nudists are mad for costumes, which they shed as the evening wears on. As we walked around I realized being naked full-time presents certain difficulties. I wondered where to put my car keys, and I was told nudists are so honest that I should leave them in the car.
On the appointed day, I was buzzed in at an electronic gate, which opened onto a camplike, woodland setting.
I went to the office, and the man behind the counter handed me some paperwork, which I filled out while I tried to act nonchalant about the fact that I could see his penis.
The theme that emerged was that as the gate to a nudist club closed behind me, more than my clothes would fall away.
Bob and Carol sat us down at a picnic table as they gave us a low-key pitch for the benefits of becoming members of Hidden Bush.
He told me about the cruise he had taken to Alaska with 2,000 other naked people, and as I tried to envision all of this sagging flesh chugging toward unsuspecting caribou, I was distracted by a more immediate, awful sight. 's Human Guinea Pig column, I try unusual jobs and hobbies that usually don't require me to take off my clothes.