Sunny Rest Nudist Camp (Part II of 3)

When Jill and I saw the pasties, dick socks, see-through tops, sequined bras and other sexy clothing for sale at the Sunny Rest Camp store, alongside Pepsi and bags of chips, a red flag popped up in our minds like an aroused willie. “What’s this all about? We thought nudist camps were about health and sun.” 

Resort owner Myra had told us that no one attends Saturday night club nude but in lingerie (as in Victoria Secret?) and risque clothing. This sounds creepy. Uncomfortable. Jill and I brought cute little dresses along for the occasion, instead.  

We learned earlier today from Irv, the 88-year-old owner, that many of the resort’s nudists engage in swinging- like the majority, as in 60%. They are not young- 50-60-even 70 year olds! It goes on behind closed cottage and trailer doors. They make the connections and arrangements on the down-low. This fact has been in the back of our minds ever since we learned it. 

Jill and I arrive at the nightclub at 9:30, when the event is supposed to begin and find only a handful of folks sitting on bar stools (you can tell how many night clubs we go to). One man has a T-shirt on only and his legs are splayed open in a relaxed manner with the family jewels hanging out in their all their glory just below the hem line. A woman walks in with over-the-knee leather boots, a skirt that ends ABOVE her crotch and black straps around her boobs.

At 10:30, people begin to dance and Jill and I tire of gawking.

“Let’s dance,” in an attempt to make our shower, make-up application and dress worth it.

We find a quiet corner to ourselves and try to get into the music. But there are distractions. 

An extremely curvy woman with a generous butt and colossal boobs (the one whose top was wallowing in her dinner plate earlier in the restaurant) stretched a skin-tight red lace transparent dress over her full form. Her nipples were clearly visible as was her butt crack yet it too ended right ABOVE her crotch and butt bottom (what’s with these girls not buying dresses that are the right size?). Her make-up looks like she was in the Phantom of the Opera with great wispy curves of eye liner reaching around her face. Her boyfriend, Harley dude that looks like bald Mr. Clean from the 50’s commercials- bulbous and big, has on a black leather vest, of course. She performs around him dipping and circling like an animal in heat doing a mating dance and he makes gestures as though he is presenting her. It is all rather primal. 

To our other side is an older woman in a leather laced bodice, black heels, stockings and black garter. Her wide, white dimpled cellulite ass is framed by the garter straps and appears to glow in the night club’s day-glow lights. Her boyfriend, sports an opposite look- geeky and normal in a three-button Henley polo shirt, khaki shorts and polished sockless loafers. He is the dance instructor.  He teaches her how to jitter bug like in Grease, and is directing her while he paws and pets her and shows her how to grind, all the while wearing a look on his face like any second his mouth will leak drool. 

And on the far side is a geezer who looks to be in his 80’s. He has a black wife-beater t-shirt on and cowboy boots- that is it. His partner is also the opposite, an unobtrusive elderly grandmotherly type with baggy polyester pants, a blousy button down loose-fitting top and curly permed hair, looking like a lunch lady who just served mac & cheese to elementary school kids in the cafeteria. But what is that dangling between the guy’s legs? It looks like a black penis but how could a white guy have a black penis? On closer look, it appears not to be a very healthy penis at all but shriveled and sick, like a black dried-up, dead banana peel that was stripped off weeks ago. Then we realize that he has a black silk dick sock on, but his dick doesn’t extend that far and can’t fill it all out, so the fabric is just twisted and limp as it hangs there.    

“I can’t do this anymore.” I announce to Jill.

“I’ve had enough too.” 

This feels like a bad dream. On the way out the door, we excuse ourselves past a robust round woman who is bopping it by the bar. But she suddenly becomes very hot as she dances and whips off her dress, continuing to dance butt naked, with her tattoos move to the music. 

“I want my jammies,” Jill says as we walk back to our room. “I would even like a Teddy and to call my Mom.”

Tonight feels surreal, like we landed on another planet. 

Fortunately for us (and my husband and Jill’s boyfriend) none of the swingers approached us. No one asked us to dance. No one even talked to us. Perhaps word got out that these two writers should be given a wide berth. Some of my friends back home thought nudist camps are all about sun and health. Others told me not to be so naive and of course, they are about swinging. It appears to be about both, at different times in the day perhaps. At least here at Sunny Rest.  

Jill and I were put into a motel room with one queen size bed. I told the owner, “After looking at my friend’s bare butt all day long, I am NOT sleeping in the same bed with her.”

She agreed to put a blow-up mattress on the floor. But when we return from our night out, the air has all escaped from the mattress. So I settle in on the hard floor and realize that the person in the room next to us has her TV blaring. There’s no way I can sleep.

So I go next door and knock. The door swings wide open and there, to my utter surprise and sheer horror, stands a huge woman completely nude with monstrous breasts to her waist.

NEVER would this happen anywhere but in a nudist camp. But still I am taken by horrific surprise.

“Do you mind turning your TV down?”

“Oh, I am SO sorry. Of course you can’t sleep. And the TV is right on your wall. I’ll turn it off light away.”

They say nudists are some of the friendliest people. They are also some of the most nakednest people and I have had enough. 

Breakfast is included in our room but at this moment I announce to Jill, “We could go home right now and I could make you an equally nice breakfast in the morning.”

It’s very tempting, but we decide to tough it out and not escape and leave, as originally planned, in the morning, like polite writers.