Before we can get to our campsite and unburden ourselves of clothing, we're cornered and given a rundown of the resort rules from a serious-looking member of the staff. "Clothing is optional except in the pool area and jacuzzis," he instructs us through his '70s pornstache. "You must be naked there. Let's see, sex is permitted but it must be in your tent or cabin. Also, always bring a towel to sit on. Oh, and we're having our big dance party tonight in the clubhouse. You should totally come. It's a lot of fun." I question him about what occurs if a guy gets a boner. "We'll just ask him to put a towel around his waist." And when I ask him about whether it occurs a lot, I assume he's thinking he's got another perverted troublemaker on his hands and not a seasoned reporter needing cold, hard facts. "Well," he begins, choosing his words carefully, "most of our guests aren't here for sex, so no, I wouldn't say it happens a lot. But like I said, we just ask them to put a towel around their waist and we move on." Gotcha. Lots of boners.
We begin setting up the tent at our allotted spot. KT swiftly abandons her clothes, and I follow suit. We're finally naked! It's a glorious tribute to freedom, and we both breathe it in. An elderly man camping to our left quickly chats us up as we fumble with the tent's instructions. His name is Bill, and he too is naked. "I've been coming to nudist resorts for years, but my wife doesn't join me anymore," he discloses. "I've always liked the freedom of being naked, with no one judging you. We're all the same here, just a community of people who love camping and being nude."
"Wow, everybody is really nice here," KT concludes, after he wanders off. "I've been camping a lot and no one is ever this friendly. Sometimes you don't even meet the people camping 50 feet away all weekend. We met Bill's friendly penis within five minutes!" My gut tells me a good deal of that has to do with KT being the only cute and naked 22-year-old for miles, but I keep it to myself.
HAPPY CAMPER The author's girlfriend, shown clothed, was surprised by the friendliness of the nudists she met at Berkshire Vista.
After dinner in the clubhouse — during which I'm continuously terrified I'll drop hot mashed potatoes on my nuts — we go back to the tent to relax before the dance party. The middle-aged couple camping behind us approaches through the darkness. They wear button-down flannel shirts and nothing else. His balls meet us at eye level. "You guys getting high?" the man asks with a thick Brooklyn accent. "'Cause I could smell it from our tent, and I can't seem to find my weed anywhere! We got some drinks if you wanna come join us before the big dance." We get up and join them. "My name's Mike. They call me Big Mike, and this is Sheryl," says the man.
"Well, Mike," I squeak, "by the looks of things I'd say you're more like Average Mike."
Sheryl bursts out in laughter. "Ha! I tell him that all the time!"
: Lifestyle Features
, features, nudists, Scott Fayner