Growing up in the country, I spent a lot of time outdoors nude. My family's home was surrounded by woods, with one lonely road running through. There was as swimming hole not far down the road. I'd often spend long summer days down there by myself, splashing in the water, lying in the mud. Sometimes I'd go on long nude hikes through the woods, or if I was feeling a bit more daring, along the side of the road. Occasionally, cars would pass, and I'm sure they saw me, but no one said anything about it. The farthest I ever went was up the road just far enough to the see the gas station and café, but not any closer than that.
When I got older, I kept up with it. As a teenager, and then young adult, I was proud of my body. Long and lean, hair in the right places. Working for my father's moving company kept me in shape. Perhaps a smaller-than-average package, but it didn't bother me. I never got that sense of embarrassment that others did entering adolescence. I was nude, not naked. Not ashamed. Until one day, when I had just turned 22.
It was one of those damp spring days that seemed sort of warm and cool at the same time. The sun was cutting through the last of a fog that had persisted all morning. I had taken my first skinny dip of the year and was wandering back home through the trees not far from the road. I was sweating from the exercise after a long winter of channel surfing on the couch. I felt invigorated, new. The thick calluses on my feet had softened over the winter, and they were sore. It was a good sort of soreness. There was mud drying on my lower legs, starting to feel tight. I could smell myself. Perhaps a hot shower before lunch. I was getting close to home, and the last of the fog had burned off when I first saw him. A handsome man in a grey suit, leaning over a map spread out on the hood of a Saab. He was obviously lost. Being lost was the only reason to be on that road. It was the boonies. The car had Connecticut plates. This man was far from home. I saw him, but at first I was sure he did not see me. I fancied myself a naturist, not an exhibitionist. I didn't really have any desire to be seen by a complete stranger that day, even though the idea excited me deeply. I decided to slip further into the woods and take a more roundabout way home when I heard him.
"Hey, kid!"
Kid? I was 22! "Uh, yes, can I help you?" I squeaked.
"C'mere"
I was scared and thrilled at the same time. The thought of an attractive older man seeing me nude up close was titillating to my virgin mind, but I didn't know how he would react. He needed my help, though. That was some reassurance.
"What's up?" I panted.
Up close, he was indeed very attractive. Late forties, muscular build. That grey suit looked pretty expensive, and he filled it perfectly. Eyes the color of ice. Salt and pepper stubble on a strong square jaw. The Saab was sparkling clean. I had never seen a car so clean around what passed for our town.
"Is this White Mill Run?"
He glanced up at me, then back to his map. The Man seemed utterly unfazed about the weirdly nude redneck standing before him. His lack of acknowledgement made me more aware that I was nude. No, not nude any more. Naked. I felt naked.
"No sir, It's White Mill Road. Keep going in this direction and White Mill Run is about half a mile down."
I never called anybody "sir," but it slipped out. It seemed appropriate for this sharply-dressed businessman from Connecticut.
"Great," The Man said once again looking me over this time more slowly. Staring me over. "There a gas station near here?"
"Right at the intersection, you can just barely see the sign from here."
