Here’s a story from Grieg:
Today I went downtown to get my mail, then immediately headed over to my favorite little clothing-optional beach.
The whole day, I was the only one who was without clothes, and no one seemed to care or take notice. Several women were topfree; and there were a few dogs (not allowed, but allowed), all of whom I sought to pet. At one time, as I lay face-down on my towel and just as I rolled onto by back, someone on the beach laughed, pointed at a boat, and said, “did you see how fast those girls turned to look!” Okay, so some boaters troll for gawks. That’s fine.
After an hour there, a family arrived and made their place right next to mine. In Memphis I’d have had the SWAT team called. Here, to most, my choice of dress is considered to be just like any other. So we talked, and during that time more and more people arrived.
I swam several times, and we stood on the shore and talked most of the hour while people came and went. I mentioned that one of the first things I did was an Internet search for skinny-dipping in Seattle, and that it was hard, but not too hard, to find that beach.
That’s when he casually informed me that most people use the name of this beach when referring to the nude beach, and that’s not exactly right. I was not, in fact, on the nude “Secret Beach,” and he gave me instructions on how to find it. (Ironically, at the beach I’d been using, none of the neighbors mind nudity and in the height of summer there’s a fair amount of it; while at the
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