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Cheri
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 Posted - 07/02/2006 : 09:33:25 AM
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quote:
Originally posted by cougar
Ya know Gentlemen, I don't remember hearing this many stories about women getting roasted by the sun. Is it because they're afraid to reveal the idiocy...or because they've just smarter than we are? 
Nobility is not a birthright, it is defined by one's actions.
It may be because women generally do take better care of their skin. I've roasted perhaps 3 times; once in Hawaii on a textile beach with my first husband (he wasn't a nudist), once shortly after arriving in Tulsa, OK where I moved to from NYC, and the third time I really remember is on a sailboat...I forgot to bring the tube of SPF with me. I had applied it before taking off.
:) Cheri
Doing what I can to positively promote nudism
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Edited by - Cheri on 07/02/2006 09:35:00 AM |
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Ethaneoin
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Posted - 07/02/2006 : 2:24:35 PM
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Here's a good one, at least I think so, and still suffering from. The other day I decided to ride my motorcycle nude for the first time. I live out on several acres somewhat hidden from the road, so I felt safe to ride. Anyway, I got on my bike started her up and away I went. I drove all around the property, for I guess the better part of an hour without problems. I haden't been noticed by anyone so I decided to ride more or less off road. This was proven to be a very bad idea, because I was riding a street bike and it acts differently over rough ground than a dirt bike. Well I started to ride on loose gravel, hit a spot where I had to compensate lost control and darn near tiped the bike. I regaind control however not before completely burning the crap out of my leg! those pipes really get hot after a while and I tell ya the first thing I noticed was a burning sound (Sizzle) then I felt the pain! OUCH!!! won't do that again.
E.Boyd
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buffetfan
Forum Member
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Posted - 07/03/2006 : 11:37:56 AM
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Ethan
Now you know why serious bikers wear boots, leathers etc. to protect their bodies. I think it's safe to say that anything that creates temperatures that can burn flesh is best dealt with by wearing protective coverings. That's why activities like swimming, hiking, water sports, some gardening (no power tools) are the most popular activities while nude. Less chance of serious bodily harm.
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Ethaneoin
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Posted - 07/03/2006 : 1:05:21 PM
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lessons are sometimes hard learned
E.Boyd
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Grantawish
New Member
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Posted - 06/09/2007 : 09:52:04 AM
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Dateline- 1996, Holiday Inn, 3:00 AM
I was sleeping in the nude. 3AM woke up and had to go. Got out of bed, opened the door to the bathroom. Hmmmm, must have left the light on. Hear door closing behind me. OH S---! I'm in a motel . . . naked . . . in the HALLWAY. That sound was my room door closing behind me. No shoes, no wallet, no cell phone, no clothing, no nothing.
I'm Mr. Creativity. No problem . . . I see that the complimentary newspapers have been delivered already. Here’s the plan:
I'll make some shorts out of the newspaper, walk down the stairway where nobody will see me, open the door to the first floor hallway and then just a short few steps to the front desk. GREAT PLAN! So with my new shorts in place, I opened the door, headed down the steps, the stairway door closing behind me. No problem.
The sign at the door to the lobby read: "For your safety, all doors are locked after 12:00 Midnight. After midnight and until 6:00 AM, you must use your key card to enter." Oh S---!
Only one option left but no problem: Go out the stairway door, sneak around the outside to the front lobby door, open lobby door, talk to the front desk clerk, get new key card.
One unknown and unseen problem; as I open the exit door I discover that it's raining REALLY hard outside. So, using the equation . . . . Rain + newspaper shorts = X, I have no stinking idea what condition my shorts will be in when I hit the lobby door. But then again . . . what's the option? Out the stairway door I go.
The rain was not exactly rain. It was a mixture of sleet and rain. I was getting a skin peal for free! Dog gone that hurt. Using my right hand and arm to protect my head, my left hand dutifully keeping the newspaper shorts up and intact, I run as fast as I dared over the slippery, wet grass along the building to the front lobby door. And . . .
The sign read:
“For your security, the lobby door is locked after 2:00 AM! To enter after 2:00 AM, you may use your key card or pick up the red telephone to your left and dial "O". Thank you!
So, keeping my left hand minding my sagging, wet newspaper shorts, I pick up the red telephone in my right hand, and with my right index finger extended, I press "O".
The phone rings twice and then . . .
"I'm sorry I'm not at my desk to personally answer . . ." No, no! The stupid sign said to pick up the red telephone to get in. I trusted you, you stupid sign. This is crap! Someone must be there. Tried it four more times, and "I'm sorry . . ." I think to myself, “You WILL BE SORRY tomorrow morning when I find out who you are! Jackass!”
Just then a young looking college student rounds the corner heading for the front desk. Ah ha! The night manager! I can’t see his face very clearly through the wet glass, but at least he's awake! Hallelujah! I'm saved.
I start pounding on the door to get his attention. Just then, my newspaper shorts give way. Only one strip remains covering my, well you know. My pounding has attracted his attention, Hooray! He’s walking toward the lobby door. But what is this? THIS NIGHT MANAGER GUY HAS BOOBS! OH S---!
The story ends here excepting the humiliating, raucous laughter heaped upon my dampened spirit on hearing my story. Fortunately, SHE was kind hearted, even somewhat empathetic, but only after retrieving the box of paper tissue to blow her nose dry her eyes from laughing so hard. . OH S---!
Robb
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smoothy
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Posted - 06/09/2007 : 12:12:53 PM
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That is funny!!!
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smoothy
Forum Member
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Posted - 06/09/2007 : 12:19:36 PM
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The dumbest thing I can think of is a while back I was over my friends house. e had a party and we are all nudists. We were all swimming in his pool and it was time to go home. It was about 9:00 at night and he only lives a few miles from my house. I decided to go home nude. I had a small towel to sit on but there was nothing else in the car. I got about half way home and I get a blowout. I thought about changing the tire but it was on the drivers side and I surely would be seen by any car going by. I decided to walk home the rest of the way. I never know how much traffic was on that road until then. I finally got home and realized I left the house key in the car. I had to go back to the car to get the key and then go back to my house. I got some clothes on went back to my car and changed the tire. I was very tires after all of that.
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Bill Bowser
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Posted - 06/09/2007 : 9:35:38 PM
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Unfortunately I don't have a humorous story about dumb things that I did while nude to share with you, but I do have what I consider a serious question to ask. As I read the stories which were submitted I noted that there were a number that told of an individual who found himself in a situation where his nudity was likely to be discovered by the public. (This seems to be almost exclusively a guy thing because guys tend to engage in riskier behavior I suppose.)
I assume from these accounts that the author feared embarrassment as a result of being discovered nude in a public place. I must admit that if I found myself in a similar situation I would feel embarrassed, but I really don't know why.
What is there about exposing our so-called private parts in public that causes us to feel embarrassed? I know that when I'm at a nude resort I don't feel any embarrassment. Why do we feel differently in front of the general public than we do among those with whom we share this clothes-free life style? What is there to be embarrassed about? Since I believe embarrassment is a voluntary emotional response to a situation I can't help but wonder why we react this way.
I'd rather be nude,
Bill in Cincinnati
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smoothy
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Posted - 06/10/2007 : 09:10:44 AM
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I would not be embarrassed. The thing I worried about is the law. Being nude in public is not legal and what if I ran into a female. I would surely be arrested.
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CalTom
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Posted - 06/10/2007 : 11:48:41 AM
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(True story that occurred at Cap d' Agde and the names have been changed to protect the mentally challenged.)
George, an American, married a French woman named Montine and together they moved into a little place in the naturist quarter where she had a thriving beauty shop business. Since George in all his five plus decades on Earth never really had what could be called an actual job or profession, he took it upon himself to be a Cap d' Agde ambassador of sorts for all arriving English speaking people. Each week as bus loads of holiday-makers arrived from London George was out there greeting the new arrivals and giving them valuable tips on the nude city: "There ain't nobody who can make you put on your clothes."
As was custom for the first 24 hours the English always assumed that George, who mysteriously lived the good life on two continents was something a bit more than he really was: "Look darling, he comes that eccentric American chap George; filthy rich of course." Unfortunately within a day the tone invariably would change to: "Oh Reginald DO SOMETHING! Here he comes...and I'm getting hives!"
When George got bored or when life crises descended upon him, his twin brother John would fly over from the U.S. and together they would terrorize the merchants and bartenders of the naturist quarter: "Hey Phillipe, meet my twin brother. He looks just like me!"
(I've told you all that as a back story for what occurred one bright and sunny Mediterranean afternoon.)
The twin brothers knew a vacationing Italian fellow named Giovanni, divorced short bald-headed and stout with enough gold around his hirsute chest to rival Mr. T. In his mid to late fifties, Giovanni didn't have much going for him as a babe magnet...except a 39' powerboat in the naturist marina with a horn that played the first eight notes of "The Bridge On The River Kawai." Somehow, by a strange twist of fate, Giovanni invited the twin brothers aboard the boat for a short trip, along with two women he had just met in a some bar at Port Ambonne. George and John, wearing only sandals and holding ubiquitous "Big Gulp" containers with enough alcohol to floor a rhinoceros, eagerly hopped aboard the modest yacht and off they went down the channel; Giovanni, the women George and John with the horn baring "da da, da-da-da, de-de da."
(Ominous foreshadowing: The brothers never asked Giovanni for the boat's destination.)
A short time later, George and John to their horror found themselves over at the textile marina of Cap d' Agde, cowering in the cabin stark naked as Giovanni with the two women in tow quickly dressed and climbed out of the craft.
"Where the H**l you going, Giovanni?"
"I come back soon. I must go with them to their flat."
"We're naked! Get us back to the naturist quarter. Get in to the boat now!"
"No! Giovanni no get into the boat. They have breasts like ripe melons and I cannot deny..."
The trio left. Time wore on. George and John grew frantic and searched for a solution to get back as it became apparent Giovanni was in the midst of major international relations. It must be said at this point that wiring both George and John's hillbilly brains in series would not light a 10 watt bulb, and perhaps due to this lapse of intellect or judgment they attempted one of the boldest plans ever hatched in the history of Cap d' Agde; to walk buck naked from the marina through a mile of the textile section and "sneak" back into the naturist quarter. They nearly made it.
About 7:45 pm Montine got a call from the Cap d' Agde police: "Madame do you know anyone named George? Beeg, ugly, stupeed looking?"
A perfect match.
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Country: USA
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CalTom
Forum Member
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Posted - 06/10/2007 : 11:50:13 AM
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(True story that occurred at Cap d' Agde and the names have been changed to protect the mentally challenged.)
George, an American, married a French woman named Montine and together they moved into a little place in the naturist quarter where she had a thriving beauty shop business. Since George in all his five plus decades on Earth never really had what could be called an actual job or profession, he took it upon himself to be a Cap d' Agde ambassador of sorts for all arriving English speaking people. Each week as bus loads of holiday-makers arrived from London George was out there greeting the new arrivals and giving them valuable tips on the nude city: "There ain't nobody who can make you put on your clothes."
As was custom for the first 24 hours the English always assumed that George, who mysteriously lived the good life on two continents was something a bit more than he really was: "Look darling, he comes that eccentric American chap George; filthy rich of course." Unfortunately within a day the tone invariably would change to: "Oh Reginald DO SOMETHING! Here he comes...and I'm getting hives!"
When George got bored or when life crises descended upon him, his twin brother John would fly over from the U.S. and together they would terrorize the merchants and bartenders of the naturist quarter: "Hey Phillipe, meet my twin brother. He looks just like me!"
(I've told you all that as a back story for what occurred one bright and sunny Mediterranean afternoon.)
The twin brothers knew a vacationing Italian fellow named Giovanni, divorced short bald-headed and stout with enough gold around his hirsute chest to rival Mr. T. In his mid to late fifties, Giovanni didn't have much going for him as a babe magnet...except a 39' powerboat in the naturist marina with a horn that played the first eight notes of "The Bridge On The River Kawai." Somehow, by a strange twist of fate, Giovanni invited the twin brothers aboard the boat for a short trip, along with two women he had just met in a some bar at Port Ambonne. George and John, wearing only sandals and holding ubiquitous "Big Gulp" containers with enough alcohol to floor a rhinoceros, eagerly hopped aboard the modest yacht and off they went down the channel; Giovanni, the women George and John with the horn baring "da da, da-da-da, de-de da."
(Ominous foreshadowing: The brothers never asked Giovanni for the boat's destination.)
A short time later, George and John to their horror found themselves over at the textile marina of Cap d' Agde, cowering in the cabin stark naked as Giovanni with the two women in tow quickly dressed and climbed out of the craft.
"Where the H**l you going, Giovanni?"
"I come back soon. I must go with them to their flat."
"We're naked! Get us back to the naturist quarter. Get in to the boat now!"
"No! Giovanni no get into the boat. They have breasts like ripe melons and I cannot deny..."
The trio left. Time wore on. George and John grew frantic and searched for a solution to get back as it became apparent Giovanni was in the midst of major international relations. It must be said at this point that wiring both George and John's hillbilly brains in series would not light a 10 watt bulb, and perhaps due to this lapse of intellect or judgment they attempted one of the boldest plans ever hatched in the history of Cap d' Agde; to walk buck naked from the marina through a mile of the textile section and "sneak" back into the naturist quarter. They nearly made it.
About 7:45 pm Montine got a call from the Cap d' Agde police: "Madame do you know anyone named George? Beeg, ugly, stupeed looking?"
A perfect match.
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Country: USA
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CalTom
Forum Member
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Posted - 06/10/2007 : 11:51:25 AM
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(True story that occurred at Cap d' Agde and the names have been changed to protect the mentally challenged.)
George, an American, married a French woman named Montine and together they moved into a little place in the naturist quarter where she had a thriving beauty shop business. Since George in all his five plus decades on Earth never really had what could be called an actual job or profession, he took it upon himself to be a Cap d' Agde ambassador of sorts for all arriving English speaking people. Each week as bus loads of holiday-makers arrived from London George was out there greeting the new arrivals and giving them valuable tips on the nude city: "There ain't nobody who can make you put on your clothes."
As was custom for the first 24 hours the English always assumed that George, who mysteriously lived the good life on two continents was something a bit more than he really was: "Look darling, he comes that eccentric American chap George; filthy rich of course." Unfortunately within a day the tone invariably would change to: "Oh Reginald DO SOMETHING! Here he comes...and I'm getting hives!"
When George got bored or when life crises descended upon him, his twin brother John would fly over from the U.S. and together they would terrorize the merchants and bartenders of the naturist quarter: "Hey Phillipe, meet my twin brother. He looks just like me!"
(I've told you all that as a back story for what occurred one bright and sunny Mediterranean afternoon.)
The twin brothers knew a vacationing Italian fellow named Giovanni, divorced short bald-headed and stout with enough gold around his hirsute chest to rival Mr. T. In his mid to late fifties, Giovanni didn't have much going for him as a babe magnet...except a 39' powerboat in the naturist marina with a horn that played the first eight notes of "The Bridge On The River Kawai." Somehow, by a strange twist of fate, Giovanni invited the twin brothers aboard the boat for a short trip, along with two women he had just met in a some bar at Port Ambonne. George and John, wearing only sandals and holding ubiquitous "Big Gulp" containers with enough alcohol to floor a rhinoceros, eagerly hopped aboard the modest yacht and off they went down the channel; Giovanni, the women George and John with the horn baring "da da, da-da-da, de-de da."
(Ominous foreshadowing: The brothers never asked Giovanni for the boat's destination.)
A short time later, George and John to their horror found themselves over at the textile marina of Cap d' Agde, cowering in the cabin stark naked as Giovanni with the two women in tow quickly dressed and climbed out of the craft.
"Where the H**l you going, Giovanni?"
"I come back soon. I must go with them to their flat."
"We're naked! Get us back to the naturist quarter. Get in to the boat now!"
"No! Giovanni no get into the boat. They have breasts like ripe melons and I cannot deny..."
The trio left. Time wore on. George and John grew frantic and searched for a solution to get back as it became apparent Giovanni was in the midst of major international relations. It must be said at this point that wiring both George and John's hillbilly brains in series would not light a 10 watt bulb, and perhaps due to this lapse of intellect or judgment they attempted one of the boldest plans ever hatched in the history of Cap d' Agde; to walk buck naked from the marina through a mile of the textile section and "sneak" back into the naturist quarter. They nearly made it.
About 7:45 pm Montine got a call from the Cap d' Agde police: "Madame do you know anyone named George? Beeg, ugly, stupeed looking?"
A perfect match.
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Country: USA
| Posts: 207 |
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smoothNtanned
Forum Member
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Posted - 06/10/2007 : 12:07:25 PM
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The tree that WAS(n't) meant for climbing..........
I've done many dumb things in my life, and this was one, whether clothed or nude. Nude it was, save for a sturdy pair of Tevas.
At our rather steeply sloped lakeshore property stood an old 30 ft. dead pine tree totally denuded of bark, perched precariously growing out of a rockly escarpment above the beach. Other than the main truck topping off in a typical point, the two additional trunks gave it a candelabra look much like a saguaro cactus. Dead for many years, beetles, ants and woodpeckers carved crevices, holes, and tunnels to further the look of the saguaro.
If I could break off a few remaining small branches near its mid-section, the picture would be complete. Its character, if not its beauty, would be enhanced. Photographed in the summer northern twilight, this mock 'saguaro of the north' with lake and mountains as a backdrop, might make a captivating photo. So the thinking went..........
With little forethought I climbed hand and foot like a monkey (definitely not shinnying) to the first wayward trunk, about 6 ft. from the ground on the uphill side. An excellent foot rest in the curved off-shoot. Looking down hill, I was a good 30 ft. above the rocks and sand. It was rather exhilarating for this 60 year-old, reminding me of my tree-climbing youth playing Tarzan, but this time without a loin cloth.
Fortunately, the insects had abandoned this hearty old tree. A gentle warm breeze, the sound of the waves lapping the rocky shoreline, and the sight and music of a few birds made the feeling complete. At one with nature. How long did I linger in this detached state?
Startled that a few minutes might have passed, and suddenly remembering why I was there, I began grasping the small branches above me, easily snapping them off. Success save for one, about 6 in. out of reach. With no further foothold higher up, and shinnying was a no-no, I crouched slightly preparing to leap upwards and snap that branch. Success on the second try. As my foot descended to the trusty foothold, well, it too snapped off.
As luck would have it, I fell backwards to the uphill side. Parts of my body had never seen scrapes before, but(t) now........
Nothing serious, but it was, and I felt, stupid! Safety first from now on, hopefully.
As for the mock 'saguaro of the north', alas it is no more.
'NUDE when able, covered when necessary'
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Edited by - smoothNtanned on 05/29/2010 9:37:27 PM |
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Country: Canada
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pilot
Forum Member
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Posted - 06/10/2007 : 11:00:02 PM
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I needed - -Tom's story after a long and somewhat contentious day. I laughed out loud!
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CalTom
Forum Member
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Posted - 06/11/2007 : 3:16:15 PM
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Tim, the sad part is that a few paragraphs don't do justice to those two brothers. George is the dominant twin who comes up with most of the memorable quotes and finds himself in self-inflicted hot water a great percentage of the time: "Tom, do you know how many times I've been thrown out of Glen Eden...permanently?!" (Yogi Berra would be proud.)
Someone once tried to get them on the Jerry Springer Show but they were ultimately rejected. I later found out that hundreds of aspiring thespians try to use use the show as a stepping stone to stardom. When the Jerry Springer producers saw the demo video of George and John titled Naked Hillbilly Brothers the critique went something like: "No gentlemen, I can tell ringers when I see them. These are marvelous Julliard trained character actors." George and John were rejected for being themselves.
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Edited by - CalTom on 06/11/2007 3:18:24 PM |
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What is the dumbest thing you done in the nude?
