My parents were nudists and they’d raised me and my siblings to be nudists too. There was something liberating about the freedom that came with being naked, and ever since I was little I’d come to hate wearing clothing. It gave me a sort of claustrophobic sensation to wear clothes and I was constantly aware of the feeling of contact between clothing and skin. It astounded me that ‘normal’ people went about their daily lives barely aware of the sensation of wearing clothes. Intulectually they knew they were clothed, but their brains somehow filtered out the senses that came with it.
Regardless, like the rest of my family, unless we were on vacation at a nudist retreat, I always wore clothing outside the house, so why were people bothered by us not wearing anything inside it?
I shook my head, closing the garden gate. Then it hit me, an idea. Smiling I hurried inside and rushed upstairs to change out of my confining clothes and standing naked in my room five minutes later, I took hold of the stone.
“I wish,” I smiled “That everyone in town was a nudist and the whole town was classified as an open nudist colony.”
