Hmm. It feels like it all happened at once for me. There were many activities I enjoyed doing without clothes while growing up, without realizing or knowing what being a nudist meant.
On sweltering, humid days, I would hike into the heart of the woods with a friend, seeking respite at a secluded creek. Though not particularly deep or swift, the creek's waters flowed with a gentle flow of water. I can't recall exactly when we first shed our swimsuits, but one day we did, and from that moment, we were hooked. We would lie on the smooth, cool rocks, their surfaces slick beneath us, as the water cascaded over our bare skin. It felt instinctive, a simple pleasure that we cherished, returning to this sanctuary summer after summer.
However, during those sweltering, humid summer nights when the air was thick and heavy, and the absence of air conditioning left no relief, I would shed my pajamas and sleep nude until the first light of morning. The cool embrace of the night air was the only relief I could find. Upon waking, I would slip back into my pajamas as if nothing had changed. It was an odd routine, perhaps, but it felt perfectly natural to me. I never wore underwear with my pajamas; it seemed redundant, as if the pajamas themselves were enough. Observing other men, who chose to sleep in their underwear, always struck me as peculiar and somewhat unnecessary.
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