I so love to play naked in the fog and rain. Fog and rain where I live and do much of my playing in the Northeast USA can be soft, warm and inviting as often as it can be hard, cold, and bone crushing. Either way, our naked bodies can not only tolerate and adapt to it for a time, our bodies and our souls rejoice in it. I freehike and nude backpack on the trails in our National forests and in other suitable places whenever I can find some spare time to do so. Thus I have been "caught" suitably attired in the rain in the past on more then one occasion, and carry with me numerous fond memories from those experiences.
I have jumped into discussions recently on two other forum in which we have been discussing the many pleasures to be found in playing naked in the rain and fog. I and others in some of my circles are convinced that there is something primal at work here. Should I encounter such conditions, I would jump at any such opportunity for a unique and unmatched kind of primitive enjoyment, tossing my clothes off in mid-air as I took the leap, like our little friend Calvin if I could. The same urge hits me whenever I encounter a nice big stretch of freshly rain softened, squishy mud.
Yet most of us myself included, have been conditioned from early-on to seek shelter by strong negative experiences that we have endured when caught in the rain in the clothes that our parents put on us. How sad though not pointing any fingers or holding any grudges. Unfortunately, most of our everyday clothes are made almost entirely of cotton. Blue jeans, flannel skirts, shirts, blouses, socks, tees, beaters, and skivvies are the worst offenders. Wrapped in those things and caught in the rain, we immediately get soggy, clammy, and if we wait long enough, terribly cold, possibly dangerously so if we are exposed to high winds as well. At the other end of the spectrum, who among us doesn't remember trudging to school melting under an impervious yellow rain slicker on a humid rainy day in late September while rivers of cold rain ran off its bottom skirt and saturated our knees ankles and feet under our clothes, our socks, our shoes. Like Ivan Pavlov's dogs, we got the message very quickly: rain equals misery. It takes us so long to unlearn these things sometimes. However, our kid instinct is never lost entirely, and repeated misery is enough to drive one to leave ones clothes behind for good. Do you suppose that has happened to any of us here?
So today I was working in a field house on a tech crew at one of the well known universities here in the Boston area, doing the rigging for and erecting the large scale sound, lighting and video systems for their upcoming commencement activities a week away. That is what I do for amusement when I must be textile. We had just wrapped for the day around 6pm. As I was walking toward the open door of the loading dock and was heading for my car, the skies outside tore open with a few rumbles of thunder and sheets of rain surging in waves across the parking lot. I could see and hear this from the door way. All I could do at that moment was stand and watch in despair. I suppose that one could say that I was half secretly naked, wearing only a cotton camo kilt, and a beater, cotton of course and my VFFs. I was already cold, just looking at the pounding rain and feeling the damp blow in. My inner instinct knows what is right in such situations and I know from experience how well it all works…I just wanted so badly to drop all of my clothes on the spot and dash outside naked, dance in the rain, and roll in the mud. Of course, under the circumstances I had to restrain myself. Like any self respecting textile, I just stood and waited it out before proceeding to my car, all the while feeling as if I was being robbed at gun point of something huge and wonderful. Rest assured, the clothes were beside me in a heap on the floor of the car as soon as I made it into the car. Oh well. No hard feelings. One just has to accept these things. There will be another time.
Stay naked in the rain.