Chapter 6 of The Nude Adventures of Doff de Chonez

Chapter VI

Upon beholding his reduced library, Doff de Chonez displayed both sadness and rage, but he then seemed to understand the disappearance of so many volumes, and to calm down, after Dr. Nicholson explained that it had been necessary to “undress” his library of books, since, in that way, the remaining books could “be exposed” before the missing books would be redelivered and have their turn to “breathe.” What Dr. Nicholson learned, on the other hand, from Doff de Chonez was that he had not been able to find his tire pump, and had thus proceeded to walk from his backyard into that of a neighbor, one Samuel Dominguez, whom he had heard mowing his lawn, in order to ask if Mr. Dominguez had a tire pump he could borrow. Apparently Mr. Dominguez had not been alarmed by his neighbor’s nudity, or else he had hidden his surprise, and exchanged some pleasantries with Doff de Chonez before lending him his tire pump.

Dr. Nicholson found this interaction with the neighbor most curious, but inquired nothing further about it, and excused himself, promising Doff de Chonez he would stop by again the next day.

Our hero, after downing some fruity juice and a bowl of mixed nuts, and hearing the continued sound of his neighbor’s lawnmower, remembered that he needed to return the tire pump. He found his neighbor as he had left him, shirtless but wearing heavy jeans and boots as he marked freshly cut rows of grass along his back lawn. Doff de Chonez waved to get his attention, holding up the tire pump.

“Just leave it there next to the fence!” Mr. Dominguez shouted, but then he turned off the lawnmower, because Doff de Chonez kept motioning to him.

When the noisy machine had been silenced, our valorous nudist remarked to his neighbor, “Since thou art already naked from the waist up, why dost thou not try it from the waist down?”

“Sr. Lopez,” began the neighbor, “don’t think I haven’t considered it, especially seeing the likes of you running around naked all over the place! But as they say, lazy people will eventually lose even their own trousers, and already my wife Teresa thinks I’m lazy, and so, you see, I need to show her who wears the pants around here.”

“Let me inform thee, friend,” replied the nudist, “that I am no longer Sr. Lopez, but rather Doff de Chonez pa su Mecha. My new name asserts what thou canst see with thine own eyes, which is that I am only too willing to not wear any pants at all.”

“Yes, it is hard to ignore that fact, Sr., uh… Chonez,” agreed the neighbor, “but what is the benefit in it?”

“What is the benefit in it?” Doff de Chonez repeated incredulously. “Why, there are as many benefits as there are pores in thy skin, each one open to the warmth of the sun, the caress of the breeze, the tickle of the sand, or the deluge of the rain. There are as many benefits as there are people thou meetest, whom thou thus reassurest that thou art comfortable with thine own body as thou art comfortable with theirs, that thou art unarmed physically, open and frank in thy dealings, and uninfluenced by the social status that garb can indicate.”

Mr. Dominguez took this all in, squinting into the sunshine, dripping with sweat. Then he shrugged and said, “Well, someday I’ll try it.”

But as he made to once again pull the starter cord on the lawnmower, Doff de Chonez interrupted him. “Samuel, if I may, I beg thee excuse my interruption for just a moment. Dost thou possess any other name?”

“Feel free to call me Sammy,” he replied. “My wife calls me Sammy Panzón,” he added, scratching his large belly. “I wonder why.”

“Sammy…” mused Doff de Chonez. “I know that from the tongue of Cervantes, panzón means large belly. But to the ear of Shakespeare, it sounds rather like ‘pants on,’ which is abjectly wrong and unsatisfactory… How do you feel about the name… Sammy Panzov?”

“Even though I am, like you, of Mexican heritage,” began the neighbor, “there are many people who assume by my appearance that I am Russian or Polish. So, I guess it makes sense. But, why are you giving me this name?”

“Sammy Panzov, if I may,” stated Doff de Chonez in a manner as grandiose as he could muster, “I hereby invite thee—nay, beseech thee—to join me on my travels as nudist-errant. I am but one exemplar of nude body acceptance, but with thee at my side, I can double the strength of our message.”

Sammy Panzov, as he henceforth became known, turned around and looked nervously toward the windows of his home. “Is there any… Excuse me for being so direct, Your Nudeness, but is there any payment in it?”

“Indubitably,” answered Doff de Chonez, “as a result of my efforts in nudist-errantry, I will be made Emperor of a Nude Cruise Line. It would therefore correspond to thee that, at minimum, thou shalt be named to the Directorship of a Landed Naturist Resort.”

“I don’t quite understand what you’re saying,” Sammy replied, even as he was sweating more profusely due to the sun’s now higher position in the sky, “but, since Teresa hasn’t returned from the grocery yet—and since, as it is said, God promised me a fur coat but I’m already sweating—I’m going to give this Panzov business a try.”

Stepping out of his boots, Sammy Panzov then shimmied his pants off, leaving his clothes discarded on the grass. “Ah, yes!” he shouted joyfully. “That certainly does feel much better! The air over my… Qué rico… I’m cooling down already!”

“Now thou understandest what I’m saying, dear Sammy,” said our hero, nodding and smiling. “Listen to me: Finish thy work here, and rest. Ah, and make sure thy bicycle is ready to go. Thou hast a bicycle, yes?”

,” Sammy affirmed, “it is a large one, a three-wheeler with a large basket over the back.”

Doff de Chonez’s eyes lit up. “Perfect!” he exclaimed. “Tomorrow morning, just before dawn, I’ll meet thee here. Bring some food, and uh… some currency, as I will too, and sunscreen, and we’ll set out.”

“But what shall I tell Teresa?” asked Sammy Panzov.

“This matter is one about which I cannot advise thee, friend,” replied Doff de Chonez, “for only thou knowest how to approach her.”

“It is a difficult thing you ask of me,” said Sammy, “but, an exciting thing, too. I will try my best.”

The two men took their leave of one another, Sammy finishing his mowing of the lawn while naked, and Doff de Chonez strolling back to his home to prepare for the next day, which he did with great enthusiasm and no small amount of pride.

Slightly before dawn of the next morning, just as he had done on his first sally alone, Doff de Chonez mounted his trusty Bare Glider and rode over the yard to meet his companion. When he saw, a few minutes later, that Sammy exited his home still dressed, he was crestfallen. “What’s this, friend? Art thou unable or unwilling?”

“Neither the one nor the other, Your Nudeship,” responded Sammy Panzov, “for my Teresa has surprised me with her understanding. She packed a lunch for us both, told me to take my clothes with me, and… what was the other thing? Oh yes! She said, above all, not to come back until after midnight.”

“Such wondrous wisdom!” enthused Doff de Chonez. “Such charm and grace!”

“Oh, and look here,” continued Sammy, “she printed up these cards for us to show, just in case we get in trouble. She said it’s a blessing, or a magic charm, something like that.”

“What do the cards say?” inquired the nudist-errant.

“Looks like it says ‘non compos mentis,’” replied Sammy.

“Discreet lady! Is she perhaps,” probed Doff de Chonez gently, “also of the nudist persuasion?”

“What I can tell you,” answered Sammy, “is that there are indeed times when she takes off her clothes, but the number of those times is no greater than the number of times she puts herself under the showerhead. And there are some few other occasions as well, when, between the sheets…”

“Of this,” interrupted the nudist-errant, “I have neither need nor desire to know, friend. It is enough to say that, clever and considerate though she may be, she is nonetheless one more who stands to be convinced of the benefits of social nudity in nature. But, speaking of this, let us sally forth! Remove thy clothing, make haste!”

And soon, as has been chronicled by the myriad historians, narrators, translators, journalists, and editors attendant to the relation of these matters, Doff de Chonez and Sammy Panzov, their bicycle tires inflated and their baskets filled with food and coin and sunscreen, set off into the rising sun.

As they traveled along a back road, which was a service road to a major interstate, it was not long before they came in sight of a large billboard that rose above the plain, high enough to be seen by the drivers speeding along the highway. Since they approached from above an incline, it appeared at first that the billboard, and what it displayed, rested right at ground level.

“Fortune,” said Doff de Chonez to his neighbor, as soon as he had seen it, “has arranged matters for us better than I could have hoped. Look there, friend Sammy Panzov, where two monstrous giants recline in tantalizing poses, displaying as if for sale the enemy cloth that covers them, and challenging us to consume it from them.”

“What giants?” said Sammy Panzov.

“Those thou seest there,” answered Doff de Chonez, “leveling us with their scowls like scoffs of disdain.”

“Look, Your Nudeship,” said Sammy. “What we see there are not giants but underwear models on a billboard advertisement.”

“What is easy to see,” replied Doff de Chonez, “is that thou art not yet used to the enterprise of nudist enlightenment. Those are giants, and if thou art afeared, get thee away while I engage them in fierce and unequal combat.”

So saying, he raised himself to pedal in standing position, and burst forward, down the incline, on Bare Glider, heedless of the cries of his companion, who continued warning him that most certainly it was a billboard and not giants that he was going to attack. Our hero, however, was so determined that they were giants, that he neither heard Sammy’s shouts, nor perceived, though he was approaching the bottom of the hill, what they indeed were.

“Flee not, textile cowards,” shouted Doff de Chonez, “for it is but a single nudist who confronts ye with liberation from thy bindings!”

A strong wind gusted at this moment, enough to make ripple the printed material of the advertisement that had been stretched taut over the frame of the billboard.

“Though ye ripple and flex thy massive muscles, still ye shall have to reckon with me!” exclaimed Doff de Chonez, when he saw this.

So saying, he commended himself with all his heart to his Lacy Mechinelda, imploring her to support him in the face of such peril. Naked and unarmed, with only his faith in his cause, he charged at Bare Glider’s fullest speed into the massive pole supporting the billboard. Instantly he flew over the handlebars and was sent rolling over the plain, in most lamentable condition.

Sammy hastened to his assistance as fast as his large tricycle could go. He found his neighbor splayed across the grass, bruised and shaken, with a dented Bare Glider lying askew not far away.

“For the love of humanity!” said Sammy. “Did I not tell Your Nudeness to be careful what you were doing, because it was only a billboard with underwear models? No one could have hazarded such a colossal misjudgment unless he were already quite used to making this kind of error.”

“Silence, friend Sammy,” replied Doff de Chonez, “for fortunes are subject to frequent fluctuations, almost as if they were windmills. Moreover I think, and it must be the truth, that some portentous capitalist curse has turned these giants into billboard models in order to rob me of the glory of convincing them to abandon their undergarments once and for all, such is the spell that consumerism weaves into its textiles. But in the end, my determination will prevail over this enormous cover-up.”

Que será, será,” muttered Sammy, helping his neighbor to get up and remount Bare Glider, whose handlebars had been knocked askew. Then, discussing the adventure, they followed the road to Modesto, for there, Doff de Chonez surmised, they could not fail to find textile-challenged interlocutors in great abundance and variety.

next episode:

Chapter VII

Chapter 5 of The Nude Adventures of Doff de Chonez

Chapter V

When Dr. Nicholson parked his SUV in front of Donny Lopez’s home, his friend Donny—or rather, Doff de Chonez—complained that his first sally as a nudist-errant had been far too short. To which the doctor replied that while he had been happy—no, honored—to host Doff de Chonez for one night at the bed & breakfast, it was also, nonetheless, true that he would not be hosting him any longer, and that the nudist-errant needed to resupply himself with food, currency, and other necessities, and to inflate the tires on Bare Glider to a proper pressure, a matter of no small importance for such an active nudist-errant.

Doff de Chonez listened impatiently to his friend’s rationale but found that he could not protest it. For this reason, he invited Dr. Nicholson into his home, offered him some coffee and toast, and then excused himself, saying that he would look in his woodshed for the tire pump that must surely be in there somewhere.

But before Doff de Chonez, still as nude as nude can be, could step out into his yard, Dr. Nicholson inquired as to the identity of the Lady Mechinelda, about whom Doff de Chonez had spoken upon being dubbed.

“Know this, friend,” spoke Doff de Chonez, detaining himself on the threshold of the back door, “that when thou speakest her name, thou must do so with utmost reverence, for her name is as precious to me as the finest pearly white sunscreen, and more precious still, because it is upon her illustrious example that I have determined to assume an exalted position in the history of nudists-errant.”

“I see,” returned the doctor. “This is most wonderful to know. How did you… uh… meet her?”

“A meeting with my lady is an event that I much anticipate, but have yet to arrange,” replied Doff de Chonez, turning again toward the door, “I pray thee climb the stairs and spy from my bedroom window, and tell me if she is at present in her backyard, enjoying the sun on her naked body just as we all should do. Thou wilt perceive she is a most honorable paragon of the naturist ideal.”

Dr. Nicholson nodded, but as soon as Doff de Chonez had stepped into his own backyard on his way to the shed, the doctor quickly called their mutual friend, the priest, and required of him a certain urgent participation. Fortunately, the priest was able to accommodate, into his busy Wednesday ecclesiastical schedule, a quick visit to the home of Donny Lopez, as well as to provide Dr. Nicholson with the name of the neighbor, Doña Mercedes de Avelar, who had perhaps unknowingly inflamed the passion of the nudist-errant.

Within ten minutes, the priest and the doctor stood on the front porch of Doña Mercedes’ home, with solicitous demeanor but not without trepidation. After she answered their knock, and introductions were hastily made, the doctor proceeded to summarize the situation to her in the following manner: “It seems that our friend, your neighbor Mr. Lopez, may have… uh… one day seen you from his window, when you were in your backyard… uh… without any clothes on.”

“Frankly, caballeros,” spoke Doña Mercedes, not embarrassed in the least, and standing firm in her doorway, “I don’t see what the fuss is about. Con frecuencia I take a sunbath in my yard, which has a high privacy fence. If he saw me from his ventana, well, it must have been his upstairs window, and if there’s some problem, he can talk about it with me directly. En persona.”

And this, dear reader, is the moment when the doctor felt compelled to explain to Doña Mercedes the series of incredible events that you have already taken it upon yourself to read about, and hopefully, to enjoy with great moral profit, as did the neighbor, and also the priest, who, as well, heard most of this edifying narration for the first time at that point. This was so much the case that when the doctor revealed what he was proposing as a solution to the problem of Doff de Chonez’s unadvisedly persistent and public nudity, the neighbor and the priest were both highly intrigued, and promptly followed him next door to the home of Doff de Chonez.

Verifying that the nudist-errant was not present in the house, the doctor led his co-conspirators to his friend’s library, which featured many tall bookcases that, until only recently, had displayed shelf after shelf of videogames, but were now filled with books about naturism.

¡Pa’ su mecha!” exclaimed Doña Mercedes. “He really is loco.”

“Quickly,” said the doctor, “we must begin to end his locura. I know from conversations with him that he reads incessantly on the topic of naturism. This library is the source. We must get rid of these books, or rather, redistribute them.”

“I hope,” sighed the neighbor, “that we are not too late.”

“Look here,” said the priest, “the fattest book on these shelves is The Nudist Idea, by Cec Cinder. Surely this is the source of his ideations?”

“Well it could be, padre,” said Dr. Nicholson, “for it is an exhaustively thorough account of the history of naturism, with no small focus on events here in California. And yet, it is more of a reference work, difficult to read straight through. Moreover, it is much too thick to recycle. Do you propose to burn it?”

“The days of the Inquisition,” replied the priest with a huff, “are long gone! And besides, if it is as valuable a reference as you say, then it should be preserved. In fact, perhaps I shall read it myself.”

Rápido, pues,” said Doña Mercedes. “Let’s make four piles – one for you, padre, and one for you, doctor, and one for me, and one for recycling.”

“This is a superb idea,” said the doctor, “because if our addlepated friend questions the disappearance of his books, we can truthfully say that we are merely borrowing them in an effort to learn more about his most noble cause of naturism.”

Exactamente,” said Doña Mercedes. “I’m taking this one, because the title looks fun: Naked at Lunch.”

“You will no doubt enjoy that one,” said the doctor, “for Mark Haskell Smith’s account of his nudist travels is highly entertaining. If it’s OK with you two, I will take this one that promises to be more academic in nature, Naked: A Cultural History of American Nudism, by Brian Hoffman.”

“Have you read these, doctor?” asked the priest. “Theatre au Naturel and Cinema au Naturel by Mark Storey.”

“Oh yes,” replied Dr. Nicholson enthusiastically, “and I will tell you, padre, that there is no finer chronicler of naturist matters than Mark Storey, philosopher and naked adventurer onto public lands. Indeed, perhaps our friend ‘Doff’ has been inspired by this writer’s, and his spouse’s, numerous articles in N magazine about naked adventuring.”

“These lower shelves here are stacked with N magazine issues,” observed Doña Mercedes. “May I take a few? I did not know there is an entire magazine about being naked outside. In fact, I thought I knew enough about that already.”

Por favor, señora,” said the doctor, “take as many as you please, for in these wondrous pages you will learn of all kinds of matters pertaining to naturism and naturist travel, from perspectives historical, legal, artistic, philosophical, pragmatic, medicinal, and etc.”

“I’m also going to take this one,” said the neighbor, holding what looked to be a comic book.

“About that book I will clarify,” began the priest, “that although my institution, the Catholic church, is often quick to condemn nudity, I must avow that the graphic portrayal of nude characters in The Koala Bares by Stephen Crowley is most wholesome and entirely illustrative of naturist ideals.”

“Indeed,” added the doctor, “it is often said that much truth is conveyed through fiction, and it seems that we have moved into the naturist fiction section of our friend’s library, although there is much more to scrutinize than we may be able to accomplish. Here we have a brick of a novel, very recently published, called Ages of Aenya by Nick Alimonos. Have either of you read it?”

The priest and the neighbor both shook their heads. Doña Mercedes took the book in her hands and opened it, finding a bookmark. “It looks like Mr. Lopez hasn’t finished it yet.”

“May I borrow it, then?” asked the padre, to whom Doña Mercedes passed the copy. “I am a… well, maybe I should not be so hesitant to say it, but I am a sci fi and fantasy fan, and this book looks to be an example of the latter.”

“By all means, father,” said the doctor. “What I know of it, is that the heroes Xandr and Thelana refuse clothing, and though they fight all the more valiantly without it, they are nonetheless shunned by the clothed society they would save.”

¡Por Dios!” exclaimed Doña Mercedes, who now held a different paperback open in her hands. “Este libro es muy sexy. That’s not naturism, is it?”

“Probably not,” spoke the doctor, “although, of course, a good novel might depict sex as much as any other part of life. What is the title?”

Nude Beach X-capades,” she replied, “by Randy X. Riles.”

“I have never heard of this author,” stated Dr. Nicholson diplomatically, “and I suspect that our friend ordered the title by mistake. Let that one inaugurate our pile for the recycling center.”

“It is a most unfavorable circumstance,” began the priest, “that duplicitous people seek to exploit normal curiosity about nudity and naturism by turning it into eroticism and pornography.”

“The church could be more helpful on that account,” said Doña Mercedes, arching an eyebrow. “¿No cree Ud., padre?

Sí, sí, sí,” sputtered the priest, “and I do my best to encourage what we call body acceptance in my homilies. But, would you have me change an entire institution that has been going strong for centuries?”

“Change often comes slowly, this is for certain,” said the doctor, “and yet, simply reading a book can make a big difference. Just look at our friend Don! I mean… Doff! And just consider this cover, of a novel called The “Volunteer by D. H. Jonathan. Perhaps this woman has read something enlightening?”

Ay, se ve muy incómoda,” opined Doña Mercedes, looking at the young woman on the cover, nude among her clothed classmates. “I don’t think that would be any fun, to be the only nude person in a huge group.”

“Please let me borrow this one, too,” said the priest, “because, although I have not read this novel yet, I know from reading about it that there is some controversy as to whether the young woman’s behavior, induced from coercion, progresses to represent true naturism.”

“Please let us know what you discover,” said the doctor. “May I also recommend, padre, since you appreciate science fiction, the first volume in this series by P. Z. Walker, Mirror Earth. It is a wonderful ‘what if’ story about how life without clothing could be.”

Gracias,” said the priest. “I have heard of his work. It is not always easy or good to judge a book by its cover, but perhaps la señora would enjoy this series, also by P. Z. Walker, about a young woman’s enhanced experiences with her Native American past through nudity? It is called Naked Crow. What do you think, doctor?”

“Well,” replied Dr. Nicholson, “I think that Doña Mercedes can and should make her own judgments, but, that being said, yes, I have read every volume of this series, and I highly recommend it to anyone. In these books, Sheila, the Naked Crow, comes to embody the power of naturism in ways both ordinary and extraordinary.”

“This title,” chuckled Doña Mercedes, looking a little further along the shelf, “makes me laugh, because of course it’s so true: It’s Complicated: When A Man Meets A Woman.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the priest. “This is a remarkable tale by Robert G. Longpre, and I think we should place it in your pile, Doña Mercedes, but let me also say that it is the second part, a continuation of this volume next to it here on the shelf, A Small Company of Pilgrims. Together they relate the spiritual journey of a pilgrim, René Beauchemin, and the way in which his acceptance of nudity, and even social nudity, strengthens his understanding of his own life goals, and of the goals of others. An excellent story.”

“That author’s series of Naked Poetry is also quite good,” added the doctor.

“What are these last two volumes here on this shelf?” asked Doña Mercedes.

Aglow, and Co-ed Naked Philosophy, by Will Forest,” replied the priest.

“This Forest has been for many years a great friend of mine,” said Dr. Nicholson, “and to my knowledge he has had more experience in scarcities than in volumes. But his books are not without great imagination, and surely they are most enchantingly written. I recommend the first for you, señora, for its beauty, and the second to you, padre, for its philosophy, although certainly each book has elements of both.”

“There is only one book in our recycling pile, and only one book in yours, Dr. Nicholson,” noticed the priest, “and yet here are maybe a score more works of naturist fiction by T. H. Pine, and Ted Bun, and here’s Martin Brant, and Sally Dali – is she the only woman among the bunch? and one Wallace Greensage… ”

“And here are more delivery boxes,” said the neighbor, “that he has not even opened yet. Ay caray, this man is a lunatic!”

As if she had conjured him, Doff de Chonez could suddenly be heard entering the house from the backyard, vociferating about newly inflated tires.

“Quickly now,” said the doctor, “take your books and slip out the front door! I’ll dress Mr. Chonez.”

Address, you mean,” laughed Doña Mercedes, closing the front door behind her.

next episode:

Chapter VI

Chapter 4 of The Nude Adventures of Doff de Chonez

Chapter IV

Having been a night owl for many years, playing videogames long past bedtime, until his game-playing habit was replaced by reading about naturism into the early morning hours, Doff de Chonez surprised himself upon awakening with the sun still low in the sky. After a few moments of confusion, he remembered having found lodging at a bed & breakfast that he had taken to be nudist, or, at the very least, clothing optional.

He jumped out of bed, naked as he had come into the world, and made haste to the sitting room, where, as he had been informed, breakfast would be served. But to his great frustration, there was none to be found, not even the aroma of anything like breakfast being prepared. Not only was there no food, but, moreover, there was not a soul to be found in the house. His sense of decency prevented Doff de Chonez from opening closed doors, so, instead, he went out into the backyard, a pleasant garden area with a high privacy fence, where he was intent on cleaning himself, since, as he understood from his readings, naturist establishments most often featured outdoor showers.

The kind of outdoor shower, perhaps, envisioned by our hero Doff de Chonez

Ten minutes later, Beth awoke with a start, hearing a rapping at the window of her second-floor window. One second later, Cheryl awoke with a start, hearing a scream coming from her partner in bed. Both women, sitting bolt upright and clutching the bedsheets to their chests, could now hear the muffled shouts of Doff de Chonez, perched on a tree branch outside the window, looking at them and pointing at a garden hose he held in his hand. After watching, in a state of shock, the nudist-errant’s complicated series of gesticulations, the B&B owners slowly recovered from their initial fright even as they understood it would be a difficult morning, and even as they hoped for the speedy arrival of Dr. Nicholson.

When the doctor did arrive some ten minutes later, there was no one to receive him in the front of the house, but he heard singing coming from the back garden, to which location he directed his steps. Turning the back corner of the house, he discovered that it was his friend Donny Lopez, the very same who was making himself known as Doff de Chonez, who was singing “The Impossible Dream” while lathering himself under a stream of water gushing from a hose. The hose was sustained above him by the hand of a very bored woman, leaning into the open frame of a second-floor window, supporting her head in her other hand. Dr. Nicholson was not surprised by the nudity of his friend, and he surmised that the woman in the window, and another woman carrying a kitchen tray, were the owners of the establishment. But he was indeed surprised to find a second nudist. An elderly woman sat at a patio table, naked, receiving her morning coffee from the woman with the tray. She was watching the nude man in the improvised shower, humming along to his tune.

It was the woman in the window who first spotted the new arrival, and her boredom quickly changed to excitement. “Are you Dr. Nicholson?” she called out to him.

Suddenly all eyes were upon him, as the new visitor responded affirmatively. Instantly Doff de Chonez recognized his friend, strode to him quickly, and embraced him, wet and soapy as was his condition at the moment.

“Dr. Nicholson!” cried our hero. “Thou art overdressed! Here, remove thy garments and step into this lovely shower I’ve arranged, as pure and strong as Neptune’s fountain!”

The doctor reacted quickly, separating his delusional friend from his person, and holding him by the shoulders. Meanwhile the nude woman at the table called out, “It’s my turn next!”

“Mother, please…” spoke the woman holding the kitchen tray, before introducing herself. “I’m Cheryl, and that’s Beth in the window. Thanks for coming by.”

“Certainly,” replied the doctor. “Anything to help a friend. By the way, friend,” and here he poked Doff de Chonez lightly on the chest, “you should finish rinsing off.”

“Yes, of course,” responded our hero, “and then please stay for breakfast. I entreat thee.”

“Indeed,” chuckled Dr. Nicholson, “what a treat.”

Cheryl motioned for the doctor to meet her inside the house, where they quickly retired, and where the doctor tried to convince her of the benefits of naturism.

“My friend has become obsessed – I beg your pardon on his behalf,” insisted the doctor. “He and I have spoken often about naturism, and while I expected him to be almost ready to visit the naturist park that I myself frequent, I certainly did not expect him to try to turn the world into a naturist park.”

“If it’s such a beneficial practice,” asked Cheryl, “why isn’t it more widely known and accepted?”

“It’s an excellent question,” replied the doctor, “and I can assure you that it is only due to people’s continued stigmas about nudity. But as a healthcare professional, and also from my own personal experience, I can say that exposing the skin to the elements can be highly therapeutic.”

“Well, now he has my mother hooked,” protested Cheryl, with tone most querulous. “Before I even knew she was awake this morning, my mother saw him out there building his makeshift shower, threw off her clothes, and joined him in the garden.”

“It’s a lovely garden,” affirmed the doctor, “and I noticed it has a high wall. She won’t be seen, and it won’t do her any harm to feel the sun on her skin for a while this morning. On the contrary, it may do her quite a bit of good.”

Cheryl hesitated a moment, but then confirmed that her aged mother, who was suffering symptoms of senility, definitely did seem more active and lucid out in the sun. Nonetheless, the lucidity of Doff de Chonez remained much in doubt. Dr. Nicholson hastily paid his friend’s expenses and shared with the owner his plan for having the benighted man dubbed a card-carrying nudist. When Cheryl learned that she and Beth would need to undress again, she protested, but, recognizing they had already breached that threshold the previous eve, and desiring most desperately to be rid of the nude intruder, she consented to the plan.

A few minutes later, Cheryl and Dr. Nicholson strode naked into the backyard, where they found Doff de Chonez seated at the table partaking of his coffee, fruit, bacon and a biscuit. Cheryl’s mother stood under the hose, singing Dolly Parton’s “Sugar Hill.”

“Hey!” shouted Beth from the upstairs window. “She’s been in the shower a long time, and I’m getting tired up here! Will you shut off the water, please?”

“Got it!” yelled Cheryl, spinning the faucet. “Oh, Beth? Whatever you’re wearing, take it off and come down here please?”

Beth harrumphed, and it could be heard, as she stomped away from the window, that she retorted, “Are you kidding? I didn’t bother putting anything on…”

Beth soon arrived in the yard, and Cheryl’s mother finished rinsing and drying herself, and then they all stood with Dr. Nicholson in a semi-circle.

“Doff… de Chonez,” Dr. Nicholson announced, the name new on his lips, “please rise and stand before our nude assemblage.”

Our hero set down his coffee and came to stand before his friend.

“Noble nudist,” began Dr. Nicholson, “having proved your valor in sallying forth into the world, with the goal of making it a… a more naked place in which to live, it is incumbent upon me that I recognize, standing here before you, four witnesses, myself included, to the efficacy of your labors, and thus, with the authority granted me as a doctor of medicine and as a practicing naturist, I hereby dub you nudist.”

And with these words, Dr. Nicholson held up his hands with his palms facing away from him. Leaning his left index finger against his right index finger, and bending down all other digits except the right middle finger, he thus formed a letter N that he pressed against out hero’s chest, over his heart, holding it there for a few moments and then withdrawing his hands.

“But… friend… Dr. Nicholson…” sputtered our hero, “this is no card! Thou hast not even left any permanent mark!”

“Noble nudist,” replied the doctor, “know that the mark of the nudist is always, and only, his or her own skin, bared in its entirety. Such is the beauty of nudism.”

Doff de Chonez bowed his head, accepting the truth of his friend’s words, and knelt to the ground, tears streaming down his cheeks, saying, “If only my Lady, my dearest Mechinelda, were here to witness this moment of dedication, so dear to me, as she is the one true motivator of mine objectives.”

The doctor and the B&B owners raised eyebrows and shoulders, in mutual incomprehension of this reference to a Lady Mechinelda.

“And now, true nudist Doff de Chonez,” continued the doctor, “it is time for us to take our leave. I’m going to escort you to your home, where we will properly commemorate your new title.”

“May we invite my Lady Mechinelda?” inquired Doff de Chonez.

The doctor smiled. “Certainly. Off we go! Let’s not forget your bicycle.”

“Bare Glider,” the nudist-errant muttered, rising to his feet. “My companion through the fields of cauliflower!”

And soon, as Cheryl and Beth waved enthusiastically, and Cheryl’s mother danced in the sunshine, the two men drove away, with Bare Glider stuffed into the back of Dr. Nicholson’s SUV.

next episode:

Chapter V

Chapter 3 of The Nude Adventures of Doff de Chonez


Given that Doff de Chonez was unaccustomed to strenuous exercise of the kind that includes the vigorous pedaling of a bicycle, and given that said exercise was doubled by the fact that Bare Glider’s tires were only about half inflated, our hero was exhausted by the time he had traveled the three miles to the old brick home, a quaint bed-and-breakfast on the outskirts of town, which he reached just as the sun was setting. Leaving his helmet hanging from the handlebars, he parked Bare Glider in front of the house. There did not seem to be anyone around. “Why,” Doff de Chonez asked himself, “is there no smiling nudist at the door to meet me, and to assure me that I have found the correct location?”

He strode slowly but deliberately up the front steps to the porch. With a light touch, the front door opened easily, and it rang a small bell as it swung. Doff de Chonez stepped into the vestibule, and soon heard a woman’s voice calling from another room.

“Good evening! I’ll be with you in just a moment!”

“Ah, a fellow nudist!” thought Doff de Chonez, taking heart. But as he moved into the sitting room, assessing its appearance, he began to ask himself, “Why are there no courtesy towels for sitting upon this delicate furniture? Where is the information about the Clothing Optional Home Network, and where are the AANR and TNS brochures? Why do the paintings on the wall depict such heavily dressed subjects?”

At the sound of footsteps, Doff de Chonez turned toward the hall, just in time to see a woman coming around the corner of the sitting room. As to the matter of who shrieked first, or who shrieked louder, there is intense debate among historians, although all sources agree that it was a most awkward encounter.

“Why art thou dressed?” asked Doff de Chonez, after he recovered from his shock.

“I… what… who…,” stammered the woman, shielding her eyes, “what are you doing here?”

“Why, I am seeking lodging, of course. Thy hostel was recommended to me, by a most helpful fellow citizen, as being appropriate for a nudist such as I, although I must say that I am surprised by the lack of nudist literature here in thy reception area.”

“But…” interjected the woman, “you’re nuts! This is not a nudist establishment. There must have been some misunderstanding. Please leave the premises or I’ll call…”

“Beth,” interrupted another woman, who had appeared on the other side of a counter at the far end of the sitting room, “may I speak with you here in the kitchen for just a moment?”

The woman who had been thus summoned harrumphed loudly and returned back down the hall, and from the counter her partner excused them both, begging the patience of our nudist-errant. As he waited, patiently meditating upon the virtue of naked honesty, he could not help but overhear fragments of the conversation between the two women in the kitchen, including the words “underbooked,” “open-minded” and the phrase, “she won’t notice.”

Presently the two women appeared together behind the counter, enthusiastically extolling the comforts of their establishment, and inquiring if the gentleman would be staying more than one evening, and most pressingly, given that he did not appear to have much about his person, how would he be wishing to pay.

“Kind women,” Doff de Chonez began, “I am pleased to consider thy generous offer to stay more than one evening, and truly I regard such unfettered kindness as one of the most exemplary of human qualities, although I must insist, because it behooves me to inquire, once again, as to why, if this be a nudist place of lodging, as ye are now leading me to believe, are ye not then nude yourselves?”

The women looked at each other for a long moment. The woman named Beth coughed and muttered something about hygiene. The second woman, somewhat more knowledgeable regarding trends in the hospitality industry, addressed Doff de Chonez, saying, “Surely a nudist such as yourself has heard of clothing-optional? It’s very much in fashion these days.”

“I know very little of… fashion,” replied Doff de Chonez, “but yes, I have indeed heard of clothing-optional. After all, it is the name ye have given your network of hostels, is it not? But surely, if ye work here, or if ye are, perhaps, the owners, then ye must be more comfortable without your heavy vestments?”

The women, both wearing light cotton sundresses, since it was, as we have established prior, July in central California, were unable to keep several chuckles from escaping their mouths.

One of the fine homes featured at Clothing Optional Home Network

“Furthermore,” added our hero, “what I know is that clothing-optional is not at all as preferable, especially for an establishment such as this lovely home of yours, as requiring nudity outright. But, surely ye know this, because nudists, ah…. such as yourselves… are aware that the eminent naturist and resort-owner Stéphane Deschênes has explicated this misconception on numerous occasions.”

Our hero’s intense focus was met with blank stares.

Doff de Chonez cleared his throat. “I hope,” he continued, “that I am not mistaken about the category of your fine hostel, but if I have indeed arrived here in error, then I will beg your forgiveness, and take my leave, and proceed along my way, for I am in search of a fine nudist establishment of the highest quality, where I can arrange to have myself dubbed a card-carrying nudist.”

Once again, the second woman solicited Doff de Chonez’s patience while she and Beth excused themselves and disappeared around the corner of the kitchen. As our hero patiently meditated upon the virtue of nude tolerance, he could not avoid overhearing the following words and phrases from their exchange: “low season,” “high bills,” and “just do it.” These were followed by the sound of ruffling cloth.

Presently, Beth walked out to the counter, naked, with her arms folded across her chest, and stood as close as possible to the desk ledge on her side of the counter, presumably with the intent of hiding all of herself below the waist. Looking straight into our hero’s eyes, she said, “Here at Santa B’s B&B, we are happy to honor your request.”

Doff de Chonez raised an eyebrow. “Thou meanest that thou canst dub me a nudist?”

Beth sighed, pounded the ledge, and spoke from the corner of her mouth, “Cheryl, get over here!”

There followed the sound of more ruffling cloth, and then Cheryl, for this was the name of the second woman, appeared, nude as well, and quickly matched her partner’s stance at the counter. She replied to our hero as follows, “My partner was referring to the fact that we are happy to honor your request for nude lodging. As to the matter of your drubbing, Mr…?”


“…Mr. Dubbing, we… uh… would be honored to provide that service for you for a small additional fee.”

“It is a fine surname, but it is not mine. I must inform ye that I am Doff de Chonez, nudist-errant, on a mission to correct misconceptions about nudity.”

Cheryl blinked and wrote something down, saying “Sure thing, Mr. Chonez.” There ensued a discussion of the nightly rate, the taxes to be assessed, and the options that would be available for breakfast, after which our hero returned to his bicycle, only to realize that in his haste to begin his adventure, which, though it seemed ages ago had only occurred that very morning, he had neglected to include his wallet in his appurtenances. When he returned to relay this information to his hosts, Beth stalked away from the counter, but Cheryl assured him they would work it all out in the morning and, in the meantime, they would make do with references such as he could provide. After relaying his address and that of his friend Dr. Nicholson, Doff de Chonez parked Bare Glider behind the house as indicated, and carried his few items to his room for the night where, no doubt due to his extreme fatigue, he immediately fell asleep.

No sooner had a sonorous snore escaped the flared nostrils of our hero, however, than Beth and Cheryl had procured the phone number of Dr. Nicholson, called him, and narrated to him the odd doings of Doff de Chonez. Dr. Nicholson was shocked to hear their account, and intrigued by the business about requesting to be dubbed a card-carrying nudist. He first apologized on behalf of his friend, and then inquired of the B&B owners if they had been hurt or accosted in any way by their outrageously naked guest. The owners admitted they had suffered neither wound nor abuse, only great astonishment at his out-of-place nudity and highfalutin discourse, and deep concern for his well-being… and for the payment of his room and board. Upon learning that our hero was sleeping soundly, Dr. Nicholson assured the owners that he would come collect him first thing in the morning, and pay his bill.

The owners thanked him, hung up, and sighed deeply. Only then did they perceive their continued state of undress.

next episode:

Chapter IV

Chapter 2 of The Nude Adventures of Doff de Chonez

Chapter II

Once these preliminaries had been settled, Doff de Chonez decided to wait no longer before putting his project into effect, for he was afflicted by the thought of how much the world would suffer from his tardiness. Many were the misconceptions about nudity that needed to be corrected! So, without informing anyone of his intentions, and without anybody seeing him, on that warm July morning before dawn he stashed his clothes in his trusty bicycle’s basket, with a towel, some water, snacks, and a large bottle of sunscreen. Wearing only a patched-up helmet and sneakers, he mounted Bare Glider and took off down the dirt road behind his house. The ease with which he had inaugurated his great objective made blossom within him an immense satisfaction and boundless pleasure.

He had advanced only some hundred yards down the road, however, when a terrible thought overtook him, one almost strong enough to make him abandon the entire endeavor at the very outset. It occurred to him that he had not been dubbed a card-carrying nudist by any nudist authority, such as The Naturist Society or the American Association for Nude Recreation. This reflection caused him to waver in his purpose, but, his craziness being stronger than any reasoning, he made up his mind to have himself dubbed a nudist at the first nudist park, campground, or resort that he happened upon.

As our incipient adventurer pedaled along, he thought to himself as follows. “Who knows whether in the future, when the history of my famous deeds shall be brought to light, the sage who writes it–surely one of the more celebrated naturist chroniclers, such as Mark Storey, or Florencia Brenner, or perhaps Paulo Pereira–when deciding how to set forth my first sally in the early morning, may it not be set forth in this fashion? ‘Barely had The Bear Republic sun touched the newly bared shoulders of our bare adventurer, burnishing them to a bare-bodied buff, when Doff de Chonez pa su Mecha mounted his trusty Bare Glider and barreled along the bare backroads of Santa Bernarda,’” which was in fact the name of the small municipality where he was riding.

And he continued in this vein, now addressing his muse: “O Lady Mecha… Mechinelda,” adding syllables to make her name sound more mellifluous to his ear, “lady of my captive heart, dueña de mi corazón cautivo, an abiding motive hast thou visited upon me, for when I saw thee denuded, in the act of offering up thy clean, wet garments to the sky, like a sacrifice to the sun, I conceived the desire to uncover my person as thou hadst done. Venturing forth on thine example, I strive to prove myself worthy of thine honor. O Lady Mechinelda, deign to hold in remembrance this my heart, that thus in agitation pines for thy favor.”

He proceeded down the road, stringing together these and other absurdities, and although it was unkind to the precarious frame of Bare Glider, he did not stray from the rough dirt road which, once he had traversed it further than ever before, led him through vast fields of tomatoes, lettuce, broccoli, and other produce for harvest. From time to time a farm worker would lift his head and yell, “Mira ahí, un pelado en bicicleta,” which Doff de Chonez knew enough Spanish to understand as meaning “Look there, a naked man on a bike.” But to the mounting frustration of our nudist-errant, the farm workers seemed to be a tolerant if overly dressed lot, providing none of the yearned-for opportunities to prove his mettle in the defense of nudity.

When, after suffering the heat of the day followed by the onslaught of the mosquitoes, and having stopped only once to reapply sunscreen and avail himself of food and drink from his own meager supply, Doff de Chonez happened upon a large vehicle around which were congregated a score or more of the farm workers, he became eager to meet the circumstances before him in order to defend his choice to remain unclothed. He saw that these workers, who at that moment were enjoying a very brief break from their labors and refreshing themselves, had removed some of their gloves and head coverings and placed them in a pile off to one side.

Straightening Bare Glider’s handlebars, the nudist-errant made a beeline for the pile of gloves and caps. Pulling up alongside, and sweating profusely, for, though he held firm to his guiding conviction, he had never done anything remotely like this before, he began grabbing the garb and stuffing it into his basket. The workers immediately noticed what he was about, and several of them began shouting at our hero, running toward him with most aggressive attitude. Doff de Chonez quickly rode away some distance, having filched an odd number of mismatched gloves, two baseball caps, and a surgical mask.

The workers who had been chasing him were struck by the folly of the situation. They stopped and yelled at him, “Are you crazy?” “¿Qué te pasa?” and further less decorous phrases. In this turmoil our hero, clutching one of the caps and raising it high, shouted “¡Atención! It is I, Doff de Chonez pa su Mecha, who doth beseech ye, sayeth unto mine ears the name of whosoever it is who doth oppress ye so!”

The alarmed farm workers, some laughing but most with blank stares, looked at each other in confusion, many averting their eyes from the uncovered countenance of our nudist-errant. The driver of the bus, for indeed the large vehicle around which they were congregated was the bus that would eventually take the workers back into town, came down the stairs and addressed Doff de Chonez, raising his voice.

Mire, caballero, most of us understand English, but not yours. Your English sounds very complicated. On the other hand, what is easy for us to understand is that you’re a crazy naked man! On a bike. Out here in the middle of the cauliflower fields. And you’re stealing our gloves and caps!”

To which Doff de Chonez replied, “Listen, ruffian, and mark my words! While it is correct to say, nay, even to insist, that I am naked, and moreover, it may well be true that the declaration that I am crazy is not all that far off the mark, one of these assertions does not necessarily imply the other, and I beg of thy sensibilities to disavow such an automatic association!” Of course, very little of this was understood, since, in addition to the general incomprehensibility of Doff de Chonez’s convoluted reasonings and archaic diction, it all had to be shouted from a distance of some thirty yards.

But at this point our intrepid hero began to gesticulate at the workers as he continued. “What I want to know is, why do ye wear such excessive coverings? Several layers of clothing ye don, long-sleeved and long-panted. Many head coverings. Gloves, as if we were not in sunny California but rather the frigid arctic. Why do ye not open yourselves to the sun and breeze, as I, who will defend ye should ye choose to join me, have so done?”

His words were met with nervous giggles. Once again, it was the driver of the bus who spoke up. “You seem to be quite comfortable running around without clothes on, but we are not. And besides, these coverings, as you call them, protect the workers out in the fields.”

One of the workers nodded, saying, “Perhaps, caballero, if you would care to come join us in the field, you would see the need for these… coverings.” At this point, since Doff de Chonez understood that the workers had finished their respite and that it was time for them to return to the field, and as he was feeling conflicted about the matter of his thievery, he agreed to accompany them to their labor. He rode back to the workers, returned the items he had taken, and asked their forgiveness. Once this was accomplished to everyone’s satisfaction, the driver of the bus found an extra blade for Doff de Chonez to use in the harvest.

From “How Cauliflower is Harvested”

Leaving his helmet over the handlebars of Bare Glider, our hero followed some of the workers along a thin aisle between the rows of cauliflower. Mimicking their movements if not their protective wear, he bent over and pulled and sliced and threw. He found great difficulty in matching their pace, although he knew that in part this was simply because, for him, it was a new undertaking. But soon he felt calluses welling up on the palms of his uncovered hands, and he felt his thighs and shins itching from a bright red rash, and he struggled to breathe deeply the heavy air that seemed to him unduly pungent. He fell over backwards.

The same worker who had spoken to him earlier, addressed him again, saying, “Por favor, caballero, now that you’ve seen what we do, you should go on and leave us alone. We don’t want any trouble.”

A second worker joined him, scolding the first worker for lecturing the poor man lying there on the ground naked. She helped our hero to his feet, and then she opened her canteen and splashed water over him. Doff de Chonez thanked her.

Escuche, caballero,” she addressed him, “listen. Es verdad, it’s true you can stay cooler out here without clothes on, sin ropa. Your sweat evaporates and cools your skin quickly, just like the water I threw on you. But when you are out here in the fields, you need to protect your skin from the bugs, from the chemicals, from the sharp knife, even from the hot sun. Yes, we get very sweaty and stinky, but we go home and nos bañamos, and the next day we do it all over again. We are just trying to earn money for our families, ¿entiende?

Our nudist hero, heaving and panting and resting his hands on his knees, nodded his head. “Pero… But I will add that the whole operation here seems far from natural, and yet what could we imagine to be more natural than tending a garden, wearing nothing? Surely this is what our ancestors did.”

Sí, señor,” responded the male worker, “but our ancestors, nuestros antepasados, did not have harsh chemicals, nor did they have to harvest huge quantities, cantidades imensas. These things, these needs, add up, and then clothing becomes our need as well.”

Doff de Chonez dropped his shoulders in resignation as he watched head after head of cauliflower travel up a conveyor belt to be rinsed, wrapped, and boxed.

Señor,” spoke the female worker, “it is almost our quitting time. Today we have worked very hard to be paid very little, just like every other day. I have no food or shelter to offer you. Do you know your way home?”

“My lady,” spoke Doff de Chonez, “I most certainly know the way to my own home, about which, I must say, in gratitude, not platitude, that mi casa es su casa, and I pray thee not doubt my hospitality for even a second. Nevertheless, I would not be worth my salt as a nudist-errant if I did not press on to find a naturist resort, of the highest quality, where I can be dubbed a card-carrying nudist.”

No entiendo,” she replied. “I’m sure I don’t understand, but look, just a little ahead off the main road you’ll find a bed-and-breakfast. Maybe you can stay there. When you get to the road, turn left, you’ll see the sign por ese lado.”

Perhaps the worker spoke in haste, and certainly her words were muffled by her surgical mask, but in any case, Doff de Chonez, whose actual abilities in Spanish were far outpaced by his faith in said abilities, deduced that what she had uttered after the word “sign” was not por ese lado, meaning “on that side,” but rather pelado, meaning–as you, dear reader, will no doubt remember–“naked.” He nodded with enthusiasm, took his leave graciously, and set out upon Bare Glider to find shelter at a hostel that, in his mind, must surely have pertained to an organization about which he had read with great interest: the Clothing Optional Home Network, a “Network of Nudist-Friendly B&B Style Homes.”

next episode:

Chapter III

The Nude Adventures of Doff de Chonez pa su Mecha

The following is the first episode in a naturist adaptation of the classic novel by Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote. The original, El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha, was published in two parts in Madrid in 1605 and 1615. With acknowledgement to Cervantes, whose style is imitated faithfully here, and to the English translations, especially Ormsby’s, I invite you to enjoy
Chapter I

In a village of California, which I prefer to leave unnamed, there lived not long ago one of those guys that still has a videocassette in his VCR, an old trumpet, and an ancient bicycle for occasional excursions. His food, mostly frozen, and more microwaved than cooked on a stove, consumed a large part of his income. The rest went for his cable subscription and a few snappy outfits–he was a fussy dresser. The age of this subject of ours was bordering on fifty. He was of a hardy constitution, spare, gaunt-featured, very much a night-owl, and fond of marathon sessions of old videogames. Some say that he was known as Donald or Donny or maybe even Donaldo Adolfo (for there is no unanimity among those who write on the subject), and from further reasonable conjecture it can be derived that his surname was Lopez, or Lopes.

What is essential to understand is that at some point this gentleman began to devote his leisure time (which was mostly all the year round) to reading books about naturism. This was all the more remarkable given that he seldom ventured out of doors and preferred, due to what he thought to be a strong sense of modesty, to leave his house, on the few occasions that he did so, completely and impeccably dressed. But to such a pitch rose his eagerness and infatuation with naturism that he sold many of his furnishings, videocassettes and videogames in order to buy naturist books and magazines to read, ordering all that he could find online.

But there were none he liked as much as those written by the famous Brooke Lee Brookleigh, since their logical lucidity and complicated conceits were as pearls in his estimation, particularly when in his reading he came upon outpourings of adulation for the natural life such as “the natural nature of naturism is to appreciate nature naturally”; or again, “social nudity is a nude society of nudists living socially in the nude.”

Over this sort of balderdash the poor guy lost his bearings, and he would lie awake at night striving to understand it and tease out its hidden meaning, though Maurice Parmelee himself could not have extracted any further meaning from it, not even had he come back to life for that express purpose. A rather solitary fellow, our gentleman did manage, nonetheless, to engage his few acquaintances in discussion of the topic of his incipient passion. Many an argument did he have with the priest of his village (a learned man, and a graduate of UC Santa Cruz) as to who had become the better nude activist, Gypsy Taub of California or Stephen Gough of Great Britain. His friend Dr. Nicholson, however, used to say that although both activists have done outstanding work, neither of them could hold a candle to Lee Baxandall, free beach activist and founder of The Naturist Society.

In short, this Mr. Lopes or Sr. Lopez became so absorbed in his naturist readings that he spent his nights from sunset to sunrise, and his days from dawn to dark, poring over them, abandoning the upkeep of his property with its large backyard, and what with little sleep and much reading his brain shriveled up and he lost his wits. His imagination was stuffed with all he read in his books and magazines about naked biking and naked hiking, naked gardening, world record skinny dips, nude orchestras, nakations, nude weddings, canuding, and all sorts of plausible whimsy. It became so firmly planted in his mind, that to him no history in the world was better substantiated than the history of naked recreation. He even commissioned extravagant prints of Lady Godiva, depicted nude on her steed in the streets of her town, and of the Golden King, El Dorado, bodypainted on his raft in the mountain lake, to hang above his mantel, venerating them as the legendary pioneers of naturism.

In a word, his sense having quite escaped him, he hit upon the strangest notion that any madman could possibly imagine: he fancied that it was right and requisite and overdue, no less for his own great renown than for the service of his fellow citizens, that he should make of himself a nudist-errant, roaming the whole wide world in his birthday suit, on his bike, in a grand quest for adventure. He would put into practice all that he had read about the objectives of upstanding nudists: to set right every sort of misconception about nudity, and to expose himself to peril and danger from which he would emerge to reap eternal fame and glory in the nudist pantheon. In his flight of fancy, already the poor man imagined himself crowned Emperor, at the very least, of a Nude Cruise Line. And so, carried away by the intense enjoyment he found in these pleasant musings, he began at once to put his plan into execution.

As it was a lovely evening in July, the first thing he did was go outside into his own backyard and take off his shoes and socks. Unaccustomed as he was to being outdoors, it required no small force of will for him to remove, additionally, his shirt. Even though his backyard was secluded and there was nary a soul in the vicinity, he could not muster the courage to relieve himself of his pants and undergarments until after the sun had set and it was quite dark outside. But, once over this hurdle and open to the breeze, he felt extremely invigorated, and passed the night in his yard in a state of vigil, dedicating himself, from the very depths of his soul, to a life of nude philosophy in action. At about three in the morning, in an inspired bout of unusual agitation, he retrieved some paint from his woodshed and christened his old bicycle with the name BARE GLIDER spelled out in block letters along the frame. Using pliers and a hammer, he fortified the old basket over the front wheel, and lined it with strips from a discarded tarp.

Having repaired and renamed his bicycle to his liking, he was anxious to find an original name for himself as well, a name that would befit his newfound dedication to nudity. From among the paternal and maternal surnames of his extended family, he chose Chónez, and decided on a combination that he found highly sonorous and evocative of quixotic quests: Don de Chonez.

Chónez as a surname is rare, but chones is a common term in Mexico for underwear.

But, remembering that this short form of his name, “Don,” also meant ‘to wear,’ he quickly decided on its opposite, “Doff,” which, moreover, reminded him of his uncle Adolfo, often known as “Dolph,” or perhaps it was his own middle name, and in any case it was thus that he became the self-proclaimed nudist-errant, Doff de Chonez. It occurred to him, however, that he should not be content without adding “of California,” but since said state is one of the largest in the union, he thus resolved to invent an alternative addition. In a fit of creative inspiration, he fused a popular expression of emphasis and surprise that he had heard his grandparents utter repeatedly (“pa’ su mecha”), with the name of an organization honoring his Mexican-American heritage (MEChA), all while further alluding to the neighbor woman, a widow he thought he loved but whom he had never met, Doña Mercedes de Avelar, known as Mecha, whom he had once spied hanging her clothes on the line in her backyard, bereft of any clothing herself while so doing. From all of these nods and allusions jumbled together, he culled, as his new and complete name, a moniker that, to his liking, was musical, unique, and significant to his purposes, like all such names that he admired, and especially like that of Don Quixote de La Mancha: Doff de Chonez pa su Mecha!

next episode:

Chapter II


There’s a new series on Netflix called Altered Carbon. Since I’ve seen several articles posted to Twitter or Facebook analyzing the program’s focus on nudity, I decided to watch at least the first episode.

I did not last ten minutes.

Why? GRATUITOUS not nudity, but VIOLENCE.

I don’t watch a lot of TV, so maybe I’m not the best source here. I haven’t even watched a single episode of Game of Thrones, another series much praised/maligned for nudity and violence. But then again, maybe I don’t watch much TV because there is SO MUCH VIOLENCE. Holy guacamole, why would I want these egregious depictions of carnage in my living room, with my family? As a naturist, I have no problem with nudity in my home, on the TV (rarely) or in real life (daily). My family is comfortable with being naked, which is wholesome and natural and to be celebrated. Where I draw the line is not at nudity but at senseless violence.

It further irks me that the kinds of scenes such as the extended one you see at the beginning of Altered Carbon, where walls are blown away and people are thrown around, are so expensive to film. Why do we spend so much money on that? Who are the people who are compelled to create and to view that? Is it really a majority of the population? Must we always cater to the buying power of men ages 18-30?

I won’t be watching any more of the program. At this point I don’t care about how they use or focus on nudity, because IMO the context is all wrong from the get-go: apparently bodies are just “sleeves,” with their disposability representing some sort of future technology. SMH. I prefer to focus on how wonderful and unique our bodies are, and how we express ourselves through them and with them, especially when nude. What kind of message is sent by showing nude bodies, or any bodies, as merely disposable “sleeves” in a context of overt violence? I don’t see this as any sort of groundbreaking advance in depictions of nudity in popular entertainment.

At best, Altered Carbon‘s production crew could hope to promote respect for our bodies. The writer and executive producer Laeta Kalogridis has said she wants viewers to question our relationship to our bodies. I think that’s great, but again, why the extreme violence? Kalogridis states that she “will be thrilled to remove the violence from noir [genre of the program] when we remove the violence from our lives.” I want to agree with her when she says, in the same interview,

“It’s necessary to point out a thing in order to make progress on changing the thing. And if there’s something that I think we maybe have all noticed in the last couple of years–maybe–when you just pretend that something’s not happening, that will not affect change. Acting as if it’s not happening because you are uncomfortable in looking at it has very little value if what you want is to make things better. If what you want is to stay comfortable and feel good, I suppose it’s fine.”

But I’m just not convinced that this is the way to do it – at least if we define “thing” in her first sentence above as “acceptance of nudity.” If the thing we want “to make progress on” is acceptance of nudity, then I continue to think that wholesome depictions of nudity (not violent, sexualized, or disposable) are much better for body acceptance and respect for ourselves as part of nature. These are of course the goals of naturism.

Coda: I will say that the very first shot of the opening episode of Altered Carbon, of a nude body floating in a liquid, reminds me of the opening of science fiction pioneer Philip José Farmer’s classic Hugo Award-winning novel, To Your Scattered Bodies Go. It became the first novel of a series he called Riverworld, which I highly recommend.

In Riverworld, all of earth’s souls have been reincarnated back into their own bodies, naked and hairless, and they try to figure out why and how. Some of the main characters are historical figures, such as the British explorer Richard Burton and the American writer Mark Twain. The half-dozen or so Riverworld novels certainly include some violence, but it is nothing like in-your-face explosions and injuries in your living room, nor was there any exorbitant expense involved in conceiving such scenes.

Looking Back and Looking Forward

Looking back on 2017 from a naturist point of view, it was a terrific year for me personally.

Looking back at Hidden Beach

(1) Accompanied by loved ones, I was able to make first-time visits to well-known nudist resorts in Quintana Roo and to a classic naturist park in Colorado. My review of our trip to nude-friendly places in Quintana Roo was published in N magazine, a first for me.

(2) Accompanied by loved ones at my home naturist park, Oaklake Trails, I ran in the 5K and participated in the Fall Arts Festival, where I sold a record number of books.

(3) Both Aglow and Co-ed Naked Philosophy continue to receive good reviews, and slowly but surely I’m making progress on a third naturist novel.

(4) Fellow naturist writers Paul Walker, Robert Longpré, and I opened a new site with blog and information about our books,

(5) I donated to a great naturist cause: the new clubhouse for Naturaleza y Nudismo Guadalajara. This is a group of young pioneers sponsoring urban naturist activities with terrific attendance in Mexico’s second-largest city. [Donate here!]

But the loss of a close friend and naturist ally, shortly after the 5K race, was awful. The year was not as free of grief and strife and tension as it might have been of clothes.

And of course, in the grander scheme of things, as long as people such as the current presidents of the United States and Brazil continue to rule from fear and greed, supported by huge populations unwilling to consider the broader impacts of their own actions, then the climate for growth and diversity in naturism and body acceptance will continue to be unfavorable even as the planet’s actual climate keeps heating up.

Looking forward at Intima Resort

Looking ahead to 2018, I want to be optimistic politically. And in naturism, I aim to continue to be active locally, to keep writing my next novel as well as posting both here and on, and I also look forward to the possibility of visiting new naturist locales!

Updates! Naturist Fiction and Naturism in Mexico

I haven’t posted here in a while, and in part this is because I’ve been helping launch a new site, With my fellow naturist writers (and bloggers) Paul Walker and Robert Longpré, we’ve set up the site to showcase our books and naturist fiction in general, and also to provide original content. As of today, Robert has posted on The Compulsion and Passion for Laying it All Bare in Words, Paul has posted on Naked People in Fiction, and yours truly has posted on Why Naturist Fiction Matters. Great posts – check them out!

Also, I want to make sure everyone knows about the ongoing fundraising campaign for NNG that I mentioned in my last post. As of today, they’re at 15% of their goal. They have an anonymous donor who is matching funds up to a total of $2000 – a hefty boost! Make a contribution and have it matched! NNG is a terrific group of tech-savvy young naturists making strides toward the future of naturism, and not just in Mexico. Contributions go toward helping fund a headquarters for the kind of urban naturism programming they’ve already been running successfully for over a year now.

Urban Naturism in Guadalajara, Mexico

At long last, naturism in Mexico is finally coming into its own. Even though the country has centuries-old traditions related to social nudity, only recently have nude temazcal (sweat bath) experiences become more popular. Even though AANR continues to debate, as recently as earlier this month at their national conference, which areas of Mexico belong in which of its US regions, Mexico has finally debuted its own national naturist organization, the Federación Nudista de México. And even though Zipolite beach in Oaxaca had been unofficially nudist for decades, the town leaders only recently designated their beach as the first official nude beach in Mexico. The laid-back vibe of Zipolite contrasts with Mexico’s luxury naturist resorts along the Riviera Maya, the oldest of which has been around only a little more than a decade.

Into the momentum of this newly invigorated Mexican naturist environment come Héctor, Andrea, and their friends who are the founders of NNG, or Naturaleza y Nudismo Guadalajara. Located in Mexico’s second-largest city, they are getting ready to celebrate their organization’s one-year anniversary in September 2017.

Young, energetic, and media-savvy, NNG’s leaders have been able to market and host many events ranging from camping excursions outside the city, to nude dinners and pool parties at locations in the city. Among their many activities is a photo project called Cuerpos Reales (Real Bodies), for which they’ve posed to promote body acceptance against media portrayals of idealized bodies.

Cuerpos Reales project sample
Poster for nude yoga gathering
The group’s urban headquarters, in a central area of Guadalajara, are located in a building they’ve named Casa Club NNG. This is where English conversation hours and yoga classes are currently offered. Participants in these events pay modest fees toward the cost of rent, furniture, appliances, and upkeep of the Casa Club.
A few photos of the Casa Club NNG
The word naturista in Mexico is used to designate health food stores, homeopathic healing, and the like. This is why what is often called naturism in English gets put under the concept nudismo. That term, with its focus on nudity, can be a bit daunting in terms of trying to open people to naturism, so the NNG leaders cleverly decided to pair it with the word naturaleza (nature) in the name of their organization. Similarly, their logo features one of the native plants most associated with their region – the agave, from which tequila is produced – and a mother with her baby, a natural association for nudity.

Another successful way in which Andrea, Héctor and company have framed nudismo is by linking it to body acceptance in a specifically Mexican context, el acoso (harassment). Because of Mexican culture’s machista heritage, harassment as an everyday occurrence–catcalls, unwanted attention, unwanted physical contact–has been tolerated too long. NNG started a campaign to encourage women to reclaim their personal bodily integrity by documenting and reporting acts of harassment. In this proactive way, the organization forges a strong, locally focused relationship to social correctives like body acceptance, corporal autonomy, and gender equality, as a way of creating interest in the group and its activities.

The NNG founders have filmed a number of videos available on their site, helping make available more Spanish-language information on naturism. Additionally, Héctor wrote a two-part piece for Young Naturists America (available in both English and Spanish), and was interviewed on the Naturist Living Show, in which he talks about his first experience with social nudity at Guadalajara’s World Naked Bike Ride. Héctor, Andrea and friends also produce a very professional podcast, in Spanish, called Desnudólogos (Nudologists).


Stay tuned for a new online fundraising campaign with the goal of helping these urban naturist pioneers continue to fund their programming at Casa Club NNG!