I "frolicked" in my younger days. Hippie Hollow. Guadalupe River. Crystal Beach. I hated tan lines plus enjoyed the added thrill of being naughty.
I'm a modest person, and a gentleman to boot, but I sleep without any clothes on; I picked up the habit in college, where I lived in an "Animal House" rented house for four years with four other guys. Of the five of us, four of us were from the Sandhills of Nebraska, and the other one was from Omaha.
The one from Omaha was pretty uptight, but we other four cured him.
(Don't read too much into that; none of us were gay or anything, just clowns.)
The only mishap that happened to me specifically was at the beginning of one Christmas break; the other four had left for their homes, and I thought I was all alone. Due to some last-minute happening--travel problems--the girlfriend of one of the other four spent that one night there, but I didn't know about it. Somebody probably told me she'd be there, but I wasn't paying attention.
So in the morning, I woke up and walked into the kitchen, suspecting nothing was out of order.
I put a coffee-pot on the stove (we didn't have a coffee-maker, as those of us from the Sandhills preferred hearty coffee), and when I turned around to walk to the refrigerator to get the milk, oooooops.
But that was in Lincoln, which is crowded full of people. Nowadays, I live way out in the middle of nowhere, the nearest neighbor six miles away, and so the chance of a rude surprise is much less. It's good for the skin, letting it "breathe," and as long as no one's around to be offended, well, no harm done.
