Naked librarian leads the way to best Nude Day ever

It had been many years since I had marched in a Nude Day parade, but this year, it was doubling as a celebration of the relaxation of pandemic restrictions, so the special occasion demanded participation. Plus, I was very curious to see if and how folks would maintain physical distancing.

The Nude Day parade was a long established tradition locally. Our town had humble begins, growing up around a small commune established back around the turn of the twentieth century. That community had faded, but the town remained thorough the years, servicing the farms of the area. Then, the commune had been rediscovered by hippies, who attracted a few hundred like-minded souls. Town folk did not mind as long as the hippies kept the ‘weirdness’ on the commune, and sold marijuana locally at attractive prices.

In 1967- the Summer of Love- the commune had taken over the beachfront where town met lake to celebrate National Nude Day. Once nude, the participants paraded back to the commune without clothing. Town folk had been offended, creating some tension, but did not dare risk their supply of premium weed. The next year, the parade started at the commune and went to the beach, where a party would run into the night, with bonfires and cookouts. A few drunken or stoned souls camped out overnight, in spite of town ordinances banning overnight stays. That had started an annual contest where cops tried to catch violators; violators tried to shock or seduce cops; and great fun was had, knowing that the next day, the magistrate would give anybody a lecture, fine them $25 and send them home. Every year, a few more townspeople were arrested with the hippies. As hippiedom faded, the commune was sparsely populated and the parade now started in the town square, with more townspeople than commune residents participating. With weed becoming decriminalized, the beach became the sight of a big “bake-off” rather than sexual hi-jinks. Most of the attendees were old enough to want to be in bed by 10:00.

I was one of those who straddled town and commune, having been born in early 1968, just nine months after that 1967 bacchanalia on the beach. My Mom wasn’t sure, but thought my dad was a townie. Then when I was fifteen, she married my stepdad, a townie- one of the many she had sex with back in her wild youth. Out of curiosity, when DNA testing became popular a few years ago, we had all sent in samples, and were pleased when it turned out that Dad was actually my biological father. By then, Mom had split with Dad and moved back to the commune, where she was in charge of developing new strains for the cash crop, so knowing that Dad was my ‘real’ Dad was both comforting and uncomfortable. Good thing I was a mature adult with my own place so I did not have to chose between them. Dad was the town magistrate. Even though I was in my forties at the time, he did ask that that I stop flaunting my junk in public. That had ended my active support of National Nude Day.

This year though, Mom was in charge of the parade, and wanted my support. Dad begrudgingly recognized that he could not tell a 52 year old what to do. He just asked me not to get arrested.

At noon, I walked from my house to the square. Mom was there, megaphone in hand and not a stitch on. Her exact age was a mystery, but she claimed she had been eighteen when I was conceived, making her about 70. Her body reflected this. I had grown up on the commune were there was a casual attitude about nudity, so there was nothing sexual to me about seeing Mom naked, but not having seen her nude for some years, the sags and wrinkles were a bit of a shock.

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