It was almost midnight and as we sat on the dock and looked up a billion stars, one streaked above us. “There’s John,” I waved back. I was visiting my best friend in Lake George, having runaway to her vacation home after a very sad funeral. We weren’t going to go skinny dipping–it was late and I was tired after the long drive, so we dangled our feet in the water.
“It’s too warm not to jump in,” I said and in seconds had dropped my clothes to my feet and was slipping into the water. My best friend followed. “It is so much better without clothes on,” she said. The silky texture of the water undulating around our limbs; the weight of breasts being bouyed to the surface; the dips and rises of soft waves nibbling on necks and ear lobes–skinny dipping is like making love only more passive. It’s like the water is making love to me, catering to my body, caressing me all over and not asking for anything in return. It is beyond erotic… it is freeing.