Naked Truth?

Apparently naturism has seen an uptick in popularity during the lockdown, with all manner of virtual events being held online.  Now, I'd say that there have always been a not insignificant number of people getting their cocks and whatever out live on the web, so I'm not convinced that this can be taken as evidence of a new enthusiasm for nudism.  I suppose that the lockdowns of the last year have given people plenty of opportunities to wander around their houses naked, secure in the knowledge tat they aren't going to have anyone round.  (Possibly good news for the energy suppliers there, as wandering around naked, eve indoors, can be bloody cold in the winter months, resulting in the central heating being turned up to full all day).  As I've noted before, I'm afraid that I fail to see the appeal of naturism - not only is it cold but, outside, it can be bloody hazardous with the danger of all sorts of bits catching on bushes, barbed wire fences and the like.  There is a reason why, as part of the evolutionary process leading to civilisation, humanity began to wear clothes.  

Anyway, to cut to the chase, I found myself watching one of those old sixties nudie films the other day.  Don't ask why.  Curiosity, I guess.  It dated from the days when they were marketed as 'naturist' films with the implication that they served some public information function by informing audiences of the supposed benefits of naturism.  Consequently, there was nothing sexual in them and no full frontal nudity - just lots of bare bums and boobs bouncing around as we are treated to endless sequences of nude people playing various sports, or just sitting around swimming pools drinking cocktails.  This one, Diary of a Nudist (1961), from Doris Wishman, serial purveyor of such nudie pics, has as a scenario an apparently prudish newspaper editor stumbling across a nearby nudist colony and sending in his top girl reporter to go in undercover (or uncovered, to be precise) to get the goods on the place and write a sensational expose for the paper.  Inevitably, of course, she finds herself converted to the cause of nudism after spending a few days wandering around starkers and the story she files reflects this.  The editor hot foots it to cam, apparently to confront her, but, amazingly, her copy has converted him too, so he throws off his clothes and lets it all hang out.  Except that he doesn't.  In a curious double standard, while the girl reporter bares all, he gets to wander around in a pair of swimming trunks, not even forced to flash his arse for the cameras.

I have to say that it was all pretty tedious and seemed to drag on interminably.  Which, I suppose, all goes to show that nudity without eroticism is actually pretty dull.  Which, of course, is what the naturists have been telling us all along.