When your job is to visit porn movie sets and report on them, you get used to seeing other guys' dicks pretty quickly. It's no easy task, but no one said there wouldn't be occupational hazards with this line of work. By the time I kissed the adult industry goodbye in 2008, I was pretty much inured to the sight of multiple erect penises bobbing around like puppets on a string.
These days the only penis I see is my own, and I kinda like it better this way. Nonetheless, when my dad suggests that I take my girlfriend, KT, to a nudist resort, it sounds like a cool idea. "I used to go to them back in the '80s in Texas with some of my girlfriends," Dad tells me. "Always had a great time, and always met some very interesting people. You should definitely experience it one day before you die."
Why not? I think. It's not like I'm going to see anything I haven't seen before.
That's how KT and I end up at the Berkshire Vista Nudist Resort, out on the Mass/New York border. As we head to the clubhouse to sign in, an old dude rambles by, dick flapping to and fro like a jazzed-up metronome. "Get used to it," KT suggests as she catches me mid-snicker. Then a resort worker on an ATV zooms past. The man is standing on the pedals with one hand gripped tight onto the throttle and the other sharply on his hip. His tanned cock dances as if it were a renegade fire hose.
"That could be the greatest thing I've ever seen," says KT.
Inside the clubhouse, we mosey right up to the bar for drinks as we wait to check in. A small gathering of nudists has taken over a few tables, a mix of women pushing 50 and their fat husbands, their Hawaiian shirts barely covering their pale asses. We soon learn that most of the people here also choose to keep their top half concealed while showing off their downstairs. I'd have hoped for the opposite, but whatever. KT's worked with old dying people in the past, and I've paid my dues on set at The World's Fattest Orgy. This here is a piece of cake.
We're given the once-over by the lady behind the bar. I'm not sure if she thinks we're poseurs or fresh meat. I do, however, recognize the tone of her grunt when I order a round of Bloody Marys, and quickly change it to domestic beers. "I'd hate to ruffle some feathers before my dick even comes out," I whisper to KT.
We opt to camp tonight with a tent, because we both feel it adds to the overall experience of living amongst the natives. While counting out the $60 I owe for the night ($45 for daily admission for couples and $15 for campsite fees), I ask the receptionist how many people are here over this Labor Day weekend. "We're sold out, so 500 or so. Are you both first-timers to nudism?" KT tells her that we are, and that we're both very open to trying new things. "Well," she shoots back while handing me my change, "that sure is the right attitude. Enjoy yourself." When I give her a big tip, she finally smiles. This tells me one thing: nudists probably aren't good tippers.
