Being young and running around nude and free

Guest Website by: George S Mycroft

Running around naked and free as kid:
At one time in my life, I used to live in a gatehouse cottage attached to the stables and
outbuildings of a classic grain mill situated in the rolling dales of the East Riding of Yorkshire,
in England.
The mill had long since stopped its honest trade, had fallen into disuse, and had
subsequently been converted into a private house, possessed by a local surgeon of some
repute as I remember.
His wife was an artist and, at her behest, a studio with large northlights have been
accommodated in part of the structure.
Running around Naked and Free in the Gardens
The whole house and gardens lay quietly at the end of a very long drive between some fields
and, although situated on the outskirts of a small market town whose modern, developing
housing estates had encroached to the very edge of its domain name, it still retained the
quiet and privacy that has been much cherished by the wildlife of the place.
The river formed one edge to the entire property, with wild, unkempt and often waterlogged
land beyond. Wild bunnies, ducks, hedgehogs and the occasional fox seen and appreciated
those green yards of the old mill, skirting their way around the ever-present earthen domes of
molehills, which lay like brownish, bulging pustules on the lawns' overgrown faces.
The house, when I lived there, was empty - sold on to a neighborhood hotelier and publican
who meant to eventually renovate the property and live in it himself.
It was old now and in need of some tender, loving care; a slightly careworn house with
drooping, decaying outbuildings and an old-fashioned, draughty cottage which we thus
leased for a song.
On Happy Birthday to Young Naturists and Naturists America! , the lack of human habitation
had enabled nature to re-colonise the place, as she always does.
It was a quiet, happy, tranquil, secret place afterward and an utter joy to dwell alongside -
which somewhat compensated for the bungalow's less-than-ideal interior and draughty doors
and windows. Moving in during late winter, those polar jets were all too quickly detected and
endured, but the coming of springtime brought undreamed of delights.
Breaking News: dawning daylight and the birds' morning chorus used to wake me early.
Slipping naked from under warm and snuggly sheets and blankets, the night-cooled
atmosphere of the home nipped every tactile point on my air-clad skin and heralded a fleet
awakening!
Moving silently downstairs, missing those unavoidable squeaky steps, I padded barefoot
through the living room, smelling the dead coals' odor from yesterday evening's open fire. A
speedy double-creak of the wooden back door and I stood naked at the outer limits of what
became a most memorable and enjoyable, regular experience.
My first job was to quietly stand and utilize all my senses to consume every aspect of the
new day. I listened intently, detecting distant noises from houses and roads close by, but
divorced from this secret world, for they were as though intruding from another
measurement. They simply impinged on one's aural perceptions.
More immediately, there was birdsong, and rustles in nearby bushes; a blackbird pulling
determinedly at a recalcitrant worm in a nearby bed of earth. Afterward that tell us, the best
physic, but it functioned as a valuable incentive to the youth of Greece to keep themselves in
gwd , damp, practically-fecund smell of newly dawning day.
I breathed it in deeply and savored its musty flavors its earthiness, feeling its chill flood into
my welcoming lungs.
Completely alerted to my environment, I then trotted forwards towards the old mill, reveling in
my own physical independence and my nakedness in the cool air, sensing the small pebbles
of the driveway on the balls of my feet sending sharp reminders of my barefooted-ness
rocketing to my brain.
My eyes scanned the drive as I moved forward, alert for any indications of unwanted
company on the drive to the house, an early morning walker perchance, who might see me
going pink-skinned and clothes-free away from the cottage.
Reaching the security of the hedgerow at the far side of the drive, my feet fell upon the wet
grass of the garden path -- and I was off!!
It was quite a big garden, mainly laid out to lawn, open and broad and uncut, and it was here,
unseen by the external world, that I ran in utter and complete naked independence as fast as
my legs would carry me, feeling the cool earth pounding beneath my feet and the trickling
droplets of heel-kicked dew hitting my bare bottom and coursing their way down my backside
and legs.
I ran and I ran and I ran, the chill air now flooding into my gasping lungs, legs flashing freely,
over the ornamental bridge at the far end of the holding pond, past the trees and out of sight
of the home, within my very own green-and-silver, flashing world, until I espied the ending of
the garden and, with a mental cry of utter joy, I threw myself length ways into that dew-
bedecked, grassy paradise and rolled over and over and over in absolute carnal delight until I
was saturated, spent, cooled and joyfully joyful.
It was utter and complete sensation, a total aliveness; pure, delicious, enveloping, sensory
contact -- and, god, it felt good!!
Memories Of Being Young Naked and Free was released by - Young Naturists and Nudists
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