Bichi on the Beach

Skinny dipping at this age is like a scene from the movie Cocoon. It probably ain't pretty but the regenerative powers are nearly the same.

After admonishing a friend about the dangers of skinny-dipping in Mexico (cops, fishermen, beheadings and plain old cultural differences, i.e. only putas would go naked on the beach), I didn't hesitate to shimmy out of my clothes when we decided to skinnydip in the night. We walked away from a family's beach bonfire, risking exposure by one of the security lights at Islandia. The surf glimmered white. As did our round white butts. What a vision! Was it Lawrence Welk who encouraged his TV audience to follow the bouncing balls over song lyrics so we could sing along? That's what I imagined our butts looked like. Slightly deflated bouncing balls as we ran into the sea.

I've never felt a strong urge to romp in the sea sin ropas. Maybe if I was on a different beach I would, like some of those beaches I've seen pictures of on the Yucatan Peninsula. A white sandy beach with crystal clear blue water. Not only do I imagine all sorts of creepy sea creatures nibbling at various body parts but this beach is close to town and I'm not sure how much sewage is in the water. And then there are the fisherman who clean the fish from their boats - fish heads and tails littering the beach. No wonder so many Mexicans go into the water fully dressed.

Skinny-dipping. The tide was out, the sea calm. There was a slight chill to the water - the temperature had changed quite a bit in the past week - but it felt good, silky, caressing.  I was grateful for all those days I'd spent naked on Sauvie Island, days before I was embarrassed about how my body looked. And grateful that on this night cops on quads were not patrolling the beach.