Texas might seem like an unlikely place to set a nudist story. I'm sure a lot of you are thinking, isn't that the heart of the Bible Belt? Those people never even take off their cowboy boots, let alone their jeans. And mermaids? Well, sure, Texas has some beaches, but we're not talking about that part of Texas. We're talking about the middle of Texas, the star on the map of the Lone Star State. We're talking about Austin.
Austin. The state capital. The very place where Dubyah held court before he went on to complete the triumph of the Moral Majority. Surely Austin must be the heart of the Heart of Darkness, the citadel of the Evil Empire. But it's not. At least, it wasn't back when I was going there. Austin is a big college town (that's where the University of Texas is) and it also is a haven for all those Texans who are just a little bit different. Austin has a big lake (Lake Travis) and on that lake there is a Texas sized swimming area, over a half mile long, a hundred yards wide. No bathing suit required. What? In Texas? But there it is, Hippie Hollow, with warm, clear water, limestone cliffs, and mermaids. Well, I suppose they're actually students at the university, but you get the idea.
It's all over the Internet now, you may have heard of it, if you are looking for nude beaches in Texas (who would ever think to put those two options together for a Google search?). But back when I first arrived in Austin, it was a complete surprise for me. This was in my road warrior days. We had just lined up a group in Austin to use an application platform I'd been developing in Atlanta. So now I had to cycle in trips to Austin on top of what I'd been doing already. I saw where Austin was, and my heart sank. And, it was clear from the very first day that this group was in very deep yogurt. They were trying to run a self directed team of sixty people, with the results that you might expect. They were looking to me to save them from themselves. This was not going to happen in a week, or even a few months. I was going to be making a lot of trips to Austin. Bummer!
But, my first afternoon there, I mentioned that I was a distance swimmer, and they laughed, and told me about this nice place to swim over on Lake Travis. I don't remember if they mentioned it was "clothing optional" (somehow that sounds less intimidating, doesn't it? You can still wear those cowboy boots, just lose the jeans.). Most likely they did, because I remember a feeling of guilty anticipation when I first found my way over there. That first evening, it was almost dark already. I got to the lake, and there was a parking lot, so I thought this must be the place. And sure enough down at lake level, you could see a few bodies glowing in the sunset. The only problem was that there was about two hundred feet of limestone cliff between them and me. Right next to me, though, there was a big restaurant, with outside tables facing the lake, and binoculars so that the guests could watch the sunset. The sunset? Bullshit -- they were all looking for someone interesting sunning themselves on the cliffs.
Well, the trail down was too steep, it was too late, I was defeated in my first attempt. Where is this place, I asked the next day, half embarrassed that I had been out there at all, and they explained that I had to go a little further down the road. And sure enough, the next day, there I was. It was a wonderful place to swim -- probably about a mile and a half up and back. At home I have to sneak back into wild lakes to distance swim. The legal spots are roped off to be about the size of a postage stamp. And, of course, you are supposed to wear a bathing suit. Boooriiing! But here, I could swim the way swimming should be. And of course, there was the scenery. Coeds from the university (and their beautifully muscled boyfriends). Lesbians with spike haircuts and bushes to match. Yuppies who would wander over in a group after work (talk about getting to know your colleagues!). There was this one lady in that group who would hold court with her male buddies, her legs splayed out the whole time to expose as much as possible. And they would sit around and talk shop. They might as well have been standing around the water cooler back at the office.
Hippie Hollow, at that time at least, had a "bad" reputation, which basically meant that some people, quite a few people, did not behave themselves once they got naked. Some of them would try to be discrete and fuck in the water -- but this water was crystal clear. Others just did it on dry land. There was one older couple, both rather heavyset, who seemed to be there all the time, and every time I saw them he had his head in her lap. I guess that was how they were spending their retirement. And there was one guy who was trying to break into the porn industry. He would bring his lady over and they would do free live demos. Porn Guy, I use to call him.
Of course, all of this just slid by me. I'm a married person, a determinedly married person. I was only there for the swimming. Well, maybe I would take a little stroll after I swam, just to enjoy the sunset. And the scenery. But it wasn't that often that I even talked to someone.
There was this one afternoon, though ...
I should explain, to begin with, that although Austin has an arid, or semi-arid climate it's not arid enough to guarantee that every day is going to be a beach day. One of my buddies at work loved to sail (at least that was his cover story) and the two of us spent many an afternoon peering out the window at gray skies, wondering if it would clear up enough by the time we were out of work. Of course, being a hundred yards or so off shore as a thunderstorm hits is not a good survival strategy, but I used to push it. One time I was in the middle of a swim when a helicopter flew over, some bullhorn blaring some bullshit. It's hard to hear with your head down in the water. I know back home, I'd be off on one of my little private swims and the rangers might come along and yell at me with their bullhorns. I'd just keep swimming. There wasn't much they could do about it. It wasn't worth their while to hang around for an hour waiting for me to get back. So, anyway, I didn't pay much attention to the helicopter, but I did notice the water was starting to get a little choppy, the sky was getting a little darker. Just as I got back to the car, the sky just turned to water. I mean, there wasn't any room between the drops. And it was pitch dark, except for all the lightning. If I had still been out on the lake, I probably would not be telling you this story.
So after that, I became a bit more cautious. And, this particular afternoon, it started to rumble and rain even before I could get in to start swimming. I had emerged from one of the outhouses. There is a paved walkway up on top of the cliffs (there was this one guy who was a little chubby who used to roller blade nude there all the time), and along it there are two cement outhouses, set into the cliff. I guess they are there to discourage folks from peeing into the lake, and, being the ecologically conscious good citizen that I am, I did try to remember to use them before I started to swim. Anyway, the bottoms of these buildings actually jut out from the cliff side enough that you can walk under them, or, in this case, sit under them to get out of the rain. Which is what I did.
There were a few other people already gathered there, and after a few minutes, we began to chat. There were two guys, maybe in their mid to late thirties, who had a cooler of beer with them, and two girls in their late teens, early twenties. The ladies, sadly enough, still had their clothes on, and they looked like they were determined to stay that way. The one sitting next to me was skinny, about five foot six, short brown hair. She was wearing jogging shorts and a tee shirt. No bra. Standing, I could look down the shirt and see her little brown breasts, darker nipples. Not too exciting, for a nude beach. She was looking back up at me with some amusement, probably, as I think back, because my cock was dangling about ten inches from her nose.
