Why yes... they call him The Streak

Lately, too many times to count, I have been reminded of the Ray Stevens song "The Streak," brought to glory in days of old.

Spank me if I'm wrong, but I'm fairly certain this song was made popular in the mid-1970s and sparked a national (international?) movement of nude running at sporting events and other public gatherings. Again, pardon my assumptions, but it seems that most of the individuals who felt so inspired to publicly display their wobbly bits were... um... er... usually not exactly the people one wanted to see running around in all the glory mother nature intended.

Well. Guess what?

Ray Stevens' legacy lives on. And it lives on right in my very back yard.

It seems I live in the midst of a semi-nudist colony. Only, I live in the suburbs... in an upscale apartment community... in the middle of one of the fastest-growing areas of the country... amongst some of the most well-educated 20- and 30- somethings I've ever encountered in my sweet little Southern life.

The thing is, there are quite a few characters who fit the bill.

Let me paint you a picture.

Nudist #1. We'll call him Paolo. Paolo isn't one who prances around fully nude in broad daylight... but he might as well. Paolo is of Latin descent and graces us with his presence by the pool every Saturday afternoon wearing nothing more than a pair of Speedo briefs. Now, this is lovely... and would be particularly lovely if Paolo were interested in women. However, the briefs?

Well, they're white. 'Nuff said.

Nudist #2. We'll call her Vivienne. Vivienne is an incredibly attractive, petite blonde. She's in her mid-twenties and she's feisty in the best possible way... whatever way that is.

Vivienne likes to wait until the sun sets and jump into the swimming pool (which resides in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by about 50 apartments with large windows with a skybox view) completely and utterly au natural. She jumps in, she floats about, she calls out to her friends... regardless of their location or proximity to the swimming pool. She sees neighbors watching her through binoculars from across the parking lot.. and she. does. not. care.

Praise all that is good and holy, for this, we love Vivienne. Secretly, I think we all want to BE Vivienne.

Nudist #3. We are going to call him the on-purpose-but-I'm-going-to-act-surprised-when-my-bits-make-a-public-debut nudist. OPBIGTAS for short.

Now, the first time OPBIGTAS made an appearance, it was within the four walls of another resident's apartment. People were hanging out, dancing, participating in general merriment. All of the sudden, from out of nowhere... BAM!

OPBIGTAS bursts into the room wearing a teeny tiny pair of women's underwear.

For the record, OPBIGTAS is not a woman... though on occasion, he may secretly wish he were. ;)

Now, one may argue that if one is wearing undergarments, regardless of one's gender and the intended gender for said undergarments, that one is not, in fact, nude. However. I beg to differ.

Wait for it.

OPBIGTAS was wearing a thong.

I'm going to let you take a moment to let that soak in.

See that mental image you're getting right now? Yes. That's it.

There was, in essence, visual nudity. OPBIGTAS knew it. Everyone in the room knew it. There was really no getting around it.

But, kind soul, this was not an isolated incident. OPBIGTAS likes a fine ladies' garment, and he knows one when he sees one.

Several evenings ago, OPBIGTAS was out by the pool. (With Vivienne, no doubt, because would we really expect Vivienne to stay at home on such an evening?)

OPBIGTAS found an abandoned red dress amidst the pink donut floats and one large, grey, inflatable swan.

...
...
...

OPBIGTAS disappeared. Huh.

Then, re-emerged wearing... the dress. This is fine enough. Not a huge deal.

Only...
He was wearing nothing under the dress.

This was fine enough too. Until he decided to cut a flip into the pool.

Gravity took over.

I'll leave the rest to your imagination.





And this... is where I live.