To Georgia and Back Series: Part 11
This is the continuation of our visit with “Safebare,” in Texas. We have just spent a lovely afternoon sailing. Here is that story:
Sailing the Gulf
This next day is lazy. We gather ourselves for a visit to Galveston and ice-cream.
The staunch old iron and stone architecture is fun.
The old tall doors open to let the sea breeze in.
We have to beat rush hour through Houston to their northwest side. There is a neighborhood stealth walk and then a canoe trip to enjoy. The Houston freeway is hair raising. My fingers clench the wheel, ready at any instant to react to a brush with death.
The song “If I Can Just Get Off of this L.A. Freeway” comes to mind and won’t go away.
I suggest that DF put the song on the stereo, but she is too intensely busy watching the road and for the next exit to do the search.
The borderline greeting sign had said “Just Drive Friendly, the Texas Way.” It didn’t suggest driving “crazy.”
This evening, we dine at an unpretentious Vietnamese restaurant. Two crusty looking men, one in a kilt and a black dragon pattern shirt and one in a t-shirt decaled with a cartoon picture of a naked man complete with genitalia, sit down. They enjoy a subtly very good meal. We delight in more shrimp than that fake haute cuisine we experienced on the coast, the night before.
After a relaxing reset at the Safebare home, we wake up to a tequila sunrise colored morning. Just the three of us now, we come alive on the east facing porch. Nuts fall off of a tree onto the wooden deck. DF and I discuss how the air is so different to our nude bodies here in Texas. It is very different compared to our dry Arizona.
There is no warm concrete here. There is grass encroaching where it rarely dares to grow in our desert environment. Barefoot all over just makes common sense, but to us, it is a rare sensual feast, a delight just to walk unhindered by the uncomfortable. There seems to be a natural invitation extended to comport completely nude. Safebare, verbalizes that invitation.
After a hearty breakfast, he invites us to take a walk and see his property, while he checks on his horses. He wears absolutely nothing, but a wrap in hand. That’s alI I need to know to follow suit. DF has this topfree Texas experimentation to enjoy, where clad only in a pair of bikini underwear has no legal challenge. She is relaxed, doesn’t have to look left and right, nor listen, but freely go about her business.
We slip out of the backyard gate to walk along a driveway along a fence. It is in contrast to the manicured backyard. We are instantly surrounded by the feel of a country lane.
Just around the corner a lean brown pup runs to us in greeting.
He is one of those innocent youths that silently wags his tail in anticipation of expected attention. The cutie gets his attention.
A pair of horses are equally as quiet and are similarly used to the human treatment, as they calmly wander out from their small stable.
Safebare and DF feed the friendly critters. They get a petting and scratch.
We boys keep our quick wraps with us. I place mine in my armpit. Having it out of hand gives me a sense that I am nude and physically freed. I quickly can forget that it is there.
A walk is offered. It would be along a path that I have read about in the FreeRangeNaturism.com. Safebare has traveled this stealth walk many times over the years. I’ll get to compare reality to my past imaginations when I was reading of his exploits.
It crosses a field that is green with the rains of the season. In Arizona, this means prickers and I’m barefoot all over. We are assured that that won’t be an issue by our host. Trusting Safebare’s experience and judgment, I decide to follow his direction.
We walk down the middle of this open field of maybe three acres. On the right, there are trees and bushes, but to our left, there are several houses whose properties border our route. Safebare explains who would be home, tells us stories of his relationships with his neighbors and his nudity. One by one, it feels safe, no concerns of offended harassers while are walking here in the open field. My concerns of a window that is open to us are dashed because our host knows the neighborhood.
I hear the sound of a tile cutter and Spanish speaking voices. These are people working. I voice my concern, but then I’m shown the angles and brush that shields our route, which is less than a hundred feet away as we pass them. I remember how one will focus on the sharp blade when cutting tile, not the surroundings.
A rail gate opens as we walk off of the property and the vegetation gets taller and thicker. Now in shade, it brushes against our naked thighs. I ask about “back east ticks,” but am assured that there is no problem.
To our right, is the great lawn and empty parking lot of a huge big box that is an abandoned Amazon warehouse. Past that on the street, in direct line of sight is a police car, with lights flashing. They can see us, but at a great distance and probably wouldn’t notice, or see our lack of clothing. It is a traffic stop. There are pressing matters at hand for the police officer. This is evaluated as no threat, quickly.
We turn our back to this and do a little light bushwhacking through the tall brush. We’re in a grave yard of industrial vehicles. The age and quality communicate that it is someone’s neglected collection. There are complete firetrucks and heavy equipment, all rusting. Flat tires show that they have occupied these acres for quite a while.
Safebare explains that the property has been sold and the owner has only a matter of weeks to remove these, or lose them. It is doubtful that that task will be completed.
As we inspect the museum, I watch out of the corner of my eye toward those workers voices, as they labor under an old ramada next door.
We walk back into the light of the sun and Safebare explains how he often proceeds onto the grassy local public Frisbee golf field on the other side of these tall trees. That territory can only receive nude use during after-hours.
We make our way back. There is a sense of a difference, as we walk through the gate into the open field. We are going from a comfortable deep woods belonging to someone else, to an exposed area that is private property belonging to Safebare. There are illusions and artificial obstructions in one’s mind that must be evaluated carefully when walking nude in stealth. Sometimes, it takes a few times to get acquainted with a place to master the subtle intricacies and then be comfortably and safely nude there.
I’m entertained when I find that the nude horses have joined our herd, following us back into the back yard.
We sit and watch them forage as we discuss our coming canoe trip.
The intimate knowledge of one’s neighborhood, being open about being a naturist with the neighbors and being a good helpful member of the community, goes a long way toward nude freedom in suburbia.
The next installment has us canuding on a lake.
I am on the forum of FreeRangeNaturism.com often, if you would like to converse.
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There is something to be said of walking open spaces like that while bare, it’s totally addictive and mesmerizing.
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I am grateful for your visit and pleased that you were able to relax in my suburban neighborhood enough to enjoy the hike the way it should be. Little has changed here except the county clamped down of the tile cutters. The work that they had done was supposedly interfering with the flood plane. They were forced to remove several loads of soil, concrete & cut tile. A lot of which ended up on my property.
All of the salvage equipment has been removed except 2 working trackhoes & a dozer. The new owners do not seem to be in a rush to do anything with the property. Maybe they will let it remain natural forest land for us natural humans and other native species to enjoy.
This did seem to be a good break for my cross country traveling friends. Falling between 2 completely divergent nautical adventures.
I hope the recovery continues to go well. As always, Stay Safe and Stay Bare!
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