Clothing Optional Read Online Free PDF

yeah.”
    â€œGreat, because I really want you to see this place and meet my new friends.”
    â€œJesus…”
    â€œHey, guess what? Remember when I told you that years ago, this place was where President Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe used to come together?”
    â€œYeah…?”
    â€œWell, local legend has it they used to stay in room thirty-four, and I went in there today.”
    â€œYeah…?”
    â€œNaked.”
    â€œYeah…?”
    â€œSo think about it, Robin. This very afternoon, I was naked in the same exact room that a president and Marilyn Monroe were naked in.”
    â€œYeah…?”
    â€œSo the way I see it, in some strange, mystical way, this afternoon I had sex with Marilyn Monroe and…”
    â€œHere, speak to the kids.”
    â€œWhat kids?”
    GOING HOME
    Since I had a 114-mile trip ahead of me, I planned on leaving Palm Springs no later than eleven in the morning. This would allow me more than enough time to stop off at the Nike outlet store on the way, maybe grab a little lunch, and still make Lindsay’s softball game, which began at three. This was a very workable, very well-intentioned plan, but…
    I’ve seen a lot of prison movies where inmates, when their terms are up, are so comfortable with the routine that they prefer to remain in jail for fear they won’t be able to adjust to life on the outside. And while this is by and large a feeling they have after fifty years in Alcatraz or Shawshank, I felt exactly the same way after two days at a clothing-optional resort. And since I had no idea when I’d have the opportunity to be naked outside again, I savored my last few garmentless hours, and before I knew it, it was noon. No big deal. Nike won’t go broke without my business. So I took another naked swim, finished Philip Roth’s book, noticed that a very attractive woman was checking in, started reading
To Kill a Mockingbird
(because I hadn’t read it since eighth grade), and the next thing I knew, it was almost one o’clock. Oh well, I’ve always felt lunch was an overrated meal. And I still had two solid hours to travel the 114 miles, so all I’d have to do is maintain a 65-mph pace, and I’d get to the field for the start of Lindsay’s game. I packed, got dressed, said good-bye to Tom and Mary Clare, noticed that the very attractive woman who’d just checked in was now emerging from her room completely naked, put down my luggage, read a few more pages of
To Kill a Mockingbird,
marveled at how much I’d forgotten about this fine piece of writing, and, when I finally pulled out of the parking lot at two o’clock, wondered aloud how it would actually feel to drive a car 114 mph.
    Would I ever go back? I think so. With my wife? God knows. But those questions would have to wait.
    When I pulled up to the softball field, it was the fourth inning. And as I approached the bleachers, I purposely limped the way one would if he’d actually had minor back surgery.

My NYC Marathon
    Today, I am sorry to say, I will not be running in the New York City Marathon because I’ve been out promoting my novel about a man who is running in the New York City Marathon and I didn’t have time to train. I didn’t run in last year’s marathon either because I was busy writing my novel about a man who is running in the New York City Marathon and I didn’t have time to train. I did, however, run in the 2003 New York City Marathon. I trained hard for that one. I joined a running group, did stretching exercises, watched my diet, and finished in 33,517th place. A half hour slower than the time of my previous marathon, for which I didn’t train at all.
    I harbor not even the slightest embarrassment that while I was running, a person could have gotten a good night’s sleep. Or have consecutively boiled 127 three-minute eggs. Or that while I was still hauling my fifty-three-year-old