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  • Every summer, there's a day when everything clicks spontaneuously and perfectly.

    For me, that day was Saturday.

    It was an orgasm of sun, water, beer, shared cigarettes, sex, fruit, eye contact, handshakes, hair, sand, fading light and a few puffs of grass.

    Something like 20 people (gay guys) ended up along the banks of the Columbia river at Rooster Rock State Park, the nation's first legal nude beach. We obliviously quenched in the joy and freedom allotted to us by the federal government.

    We snacked and slept and swam and smoked. We looked and touched and greeted and indulged. It was a feeling of relentless security among near strangers that I have never experienced before. Nobody was shamed, shameful, or pitiful.

    I know what you're thinking. This is next-level crunchy gay shit.

    And it was. But with a big exception. These guys were able to balance the famed crudeness of gay men, while being ridiculously sweet. Like yoga teacher sweet. I could laugh at jokes about the harsh realities of living in a fucked up society while taking a nap and rubbing someone's stomach.

    We're usually held at a distance from this honesty. And I don't know why because it was so comfortable and healthy. Something tells me there are a lot of people looking for it. Just to loosen up.

    That day ended in watermelon nectar shots, and a long barefoot walk through the mud. Every step squished the earth through our toes.
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