Whenever I wasn't skulking in the woods with my camera or sunbathing on the rocks amid my fellow nudists, I was in the water, either floating on my air mattress, swimming or snorkeling. Wearing a mask, snorkel and fins, I skimmed along the surface, peering down at the submerged rock jumble mountains that sloped clear to the bottom. Whenever I pleased, I drew a long breath and dove deep into the abyss, 20, 30 even 40 feet down. There, in that silent world, discarded stone cutting equipment from bygone eras littered the bottom; pulleys, steel cables, gigantic gears and a host of contorted, corroded metal in every shape and size, all iced with fine gray-brown sediment. Young crappie and bluegill schooled amongst the junk, seeking safe haven from predatory bass and catfish. Passageways through the rock jumble mountains begged exploration; twisting, turning, I made my way through a passage until I emerged on the other side and only then, reluctantly, returned to the world of sun and air.
Snorkeling enhanced my enjoyment of the quarries; it offered adventure and also underwater voyeur opportunities. Whenever girls went swimming, alone or in groups, I drew a long breath, submerged and kicked my fins a stealthy distance below. My eyes aimed upward, I relished the entirely different perspective of their lean, lithe bodies sliding gracefully through the water. If today's digital camera technology had existed back then, with a pocket-sized waterproof HD camcorder I could have taken more underwater video footage than Jacques Cousteau. And above water, the same; a tiny digital spycam I could have concealed in practically anything and captured thousands of up-close candid images.
When the couple in this series first arrived at Sundown in spring 1980, they kept to themselves on a small ledge on the north shore. (First three photos.) From the get-go, the guy embraced the spirit of the quarries but not the girl; she wore a black one-piece. However, to please her boyfriend, after getting in the water she peeled off the polyester and parked it on a rock. Then, for a time, they swam and sat neck deep on submerged rocks a good distance from other bathers. And when they finished swimming, the girl slipped into her suit underwater and the two of them relaxed on the ledge in the sunshine.
Staying submerged allowed the girl to skinny-dip unseen by those above the waterline. But underwater, through my mask, I enjoyed private viewings of this girl who didn't want others to see her naked. Funny how the male mind works: two dozen IU co-eds could be nude sunbathing in the eastern slag pile and I fixated on the one reluctant to show her body.
Then came that Saturday. After the couple spread their towels on the ledge, the girl peeled off her red IU T-shirt and cutoff denim shorts, revealing, not a black one-piece but rather, white panties and brassiere. Posthaste, her underwear was lying atop the discard pile. Between their last visit and this one the guy must have used gentle persuasion to encourage his girlfriend to join the bares. Either that or she made the determination that if others saw her naked she wouldn't die of embarrassment. Whatever the case, she wasn't immediately accepting of others viewing her body, not just yet; as soon as her panties hit the dirt, she hopped down onto the lower ledge and jumped feet first into the water. Total time exposed to the Sundown crowd: ten seconds but it was more than she had ever done in the past.
After swimming awhile, the pair returned to the ledge. The girl hurried out and laid on her towel on her stomach for the longest time before rolling over onto her back. The ledge was small and they had it to themselves but it was visible across the water from the eastern slag pile and also from the north shore trail about 30 feet away. (In the first three photos, the gravelly area, top center. In the third photo, upper left, Catman is prowling.) For three hours the couple stayed at Sundown, swimming and sunbathing, and the girl remained naked the entire time, quite an accomplishment for this neophyte nudist.
As the summer progressed, the couple branched out and utilized other rocks at Sundown; a rock in the western slag pile, (photos 4-6) and a rock in the far southeastern corner. (Photos 7 & 8) Then, at midsummer, they waded in amongst the crowd in the eastern slag pile. That was when I, and other slag pile regulars, made proper acquaintance with Kevin and Marissa.
Marissa possessed the most magnificent mammaries I had the privilege to immortalize on film. And, to my discerning eye, they were 100% natural as were the scores of other bare breasts on public display at the quarries; no matter what their size, nary a pair appeared to have been silicone enhanced; no tell-tale, abnormally mounded upper slopes. Likewise, all of the girls who shed every stitch embraced the natural look below their waistlines as well; circa 1980 was an era before shaving became fashionable.
For the remainder of the summer, during repeated visits to the eastern slag pile, Marissa made no effort to minimize her nakedness by assuming demure postures; whether walking back and forth to the water, seated cross-legged or sprawled on her towel, her relaxed body language suggested she had wholeheartedly adopted a newfound attitude: Here I am, all of me, and everyone is welcome to look. Yes, even Catman.
You go girl!
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