Quarry skinny-dipping

[Paradoxodarap]

This girl's skin was so uniformly pale one could reasonably assume she had never sunbathed, neither swimsuit clad or naked. Was this her public nude sunbathing debut? Visible evidence pointed in that direction. She could have chosen a secluded rock in one of the dozens of slag piles scattered all over the property but instead she charged headlong into the heart of nudie country, Sundown Quarry. She may have feared that being alone and isolated would have left her vulnerable so, for safety's sake, she spread her towel in view of others.

On that sultry Saturday morning in July, Sundown was sparsely peopled; a half-dozen reclined in the eastern slag pile and a twentysomething couple floated lazily on air mattresses. Walking past on the south shore trail, Catman stopped and, unbeknownst to pale girl, gave her full-frontal nakedness a thorough ogling. He didn't intrude on her space; having visually consumed his fill, he turned and walked away. The day was young and he had many more quarry holes to inspect to see what sort of voyeur opportunities awaited.

Pale girl must have felt herself becoming sunburned; an hour after arriving, she got dressed and departed. Or maybe she left because more and more people kept arriving and she felt overly exposed. After this one visit I never saw her again, not at Sundown or any of the other quarry holes. Perhaps she decided that public nudity wasn't her cup of tea.

The Budweiser bottles were not discarded by pale girl; someone else dumped them. I never could understand why someone could carry in a heavy cooler full of beer (or whatever) and then, at the end of the day, not be able to carry out the lightweight empties. Trash was an ongoing issue at Packinghouse. I did my part by picking up and bagging trash in the immediate area where I was on any given day. And Mocha was always willing to transport the full bags to the dump in his van.

Others pitched in and helped with trash removal. The core user group at Sundown consisted of about 30 individuals who had a vested interest in keeping the quarry a clean, safe, civil place to hang out. Barbara was one of the long-time female core users. Her recipe of vegetarian diet, stress management, fresh air, yoga and full-body exposure to sunshine (in moderation) kept her physique youthful looking and her attitude on the positive side of the ledger. This petite brunette never divulged her exact age but I could estimate; once in a while she spoke of skinny-dipping in the quarries during her undergraduate years when LBJ was in the White House.

Barb always brought a sturdy, stiff-bristled push broom she used to sweep broken glass and detritus off the rocks where people spread their towels. And whenever needed, she swept broken glass off the south shore trail before anyone cut their bare feet. I can't speak for the other quarry holes, whether or not they had a dedicated patron like Barb. If they didn't, perhaps cleanliness was one of the reasons Sundown was so popular.

[brunettesrule]

I absolutely LOVE the contrast between the dark hair and fair skin in that last series, Paradoxodarap.

[Paradoxodarap]

The following is not a sexist statement but rather, the result of years of firsthand observation: college age women spend far more time sunbathing than their male peers.

After a long cold winter spent bundled in overcoats and trudging through snowdrifts, the first blush of warm spring weather sent scores of IU co-eds flocking to the quarries to get a jump on their summer tans. April was a month that saw, not only large crowds at Packinghouse, but also female-to-male ratios in the ballpark of 2-to-1. For a guy like me who enjoyed showing off and perusing fine female flesh, those warm spring days spent socializing amid a predominately female crowd made for enormously pleasing afternoons.

Summer was high season at Packinghouse and peak numbers varied by time of day and day of week. When the spring semester at IU adjourned, the vast majority of college students left town but 5,000 or so remained for summer school. Most of the summer students, it seemed, took fewer credit hours than during the main academic year, leaving them plenty of time to hang out at the quarries. Any time of day, students could be found there. On weekdays after work, townies came out to enjoy the long evenings and many stayed until dark. And on weekends, when students didn't have classes and townies didn't work, the 200 acres of Packinghouse played host to hundreds of people, virtually all of them free-spirited nudists.

Late August saw increasing attendance at Packinghouse as IU students made their annual migration back to Bloomington. And on the last weekend before the fall semester commenced, 40,000 students in the 18-22 demographic had nothing to do but cut loose and party. And for many, that meant skinny-dipping at the quarries. On that manic weekend, quarry first-timers experienced the same epiphany as I did at the beginning of my freshman year: here's a place you can run around naked in public and it's perfectly legal!

Quarry old-timers, as they approached Sundown on the trail from the parking lot, simply proceeded to their familiar favorite rock. But in late August I could spot first-timers a mile away. When the ocean of bare skin came into their field of view, without exception they stopped and looked around, sometimes for lengthy periods. That was the tell-tale giveaway. Only a handful turned around and departed; most, after reconnoitering, proceeded to an unoccupied rock. College students are adventurous souls who thirst to experience all things new and exciting and social nudity fit that definition. Based on the number of first-time college guys and girls whose bodies sported creamy white tan lines, I can conclude that for most, if not all of them, being naked under the sun wasn't part of their recreational repertoire.

Such was the case for the three girls in these photos. On that final August weekend before classes began, down the trail they came from the parking lot and stopped at the junction of the south shore trail. Tell-tale. After a minute spent looking around and talking quietly among themselves, they proceeded to the western slag pile. There, they spent another minute trying to decide which rock would be suitable to spread their towels. Finding no rock to their liking, they reversed course and walked the short distance to the eastern slag pile. Another minute of looking didn't result in a consensus as to which rock would be suitable so they retreated up the trail toward the parking lot. I figured they had departed or were going to look for a private rock in some isolated slag pile.

Ten minutes later, they appeared in the far southeastern corner of Sundown and made their way over the jumble of rocks, finally stopping at pedestal rock. There, on the pedestal and the flat rocks that formed its base, they spread their towels. For several minutes they remained clothed and then, as if daring each other, slowly they began removing articles of clothing until, bit by bit, all were naked. God! I love first-time nudist college girls!

That first visit led to repeat visits by the trio, always on pedestal rock where they could be a part of the scene yet maintain a measure of separation from the others. Their weekend visits continued through September and early October until finally, cold weather brought an end to the season.

[Paradoxodarap]

In the first photo, in the eastern slag pile at Sundown Quarry, Stephanie is talking with Bill, 35ish, lower right. Likely, he indulged his fetish for ladies undergarments at home and he also wore them at Packinghouse. He preferred white low-rise panties which, from a distance, passed for a speedo but up close, lacy frills sewn into the elastic waistband and leg openings were easily seen.

During late August, many first-time college girls glanced and grinned at this man who had the balls to wear panties in public. But wasn't his behavior less brazen than being naked? After all, he was covered. Based on the reactions to Bill that I witnessed, many first-time (and some regular) female attendees apparently felt that a man wearing panties was . . . unusual . . . but most seemed amused by his behavior: openly flaunting his fetish.

The cliff at Sundown was cut into the hillside in a zigzag pattern. The water was deep and the cliff jumpable along its entire length except in the far southeastern corner in the immediate vicinity of Pedestal Rock. In this series, Stephanie is scrambling over rock jumbles and navigating clifftop trails above Pedestal Rock on a mission to jump off the cliff which she did often. In photo six, she's standing 18 feet above the water on a point, one of the cliff zigs. Note the upturned faces in the eastern slag pile in the background. After jumping, she climbed out and sat on a rock for a short time, becoming acquainted with two suited newcomers.

[Paradoxodarap]

Bill wasn't the only one to swim in ladies underwear at Sundown Quarry. This girl wearing the white T-shirt didn't know the couple with the dog; she was just using their rock to exit the water. I had never seen underwear girl before this day when she came down the trail from the parking lot, looked around for a minute then made her way to water's edge. After removing her cut-off denim shorts she swam for five minutes then, after climbing out, pulled on her shorts and departed. I never saw her again and I was there a lot. Such was the case for some first-timers at Packinghouse; they came, they swam and they left. After coming out to see for themselves this hotbed of hedonism, for whatever reason they chose never to return. Their loss.

This couple sometimes spread their blanket at Mill Pond where Fido could easily enter the quarry on the rock face that sloped gently into the water.

[Paradoxodarap]

Rosebud Quarry was the oldest on the property, dating back to the late 19th century. Named for the mass of wild rose growing at water's edge, throughout the summer a profusion of pink and white blossoms pleased the eye and filled the air with heavenly scent. By quarry standards, Rosebud was small, about 60×60 feet, smaller than a baseball diamond but nonetheless it was a true gem. There were no cliffs; situated on flat ground amid mature hardwood forest, the hole was cut straight down into weathered gray bedrock. Only few rocks were suitable for sunbathing in the two small slag piles festooned with Virginia creeper and honeysuckle. Whenever I went to Rosebud, I felt my stress level recede. The ambiance of forest, flowers, water, and stone made it seem I was stepping into a tranquil Japanese garden.

Rosebud was off the beaten track and favored by few, only those who sought peace and quiet away from the sometimes rowdy crowds at the bigger quarries. In the first four photos this young woman is enjoying a peaceful Sunday afternoon. She tossed her air mattress into the quarry then slipped into the water and climbed aboard. I did nothing to disturb her solitude; from a distance, in silence, I captured her on film then retreated quietly into the forest.

Occasionally on summer weekends I camped at Packinghouse, always at Rosebud to avoid being disturbed by late-night skinny-dipping drunks who sometimes descended on Sundown Quarry after the bars closed. One July Friday evening I loaded my camping essentials into my panniers and pedaled out to Packinghouse. Seldom did I encounter anyone at Rosebud but on this occasion I did: two nude young women floating on air mattresses. When the pair noticed me approaching, walking my bicycle along the trail, the skinny blonde rolled off her raft into the water and the buxom brunette quickly did the same.
“Hey,” I greeted them.
The brunette brushed a wayward strand of wet hair out of her eyes. “Hi.” Her tone was civil but her furrowed brow betrayed her true mindset: she was irritated this interloper had invaded 'their space.' What did they expect? Absolute privacy? Anyone who skinny-dipped at Packinghouse, even at isolated Rosebud, ran the risk of being seen.

I leaned my bike against a tree, stripped naked, then set about unpacking my panniers and erecting my nylon mountain tent. Neither woman said a word; they remained submerged up to their necks and clung to their rafts while occasionally glancing in my direction. Owing to the mass of wild rose surrounding the hole (not to mention, poison ivy) there was only one place to access the water, right by the decrepit, rusting-away equipment shed, right where I was setting up my tent in a small clearing in the undergrowth.

Pushing her raft, the brunette swam toward shore. She climbed out and, using the raft as a gigantic fig leaf, stepped three paces to her beach bag and turned her back, affording a splendid up-close eyeful of her shapely, dripping wet buttocks. She dropped the raft, bent over, (nice!) picked up her towel, then quickly wrapped it around her torso.

Standing at the access point, her back turned, the brunette held her friend's large beach towel horizontally with both arms extended wide. The blonde climbed out of the water, stepped forward into the colorful terrycloth and wrapped it around herself. Nary a snippet of private flesh was revealed in the process. Hastily, without speaking, they stuffed their possessions into beach bags then, toting bags and rafts, they departed down the trail into the deep woods where they could dry off and get dressed in privacy. In a way, their reluctance to reveal themselves was hotter than if they had been seasoned nudists.

Three weeks later I was skulking in the woods with my camera, seeking photo opportunities. At Rosebud, I spied the same two women floating on their red rafts. I smiled. Now, their nakedness could not escape my scrutiny.

Rosebud Quarry, its deep clear waters, vine covered rock piles and mass of wild rose with pink and white blossoms . . . this heaven on earth where skinny-dippers frolicked under the summer sun is now buried beneath a freeway interchange. Gone forever. Rest in peace.

[brunettesrule]

Terrific stories and photos. I just realized that what dates the photos for me - more than the color or the clothing - is the hairstyle of the guys. You just don't see guys with hair cuts (and mustaches) like that these days.

[Paradoxodarap]

I'm not sure when the era of cheesy mustaches and big hair ended for men. Maybe it was 'round about the same time pubic hair fell out of favor with women.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This rock at water's edge in the eastern slag pile at Sundown Quarry was always in high demand. It's the same rock feature in post #60. On a hot August weekend before the fall semester began, these two groups of IU students claimed the same rock, the first group on Saturday, the other on Sunday. The previous spring, the couple in the last five photos sometimes brought textbooks and notepads and studied while soaking up the sun. Speaking strictly for myself, the only subject I cared to study at the quarries was anatomy. On this wild & crazy, end-of-summer party weekend, this couple put academics aside; they were just enjoying the day and each other. They never hesitated to express affection but their behavior never went past a PG rating.

Certainly, they were more discreet than this couple.

https://forum.oneclickchicks.com/showthread.php?t=145926

[topspinner]

This thread describes growing up in the American late 1970's/early 1980's perfectly...so much better than I could ever do. All we're missing is a.m. radio and Ronrico rum.

[exit222]

http://www.oneclickchicks.com/th/7/6.../7/8488943.jpg

This set is of my wife and I, She just about shit a brick when these were shown to her and her response was "who in the hell took these photo's? ". My question is did you get any in our more hmmm "intimate moments'? Good IU days. She's retired now so we don't mind you posting them.