Windy Point

Part 14 of the Georgia and Back Series
We have found on the internet, a privately owned camp on Lake Travis, one mile from Hippie Hollow.
The other public camps are closed. One is in construction, being remodeled.  If off season, there might be a private site on the lake, where we could be nude at least in stealth, but things are as they are. This one will have to do and it is convenient.
We make reservations with a friendly female voice on the phone. When we arrive we are greeted by a pleasant India guy’s accent.
The trees are also pleasant and grow taller here. It has a large field of grass, a lawn, that runs off out on a peninsula. There are more tent sites at the tip by the lake.
It is off season camping. We wouldn’t expect crowds. There are not wild kids having the time of their lives, just couples like us.
Mosquitoes are problems around the lake, but Windy Point is mosquito free in the evenings. That “Windy” in the name, also means that it has a gentle breeze that destabilizes the bugs.
After we establish our site, pitch tent and eat, we take a walk in the dark, after a mesmerizing sunset.

There are no others out here. Everyone is at camps in the distance. We find a quiet picnic table to sit upon and watch dusk. There is peace in the pastel skies, the lights coming on at the mansions across the lake’s hills and reflections of that in the water.
It is Friday night and TGIF, there are sailboat cruises. There is a slow armada of pleasure boats under sails gliding across the lake from the west and turning before us. It is a gentle slow ballet of sail.
Sitting on the park’s bench table in the quiet feels romantic. Stars come out and we lay back on the table and look straight up. What we need to make this nearly perfect is the lack of clothing and to be fully entrenched in this light breeze. My kilt comes apart at the Velcro waist easily. I sit on the rest and tuck it behind me, my back to the rest of the now dark facility. DF pulls the sundress over her head and piles it behind her. It is good. The darkness, the quiet awareness, the distance all contribute to our privacy.
Others come strolling, following the dark asphalt road down the middle of the field. They are too distant to make out detail in a moonless evening. Most people around here wear swimsuits and little more. Bare looking silhouettes are nearly an expected sight.
We sit up, lie back and sit again. The sailboats now are lit up in the night, casting beams of light across the waves before us. One has a purple light above, which lights the sails and a green and a white running lights. It is soft Mardi Gras colors in the darkness.
There are sets of steel stairs leading down to the water off of the edge of a steep slope. The water level is down in an historic three year drought. We walk nude in the air, that is still warm after a 101F day, to the staircase.
Four hundred and ninety stairs later, we place our feet in the warm water. The rocks are still nice and warm from sunbathing all day.
We listen to waves from passing boats. We watch dark waves travel. They lap against one rock, or break against another. It is all very peacefu …

Read further at The Free Range Naturist

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