Yarns Without Threads 

Then, with startling, almost overwhelming suddenness, a naked tomato swished out from the trees and loped around that curve in the path, straight towards me. Yeah, naked, stark staring nude.

Well, you should have heard me. I let out one hell of a noise.

SHE was a little dark-haired doll and nobody I knew, but you can bet it was somebody I wanted to know.

She wasn't in any terrific hurry; nobody was chasing her. Not, I thought dazedly, yet. She ran right up to the gate and stopped. At least she stopped running, but it was quite a spell before she stopped moving completely. ... 

 ... "Where am I?" I cried. "What is this place? What have I got into ? Are you . . . nudists?"

She winced slightly. "Nobody calls us nudists. We're naturists. Health culturists. Sunbathers. Stop pulling my leg, Mr. Scott. Surely you--"

"Level with me now. You're nudists."

She shook her head, then laughed slightly. "Well, I suppose in a sense you could call us nudists, if you must have it that way."

... And then it happened.

Another naked woman happened.

But simply to say "another naked woman" is like saying Mount Everest is higher than some hills. Again it was a woman I'd never seen - and it sure as hell wasn't Vera Redstone - but I knew this one wasn't getting away from me. Nor was I considering getting away from her. I even took a couple of steps forward as she ran up and stopped in front of me.

She was maybe five-six, with hair like copper and brass melted together by the sun, with eyes a bright, clear blue, with long dark lashes sweeping up from smooth lids. She was deeply bronzed by the sun, and from her tiny waist and flat stomach clean lines swept up and curved down. She was the picture of health and beauty and sex and sheer joy of living all wrapped up in a completely appropriate frame. .

Trees ringed the clearing, but in the near distance I could see bodies. Cavorting bodies. The sight shook me. By God, I was in a nudist camp. Laurel took my hand and pulled me after her towards the green building. Inside there was a small central room, doors opening into wings on either end. She pointed. "The men's section is there, Shell. Go in and change. And please hurry."

"Uh-huh. Change into what?"

She chuckled again. "Oh, stop it. Go in and take off your clothes."

"I . . . can't."

"Now, hurry. You'll ruin everything."

"But--well, it's just that I'm not a nudist. Never have been. I don't mind nudity. Not in reasonable amounts. But this--this is preposterous!"

She grabbed my hand again and pulled me to the door and pushed me through. "There's nothing to it," she said. "Lots of people do it. It's not as if you were the only one. Look at me."

"Have you noticed me looking at the leaves or something?"

"Anyway, it isn't for long. You'll get used to it." She slammed the door behind me. .

I stood stock-still for almost a minute, then said to myself, "Scott, you're being silly. Nothing to it. Everybody does it. Everybody should spend at least one day in a nudist camp, get a new perspective. Hell, you might like it," and so on, rationalizing. ...

"You ought to at least sign in; Even if you sign right out again."

"Everybody in camp on records here?"

She nodded. "All the names are in the records, plus the dates of entry. There are photos--portraits--of all of us, too. You can understand why we're careful about who joins the group. The Council wouldn't want to get any curiosity seekers, insincere guests, voyeurs, and so on."

She was still aloof, so I grinned at her and said, "I forgot to tell you. I'm a voyeur. Just a crazy, mixoscopiaed kid."

The headlines were a surprise, and for a moment they didn't make much sense. Then they did. "Society Beauty Discovered in Nudist Camp." In smaller type at the head of a story covering the two right-hand columns was: "Daughter of Mrs. Ellen Redstone, Society Leader, Queen of Sunbathing Group." ... 

... read the first part of the Clarion's article again. It was written in a flamboyant, lurid style that hinted at all sorts of dark and evil orgies. Sydney Laurel Redstone was named in the first line of the first paragraph, but I didn't see the name of the camp anywhere. ...

He frowned and said, "Her daughter's in a nudist camp?"

"Place called Fairview. Few miles out of town." ... 

 ... "I told you, Hansen, Mrs. Redstone knew her daughter was there. And she wasn't the type to go off her rocker over this thing, anyway."

He shrugged. Then he leered. "No kidding, Scott," he said. "This young daughter of hers is in a real nudist camp? Running around nekkid?"

"Yeah," I said. "No kidding."

I wasn't angry with him for getting a small kick out of the idea. I didn't know Hansen well, but I liked him. He was efficient, honest, worked fourteen hours a day most days, and he'd seen more dead men and women than I ever would. Once they were dead, they were just corpses, another job. But Hansen's reaction made me more aware of what other reactions would be.

... I remembered what I'd thought yesterday after that shot at me out at Fairview: that If I had been knocked off, the emphasis wouldn't have been on "murder," but on "nudist camp."

... Several yards away was a wooden platform that I understood had something to do with one of the contests. And all around us were naked people. Half of them must have been men, but all I could see were women.

To be perfectly honest, the over-all quality of the 150 or so females present wasn't as high as I had become accustomed to in these last two days in Fairview.