It’s amazing what can sneak past one’s consciousness in the midst of a vacation, under the spell of the tropic sun — an elderly man who must have been in his seventies, shuffling around the beach with about nine tiny brass padlocks hanging from his scrotum. He sported no blue Mohawk, nor was his hair spiked. He appeared a normal old guy who could have been tottering toward the corner grocery for a newspaper instead of down the white sand toward the grass hut/bar. Except, of course, he was naked, as nearly everyone at the resort was.

My wife actually talked to him, but did not ask about the locks. He told her he was going to get his wife a drink, ply her with alcohol so she would "give him a little later on."

He added, she said, "At my age, you take it where you can get it."

I can imagine her, smiling back at him, nodding.

I’m trying to figure out my delayed obsession with him and his locks — something drawing my memory to him, moth to porch light. Never once did it occur to me to talk to him, inquire. Never, until I was buckled into my seat on the plane returning home. Too much distraction probably Too many other naked bodies.

My mind wanders leisurely from the old man and his locks and I remember what a friend asked me recently regarding the clothing- optional experience, "Isn’t nudism sexual?" The question was put forth in a tone of accusation.

And I became, and I am still, defensive. The answer is yes, although I can’t speak for anyone beyond myself. I know this: As a recent convert to nudism, having only limited experience to draw upon (five or six visits to clothing-optional beaches in Hawaii) I’ve yet to witness a blind person in attendance. And I’m positive that the turquoise ocean caressing my skin, the sunlight warming places previously unwarmed by sunlight, would feel equally, if not much more delightful to a sightless person.