Humor and Quotes

A young couple once visited a nudist beach. On their way back, the husband remarked:
– Did you notice? There were hardly any men — just women! Looks like women have a stronger exhibitionist streak...
His wife looked at him in surprise and replied:
– What are you talking about? It's the other way around! There were nothing but men!!!

A Dressed Shadow.

A sex maniac opposed to nudism was recently arrested at a nudist beach for forcibly dressing women.

Private Beach.
How Charlie Got the Nickname «Zebra»...

A Nudist by Accident

Back in the good old days, when every child knew that the economy had to be economical and that the words «peace», «labor», and «May» were practically triplets, there lived a young woman named Marusya. Actually, she’s still alive and doing quite well, although back then she felt about thirty years younger. Marusya had a dream: to ski down a steep slope wearing a red ski suit, so that all the men around her would simply fall over. The suit had to be red — no other color would do. And there was to be no ambiguity about the men’s reaction, either: they weren’t supposed to do a few squats or jump up and down. They had to fall flat on their faces.

Then, one fine day, the Party and the Government took pity on poor Marusya and awarded her a nice New Year’s bonus (small, but nice) and a holiday voucher to a ski resort in one of the fraternal republics of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.

Overjoyed, Marusya dashed around the shops and, after cheerfully standing in queues stretching a good four miles in total, bought herself a magnificent outfit: a red ski suit and a little red hat. All that remained was to get there and witness the piles of men felled by her beauty. And off Marusya went...

When Marusya, a Komsomol member, a slender athlete, and almost a beauty, arrived at the slope in her dazzling cranberry-red ski suit, the local men dropped their jaws and craned their necks, following her with hungry eyes. Our young Communist was almost happy. Only a couple of little details were missing: a thrilling downhill run and a few men falling over.

The little ski instructor — short in stature but very much at home in the mountains, with a Komsomol badge pinned to his bare, hairy chest — diligently taught the beginners the ABCs of skiing. Eventually, growing tired of the lesson, he waved his hand toward a small slope. «Off you go!»

Marusya was just about to head for the descent when she realized that she wouldn’t be going anywhere until she found some wooden structure bearing the letters «M» and «F» Her own modest but urgent needs, combined with the lengthy lesson, had left her absolutely desperate.

For the record, it was the glorious 1980s. The Communist Party, led by the General Secretary of the Central Committee, was enthusiastically defending the cause of world peace and couldn’t have cared less about such trivial matters as toilets on mountain slopes. The Party was there, peace was there, but toilets were nowhere to be found.

After looking around for about five minutes with her knees pressed tightly together, Marusya, blushing furiously, approached the instructor, leaned toward him, and whispered something in his ear.

«A TOILET?!!!» the instructor bellowed, and the mountain echoed his question a couple more times: «A toilet?! A toilet?..» «Good heavens, girl! Where do you expect to find toilets in the mountains?!» («Toilets!.. Toilets...») «See those bushes over there?» («There... there...») «Go and pee there!» («...pee there! ...there...»)

With her face the same color as her ski suit, Marusya bolted toward the bushes, pushing herself along with her ski poles.

«Take your skis off first!» the instructor shouted after her. («...off first! ...first...») But Marusya didn’t hear him. She had more pressing concerns.

It should be noted that the Soviet garment industry, acting in accordance with the resolutions of the 27th Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, had stepped up its campaign to improve the quality of service provided to the Soviet people. More and more new products were appearing on Soviet shop shelves, including red ski suits bearing the State Quality Mark on the back. And featuring just one zipper, running from the throat to the navel.

If Marusya had been a man, there would have been no problem. But Marusya was a woman — and one who desperately needed to pee. So she swiftly unzipped her suit, pulled it down to her knees along with her panties, rolled it up, and held it against her stomach. For those who are curious, she was still wearing her bra and little red hat. And that was all.

And just as Marusya began her communion with nature, the laws of physics intervened. The snow crunched beneath her feet, and the skis — which our Komsomol girl had somehow forgotten to take off — began gliding smoothly forward. Marusya flung her arms wide and tried to grab the ski poles she had planted in the snow beside her, but it was too late. The poles remained behind...

Before the astonished group of skiers, which included the very men Marusya had been hoping to impress, a squatting young woman in a bra and a red hat shot out of the bushes, accelerating all the while. Too terrified to use her bare bottom as a brake against the snow, she squealed with horror as she hurtled diagonally down the slope, marking the snow between her skis with a dotted yellow line, faster, faster, and faster!..

...Louder, louder, and louder!.. The men’s roaring laughter, amplified tenfold by the mountain echoes, followed Marusya all the way down the run. The men really were falling into the snow — and doubling over with convulsions of laughter.

But that wasn’t the end of it. The girl, burning with embarrassment, hurtled straight into the path of a skier. He was standing with his back to the slope. Marusya crashed into him so hard that he was flung some fifty feet downhill. But at least the involuntary nudist’s descent had finally come to an end.

The ordeal and the icy treatment her backside had received left Marusya feeling quite ill. She no longer dared venture onto the slope. There was only one red ski suit in the entire republic, and she would be recognized in it as easily as the famous Soviet singer Edita Piekha. People would point at her and burst out laughing. So, for the remaining days before her departure, Marusya stayed in the hospital in the little settlement at the foot of the mountain. Nobody there knew anything about her downhill adventure.

After a while, the young woman recovered her composure and even began looking for company among the other hospital patients. After all, there were plenty of men there, too. On the third day, she spotted a promising candidate. He was a tall, handsome, distinguished-looking man of about thirty-five, sporting the fashionable beard of the day and the gaze of a deep-sea captain. He sat by the window with his leg in a cast, sadly playing checkers against himself. Marusya sat down beside him, and soon they were chatting away. The captain squared his shoulders, cracked jokes, and invited her to join him on adventures in faraway lands...

«So, how did you break your leg?» Marusya asked, hoping to take a brief break from his tempting proposals.

«You wouldn’t believe it... Some crazy woman with a bare ass crashed right into me!..»