Swimmin' Bare at the  Possum Hole by Dick Sargent      Price: $5.95  Plus $1.75 shipping

This book is a short essay about the joys and tribulations of skinny dipping as a boy growing up in Southwest Florida in the 1960's. Below is illustrated the first page of the story.
 

"Geronimo!"

I yelled as I rushed down the hill toward the edge of the  Possum Hole and dove from the bank. The chill, green water  cooled my bare body as I knifed toward the muddy bottom twenty feet below. Startled minnows swirled out of my way as I turned and swam for the surface.       Gasping for air, I tossed wet hair and water out of my eyes with a sharp jerk of my head, then stroked shoreward. Splash! Suddenly my eyes and nose filled with water as my brother, George, cannonballed into the water next to me, his body curled tightly to make the biggest splash possible. As I climbed onto the shore, he rushed past me to dive again. I sat down on a rock to soak up some sun.       It was a hot, South-Florida summer day, I was twelve years old and doing what I liked most, skinny-dipping. When I stripped, piled my clothes on a rock, then dove into the cool, clean water of the Possum Hole (our favorite swimming spot) a sense of freedom washed over me. I could ignore the summer heat and forget about the chores I had left behind. The fact that this was an illicit activity just added to the fun.       Skinny-dipping has always been a joyous activity for country boys and an "area of concern" for prim and proper ladies. I once heard a story about a Miss Grundy who complained that a gang of naked boys was swimming in plain sight of her front porch. The local sheriff had a word with the boys who agreed to move further down the creek to do their swimming. The next week the sheriff received

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