Early recollections:
As a young boy of perhaps 7 or 8, I found clothing scratchy and confining.  Sometimes at night, I would peel off my pajamas underneath my covers, and lie in bed naked, hoping my parents wouldn’t come into the room.  I luxuriated in the feeling of the sheets caressing bare skin.  It felt slightly naughty, but irresistible.  Although I had not yet reached puberty, it was in retrospect an unmistakable, adrenaline rich, pre-sexual feeling.  I would run my hands all over my body, just for the sensual pleasure of it.  The danger of maybe getting caught made it all the more sweet.  We lived in a very small house, of maybe 1000 square feet.  Since my bedroom was originally meant to be a walk-in closet, all I had for a door was a cardboard-core vinyl accordion style closet door, secured only by a puny magnet.  Adding to the thrill, the home’s only bathroom was right on the other side of the wall, causing a stream of traffic passing by, right past my flimsy door.
 
Busted:
Eventually, I became interested in being naked outside.  I started going outside on steamy summer evenings, and I would strip naked behind a tractor shed.  If it were raining out at the time, so much the better.  One evening, I was behind the shed completely naked.  I suddenly heard my sister’s bicycle clattering up the lawn, since bikes were kept in another shed nearby to the tractor shed.  Panicking, I ducked into the tractor shed, where I frantically began trying to dress.  My sister appeared before me, asking me what I was doing.  Of course, I said “Nothing.”  She gave me a knowing look, and said she thought I was a neighbor skulking around.  She knew perfectly well what I was doing.  To my eternal gratitude, she confessed “I do it, too,” and promised never to tell a soul.  And she never did.
 
Further afield:
Discontent with being naked in just one spot, I decided to strip and walk nude within the old growth woods on our property.  Sometimes I would cower at the sight of a single engine plane passing low overhead.  “If I can see them,” I reasoned, “They can see me.”  I wanted to be naked, but I was ashamed to be caught that way.  Nobody would understand.  Often, I would carry my clothes under my arm, “just in case.”  I found an increased thrill if I could dare to leave them in a little pile somewhere, and walk on without them, like a circus performer without a net.  Being free and nude in the woods, I would urinate at will.
 
The Big O:
Having gotten used to touching myself sensually pre-puberty, it’s not surprising that I would continue doing so after puberty hit.  As any boy does, I found and hid some photos of naked women from Playboy magazine.  In the throes of teenage lust, I stared at the images, and pretended a woman was stroking my rock hard cock.  One day, as I was standing there in my bedroom masturbating to my Playboy pictures, it felt better and better until, inevitably, I exploded with the first orgasm of my life.  I still say none have ever felt better than that one.   I pumped a huge load right into the left leg of my jeans.  On laundry day, mom couldn’t have helped but notice the sweet, musky scent of semen.   Well, the genie was really and truly out of the bottle now.  I wanted to feel that feeling constantly.
 
Out in the open:
As much as I loved being naked in the woods, I wished I could feel the bright sunshine on my body.  I started going down to a quiet little secluded clearing by the railroad tracks, at the end of a dirt road.  Here, I could prance around naked in the sun with minimal risk.  I would also frequently masturbate, having discovered the joy of orgasm.  One day, I saw someone walking along the railroad tracks above my private clearing.  I crouched down in the open, trying to be as invisible as possible, no doubt red-faced as a stop sign.  The person did not appear to notice or acknowledge me, but I wonder if they were just trying to spare me profound embarrassment.