Upon Meeting a Nude Stranger

               Recently, a friend and I were comparing dating stories.  We agreed that my description of My Worst Date Ever is hard to top.  She laughed so hard that she cried, and urged me to write about it to share with others.  So, here goes.  Names have been changed to protect the [not so] innocent.

               I met my most recent ex-husband in a New Age bookstore in mid-1996.  Several months later, we began to date.  Well, he never actually called it "dating."  He preferred to think of it as "spending time together."  I should have known then that any long-term involvement was doomed.

               Fairly early in our "spending time together" phase, Keith asked me whether I'd like to accompany him to a healing circle and pot luck.  He told me that he'd spent a fair amount of time with this particular group of healers, massage therapists, and other similarly-minded spiritual people.  He described their energy as "sweet," and was certain that I'd enjoy the evening. 

               As someone who had recently discovered her affinity for energy work and healing, I was very interested in meeting others who did the same kind of work.  I'd participated in several healing circles by that time, and was eager to get plugged in to the community of healers in San Diego's East County.  I eagerly accepted his invitation.  Additionally, introduction to friends is a key moment in a newly developing relationship and I was delighted that Keith wanted me to meet other people who were important in his life.

               As the evening drew near, Keith filled me in on a few more details.   Our hostess's home was a "cute little pad straight out of the 1960s," according to my former hippie boyfriend-type person.  He mentioned that the interior was a shoes-off establishment, and that I'd have to leave my tennies at the door.   Not a problem, I assured him.  My mom also disliked having dirt tracked into her home, so I understood.  He also advised me that Lisa (our hostess) would offer me a sarong to wear during the healing circle.  Healing energy always heats me up and I can sweat buckets in just a short period of time.  It seemed to me to be a thoughtful and intelligent choice of attire, and I was glad that I wouldn't have to go out to buy one.  Besides, I didn't even know where one would purchase a sarong.

               On the Night In Question, we drove to a neighborhood in the unincorporated area of San Diego's East County.  Keith parked the car on the street, and we toted our pot luck dishes up to the gate of a ten-foot-high redwood fence that encircled the yard.  This particular part of the county was quite a mish-mash of older dwellings and some garage-type businesses.  Some properties were better kept than others, and the area could be noisy.  I understood the need for such a fence -- or so I thought at the time.

               Upon approaching the front door, I discovered that Keith's description was apt.  There was a definite "organic" feel to the place.  A little unkempt, with a pile of wood heaped in the front yard.  Gene, Lisa's partner and the evening's co-host, stood in the middle of the pile, splitting logs.  Keith informed me that they had a wood-burning hot-tub.  Lisa met us at the door, embraced Keith in a warm, long-lost buddy type of hug, and then she hugged me.  We removed our shoes and stepped into the living room.

               I was a mere child during the 1960s and my blue collar Upstate New York upbringing didn't include crystals, bongs, bean bag chairs, incense, and sitar music in the background.  But I've seen documentaries and photos, so I had a general idea about the hippie era.  I just didn't know that it was still alive and well in eastern San Diego county!  It was as if I had been transported into another world!  Yup.  This definitely was a cute little pad straight out of the 1960s. 

               We deposited our pot luck offerings on the counter in the cramped little kitchen, and Lisa escorted us down a short hallway.  She directed Keith to one room and showed me into another - evidently, the master bedroom.  The bed was strewn with a colorful array of sarongs.  Lisa invited me to select one, which I did.  It was a lovely blue-green tropical print.  Within a few minutes, it became clear to me that she planned to wait for me while I donned my unique frock.  I was new to "alternative" attire, and wasn't quite certain about how to ensure that I would keep the thing up.  I was nervous and didn't want to appear to be the sarong virgin that I was, so I pretended that I knew what I was doing and changed from the mundane into the exotic - or so it felt to me.  I prayed that it would stay put.  Lisa then pointed to the dresser, which was decked with a variety of bottles and beaded necklaces.  "Feel free to adorn your body," she invited.  I mumbled my thanks and dabbed a bit of patchouli on my wrists.  "Toto, we are not in Rochester anymore," I thought.

               I timidly followed her back into the living room, where Keith stood wearing a skirt-like sarong while chatting amiably with a small group of newer arrivals.   I edged up to his elbow, a little unsure about what I had gotten myself into.  I smiled and nodded whenever anyone looked my way, but I was completely out of my element!  Still, I figured it was an adventure, and that at 40 years old I should be far more open about different lifestyles, for goodness sake!  So, this is what it was like to hang out with healers, I thought.  I made a note to brush up on my pre-1970s history.

               Eventually, we all filed in and out of the kitchen to fill our plates.  Why is it that healers are always vegetarians?  Good Lord!  There really is only so much one can do with tofu, brown rice, broccoli, and teriyaki sauce!  We noshed and chatted.  Then, plates went into the sink and we started to gather in the living room. 

I turned toward the kitchen entrance and noticed that Gene's sarong had fallen down around his ankles!  Poor guy, I thought.  How embarrassing!  I discreetly turned my head to give Gene time to repair his wardrobe malfunction.   I was very surprised to notice that several people behind Keith were also having wardrobe malfunctions!  Everyone's sarong appeared to be falling down around their ankles at the same time!  It occurred to me that this wasn't mere happenstance.

I closed the gap between Keith and me and energetically beckoned for his ear.  "Keith!  Everyone is naked!" I exclaimed in a horrified voice that I hoped only he would hear.

"They are not naked; they are nude," he informed me.  "Naked is crass."

Oh.  Pardon me.  I didn't realize that public nakedness - er - nudity was ruled by etiquette. 

Evidently, there really are rules.  When hanging out with those who are hanging out, the group dines first and sheds attire afterward.  It certainly gives coffee and cupcakes a whole new meaning.  And the group doesn't disrobe until the host indicates that it's time to do so.  Gene dropped trou (or sarong) to indicate that it was now time for the great undoing.

I was horrified!  I pulled Keith into a corner and demanded to know what in Hell was going on???  What kind of person did he think I was???  I thought we were going to participate in a healing circle, and instead he invites me into an orgy???

He was nonplussed by my dismay.  "These people practice a clothing optional lifestyle," he informed me.  "I told you that."

Really?  When?  Seems to me that I'd have remembered that somewhere between the initial invitation and appearing on the hosts' front doorstep.

"Remember - I told you that you'd be offered a sarong," he insisted.

I didn't know it was code!  To me, being offered a sarong means that I will be offered a length of fabric to wrap around my body.  It did NOT mean that I knew that it was assumed that I'd remove that length of fabric from around my body later in the evening!

"You're overreacting," Keith said calmly.  "There's nothing wrong with nudity.  It's perfectly healthy. This really is a just a healing circle.  Nothing more."

I wasn't entirely convinced, but considered that I was an adult and needed to get over it.  If I was going to dabble in the mystical realms I needed to be open-minded and just wait to see how the evening unfolded.  But, I was definitely going to leave if anything "weird" started to take place.  I also informed him that, in no uncertain terms would I remove my sarong!

"That's okay," he assured me.  "It's clothing optional.  You have the option to wear as few or as many clothes as you'd like.  No one will judge you if you'd prefer to keep your clothes on."

Oh.  Gee.  How thoughtful.  Do you know that it feels just as weird to be the only person wearing clothes as it would feel to be the only nude person in a room full of people?  Or so I'd assume.  I've had those dreams - you know - the ones where you forget to put your clothes on before going to school or to work?  He offered to keep on his sarong to help me to feel better.  That's what I like in my men.  Gallantry. 

As we turned toward the rest of the group an exceptionally handsome man approached us, arms outstretched to embrace Keith in a bear hug.  This guy was hung!  I mean, I really tried not to notice.   Really.  I tried.  But - well, my God!  How could you miss it?  But still, I was being adult about this.  It's not polite to notice.  Is it?

I stood back while the two men greeted each other.  Here I am, on a date, I thought.  My date is wearing a skirt and is embracing an incredibly gorgeous nude man, surrounded by a bunch of similarly nude people.  Now - why did I think our relationship was going to be normal?

Dave stepped out of his embrace with Keith and turned toward me while Keith introduced us.  Dave grinned and opened his arms and approached for a big bear hug.  I kept my eyes glued to his eyes and stretched my right hand out as far as it would go.  He took my hand to shake it and looked confused. 

He inclined his head toward Keith and asked, "What?  She doesn't hug?"

Keith shrugged.  "She's from Rochester."  They nodded together in silent understanding. 

What in the world was THAT supposed to mean?  She's from Rochester.  As if that explained everything!  Well, okay, it DID explain everything.  I really was out of my element.  I grew up in Rochester, and then spent twenty years in the conservative part of San Diego.  All of the parties that I went to tended to be a little more, well, clothed. 

I really didn't know how to respond.  What does one say to a nude stranger?  I attended Miss Fiske's seventh grade Home Economics class - I knew how to behave at parties.  I knew how to set a table and how to lay out a perfect buffet.  But making polite conversation with nude guests?  I must have been out the day she covered that topic.

Dave wandered away and Keith asked me whether I wanted to leave.  But, he hoped I'd give the evening a chance.  These were really nice people, he assured me.  I didn't want to be unpleasant, so I agreed to stay.  In retrospect, I suspect that there was a slight deliciousness at the idea of breaking family taboos about being in such a "racy" situation.  I was immensely curious, after all.  Why not see how the evening unwinds?  Cautiously, that is.

Lisa approached me - the perfect hostess, noticing that one of her guests was uncomfortable.  "Are you okay?" she asked.  I nodded.  "Is this the first time you've been in a clothing optional group?"  I nodded again.  "Keith didn't tell you?"  I shook my head.  "Don't worry.  We don't allow any sexual contact.  It really is just a healing group.  We practice a clothing optional lifestyle.  We believe in being free of the falsehood of outward appearance.  This allows us to drop our judgments and to be real with one another."

I appreciated her assurances.  Still - it was tough not to notice that everyone in the room was fit, toned, and Yoga perfect.  No need to judge.  Everyone still measured up to each other.  Clothing or not.

People then broke up into small groups and massage tables were set up.  Various forms of massage and energy work were practiced.  I stuck to feet and shoulders. 

A little later, I wandered in to the next room, where a couple of additional tables were set up.  I was astonished to see Keith on one of the tables - without his sarong - being massaged by a small group of women.  We were fairly new in our "spending time together" phase, so I hadn't seen him nude prior to that moment.  It wasn't exactly the way I had envisioned sharing that event - in a room full of nude strangers!  I backed out of the room and found a place to perch for the rest of the evening.

Some people made their way out to the wood-fired hot tub.  We were invited to join in, but I mumbled some excuse about being allergic to wet redwood.  All of those bobbing breasts and bare bottoms bumping up against each other was a little more than I could handle at that point.

Keith and I dressed in our street clothes and made ready to go.  We went out to the tub to bid good night to our hosts.  

Lisa told me that she was glad I was there.  "You have such a sweet energy," she gushed.  "We're having a Hallowe'en party.  We'd love to have you join us!"  I thanked her, bade everyone good night, and we left.

I didn't attend the Hallowe'en party.  I wish I had gone, though.  Bobbing for apples sure would have been interesting.  And, I am still wondering what nudists wear to a costume party?

Note:  That evening occurred about eleven years ago.  I have since overcome my hang-ups over group nudity and wood-fired hot tubs.  Keith and I married about three years later and the marriage ended after six years.  We are still good friends today.  And no, the relationship never was "normal."  But it was a lot of fun!  I'm glad Toto and I got out of Rochester.  I meet a lot of nice people in wood-fired hot tubs!

All rights reserved - copyright 2008 by Karen E. Kelsay