Bare facts

Fat Happy's

We hadn't seen the comely young widow in many moons when we found ourselves sitting right next to her, sharing the piscatorial comity of the local sushi bar, our eyes mere inches from the orange, red and coral colored slabs of raw, naked flesh.

We have had several friends lose their spouses suddenly and unexpectedly of late, succumbing to issues of heart, trauma, or undiagnosed illness that could never be foreseen. M's dropped dead of a heart attack. This couple was never one that we were particularly close to but always sort of friendly in our nodding acquaintance. We had heard some rumors of their curious penchant for nudism, which was neither here nor there for us.

Anyhow, we got to talking with M, wondering how she was making out. She either lived or worked at the popular "Sun Club" up the road, I never could figure it out. She spilled. The General Manager at the club had left and she was thinking of applying for the position. But what to wear? How does one apply for a senior job at a nudist colony? Always wanting to help, I made a suggestion. "How about just pearls and pumps," I offered?" "You will look both smart and competent. Make sure there's no tan lines, they'll throw you out on your kiester in a New York second." She was a little worried that these sun worshipers that had made her naked company for years would not be able to visualize her in a sometimes clothed leadership position. Had to look professional but not square. Talk about a quandary.

I saw her a couple weeks ago having a cup of joe at the klatch. She had not got the job but it gave me an opportunity to ask her a few questions about life amongst the unrobed. The first rule she said is to look at people in the eyes, conspicuous ogling a definite no-no. Of course she said, she was a human and had sexual feelings as most of us do, and confessed to taking note of a few particular attributes.

Although there were known swingers at the club, it was a distinct minority. And the place had white buttons around the place that when pushed, would summon management in the case of overt sexual weirdness that might cross the lines of propriety.

I must say, you go girl, whatever floats your boat. Our boys are fighting overseas for your right to let it all hang out nekkid in our fair country, if that is your particular want and desire, of course.

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I had a mom who was a nudist. The family would traipse off to Summerland  and bare our butts on the Santa Barbara bluffs. On more than once occasion mom would walk into the family room of our home in her birthday suit when I had friends over, a real conversation stopper, I tell you. I can remember her sneering at one of my english friend's Mina, mouth agape, "Hippie kids huh, why so afraid of the human body?" Most of my pals left in a panic.

Her brother coincidentally, Uncle Norm, whom many of you are acquainted with thanks to his fabulous comments to the Blast, is also an avowed nudist, at the tender age of 85. He and his girlfriend take their vacations almost exclusively at spots where they can let it all hang out, if you will.

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I think that we can divide the world up into two camps; those that look better with their clothes on and those that look better with their clothes off. And you just really don't know who fits which camp until that final unveiling. Humans can surprise you. But it is all academic at my age and with my super puritanical moral code so I just pretty much keep everything bundled up.

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I lived above a nude beach in Encinitas in the flower of my youth. It was called Boneyard and was just north of Swamis in Encinitas. You could climb down to the beach from the bluffs on I street with a rope. Being a red blooded male, I took particular delight in watching the nude volleyball games.

I only saw one act of overt sexuality at Summerland, two hetero couples getting it on in the sand. I remember thinking that it was very disrespectful as their were a lot of kids around and they didn't seem to give a shit. I have heard that the gay beaches like Black's are more overtly sexual.

I lived in a place called Highbridge Park near Spokane, during one of my extended hippie periods in the seventies. One of the first Rainbow gatherings. Don't think anyone had a lick of clothes on for months. Lived on a bus full of musicians named gitty up go. We roamed east through Montana and Wyoming and down to Ashland and had all the fun a schoolbus full of thirteen naked musicians could ever have. Roamed the highways playing little nude improv games and skits, it was pretty riotous. One of the greatest extended adventures of my entire life.

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One thing that I learned during my early forays sans garments was that sexuality usually left the equation fairly quickly. Naked people everywhere can have a quite nullifying quality. Nudity can be a real turn off some times. The pervs and the uptight could never figure this out. Little old men would perch on the cliffs at Highbridge with scopes and cameras. People would yell at them to come on down, disrobe and get in on the fun but it was always sexual for these repressed and they always remained on the periphery, ogling like sickos.

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I never went in for strip clubs or lap dances or things like that. They made me very uncomfortable. The women had all the power and the males were quickly reduced to the rotten canines that reside at our core. But the cultural anthropologist in me always found something interesting during the few occasions that I stepped into a strip club. A performer would go through a whole teasing ritual, slowly disrobing, and then finally get naked, only to put her clothes all back on at the end, to start the process all over again. The element of sexuality was more connected to the act of unveiling than the naked, final product. Sort of strange. It bothered me that the men couldn't see that they were being gamed so.

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When I was a kid, television was pretty tame, you couldn't even see navels. Rob and Laura Petrie slept in separate twin beds, with one foot on the floor to appease the censors. Nowadays it is awash in tits and butts, with little left to the imagination.  The most deviant forms of sexual expression are mere keystrokes away and becoming the new norm. De rigeur. Good thing I am not a parent. I would make my kids live in a makeshift amish prison with no electricity to protect them from the onslaught of filth.

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Naked is different, the human body is beautiful. At least until you get to my age and have a huge paunch, omb, a hump on your side and hair sprouting from places it doesn't belong.

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Men don't get that all of those super exciting parts of the female anatomy are in reality standard issue operating equipment, pretty well distributed amongst the population. Beasts that we are.

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Why are the nudists so eager to parade around in their birthday attire? Are they indulging in a simple act of rebellion? Is it worth sand in the crotch and sunburned apparati? An act of narcissism, showing off their battles against gravity and father time or their pride in their natural or enhanced endowments? Are they still fighting their parents? Or are we, the clothed, the truly strange ones?

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One of my coffee group told me last week that at his age, they damn better have the lights off when he and his wife made love.

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Yours in skin.

Carol Doda