Naked at Lunch by Mark Haskell Smith Read Free Book Online

self esteem.”
    The fact that everyone is naked is supposed to help you connect with others—the de-alienation I heard about earlier—and let go of your body obsessions, your fears, and your shame. Ideally, the nudist experience creates a level playing field where everyone is equal. And it’s true that once you’re in a place where everyone is naked, there is a sense of it being a level playing field, only this playing field wasn’t level, it sagged. I would guess the average age around the pool was sixty-five, maybe older. And the inexorable pull of gravity had exerted its force on their bodies. It occurred to me that if people lived long enough, we would all eventually melt into lumpy puddles of flesh, like squashed basset hounds.
    As I was standing naked in front of these people, I have to say that I didn’t feel a sudden sense of liberation. But I didn’t feel afraid or ashamed either. My self-esteem didn’t increase or decrease. Mostly I felt a little awkward. I’ve never talked to a naked stranger while being naked before and I was unsure what to say. Like, how was I supposed to greet people? Would my saying hello be interpreted as overt sexual behavior?
    And what were they thinking about me? Did I appear unhealthily pale? An obvious first-timer? Nudists refer to people with untanned buttocks as “cottontails.” I’ll be the first to admit that my ass doesn’t see a lot of sunlight. Were they all scoffing and muttering “cottontail” under their breath?
    I noticed that a couple of the women were violating the “don’t gawk” rule. They were staring at me, their eyes wide.
    I quickly realized why.
    It was not my physique or lack of tan that was making them goggle; it was the fact that my penis had become incredibly shiny in the sunlight. It looked as if it had been coated in a glossy lacquer like some kind of Shang dynasty artifact. The spray-on sunblock that I had so scrupulously and thickly applied had turned my dick into something resembling a solar flare. I could’ve sent a distress signal to a search and rescue team.
    Fortunately, I did not get an erection.
    If the number of times this question is brought up on nudist resort websites is any indication, one of the biggest fears men have is getting an erection in public. At the Desert Sun Resort they offer these reassuring words: “On the rare occasion that this does occur, just simply cover up with a towel, turn over or take a quick dip in the pool.”
    I honestly don’t think that’s what most men are afraid of when they go to a nudist resort. The fear isn’t that you’ll get an erection; the fear is that your testicles will ascend, your penis will retract, and you’ll stand there looking like a Ken doll.
    The throb of Rick James was followed by the up-tempo innuendo of George Michael as I sauntered away from the “activity pool” toward what was called the “quiet pool.” I walked past a few people soaking in the Jacuzzi. I nodded at a semicircle of naked people playing guitars and singing a wretched version of “Layla” in the shade of some trees.
    The quiet pool was quiet. No music blared, and the conversation among the few couples that lounged around it was a barely audible murmur. I did not gawk. I spread my towel on a chaise and settled in.
    Occasionally someone would get up and swim in the pool for a few minutes, but mostly people kept to themselves. They might nod and smile at each other, but there was not a lot of conversation.
    I thought maybe I could start a conversation but then I began to obsess about the rules. What if I said something that could be taken as a sexual provocation? Was it like making a joke while going through airport security?
    As a single man, I felt like I was eyed with suspicion. As if some kind of primitive alarm bell was going off in the other men’s reptile brains. Was I some kind of swinger? Would I swoop in and steal their mate? But perhaps it was just a flash of sunlight reflecting off my penis