The Fifth Estate

Just finished watching this movie staring Benedict Cumberbatch.  His goal of absolute transparency initiated by those who feel a moral obligation to reveal something being kept secret allowing the greater public and history to decide the absolute morality of such secrets is lofty in the extreme, perhaps even a noble one.

However, all we need to do is look at the latest sensational infotainment headlines of the day to realize absolute transparency is irrelevant as a person's attention span can be counted in days on two hands.  Even if WikiLeaks has achieved its goal in revolutionizing journalism for the public good (as it has taken such a first step) people in general will only care for a short period of time about any individual secret that has been revealed.

A post on social media broke down the terrifying headlines over the last twenty years, the most laughable of which was Y2K.  The amount of insanity given to the event that promised to crash planes and send us all back into an economic stone age materialized in exorbitant salaries to programmers with the archaic knowledge of FORTRAN.  The post ended with a question as to what we'll all die of in 2015.

The point I took from the post was two-fold: the public loves to feel urgency about some imminent threat and we forget almost as intensely.

How long before we forget there are people still dying of Ebola infections?  How long before we return to judging minimum wage earners harshly for their laziness?  How long before the Ukraine has always been a part of Russia and university campus rapes are again just boys sowing their wild oats?

It's not that people don't care, it's that there's too much to care about and hearth and home come first. So before the next person launches a protest about some grave injustice of the powers-that-be upon the righteous downtrodden, think about how long you plan to care about them.  If it's just filling a weekend then just sit down and worry about your own behavior.  Are you another Julian Assange pointing out the flaws in others just to deflect from revealing your own secrets?

Dating in My America

A gay man of my generation didn't date much in high school. For four years, my only real option was to date a girl or hang out with my boy friends. However, an official date was almost an impossible proposition. Mildly surprising to me were the children who defied that convention almost immediately after my graduation. I was, one again, born just a few years out of date.

Then came the university and the freedom that overwhelmed me. Being too young to truly appreciate the opportunity offered by the experience, I squandered the single year I was allowed to attend. My typical American male confusion between sexual ecstasy and love lead me awry more than once and caused potential romances to flounder in the shallows of a one-night-stand and the backwash of codependency.

This recklessness, among other failings, contributed to my prison term. Surely I don't need to describe here the lack of dating and romantic opportunity within the correctional system. I am not railing against the rules forbidding sexual expression on the inside, it's a safer environment because of them, but the reality created tends to be frustrating. I did, in fact, fall desperately in love with one man during my years incarcerated. My inability to express anything other than a fraternal affection proved nearly enough to cause psychosis. Many men find ways to get laid, and I almost resorted to such measures, but that would have been hollow and disingenuous to how I felt. So all I could do was tell him as much as words would prove useful and hope we would still see each other after our terms ended... a futile hope.

Then came probation, because I was mean more than once, and my inability to navigate the awkward theesome that was approved romances under those rules. Luck delivered my next love to my door, literally, and his apathy toward the state's participation in our romance developed into a happy several years. Well, happy-ish. It is a romance I will never forget and one I would not trade for anything, but it did end in tears.

Probation has now ended and the state's participation in my love life had abated to minimal levels - I will never again be free of scrutiny - and my social life has grown exponentially since. Within months I've grown my circle of friends and expanded my zone of recreation to become an interstate enterprise. Within my limited experience in this life, this is common. It seems most people have relationships over large areas. I know no one in California, but I can claim friendships spanning several states.

The true crux of this entry - the predicate, as my best friend would quote from some TV show - isn't so much one of bemoaning my romantic status or complaining about the difficulties I've endured in the arenas of love, it's one of celebrating the greys of relationships.

I learned, both formally and through experience, that no two relationships are alike. I have more than one friend and each relationship has taboo topics and areas of common interest that are not duplicated in any other relationship I've ever had. I've fallen in love a total of three times and each not only had unique aspects to the very nature of the romance, but each FELT different from the previous. No wonder poets cannot describe the feeling accurately.

I now have friendships with sexual aspects. I have friendships that appear sexual, but are not. I have friendships that can go several months without contact and survive as if no time has passed. Then I have friendships that are based on vacation fantasy and currently exist as nostalgic vehicles. I love all these men as much as I ever loved any romantic partner... which may explain why I'm single.

I counsel my best friend against labels as a step toward non-judgment. (Judgment is wasted energy since acting on most of our judgment is harmful.) I'm finding this good advice for myself as well. Each of the relationships I am a part of is unique. Each will develop on its own coarse and in its own time. Defining what a friendship is as opposed to a romance or an acquaintance seems to place artificial limits on where the relationship is allowed to go... and I've always argued with my counselor about his statement, "you don't fuck your friends." I did, I do, and I will. Then I will still call them friends.

I have come to agree with my counselor - and every one before him - that communication is key to the success of any relationship. By explaining my flexibility to the people in my social life - and listening to their version of the same - the expectations of the relationship are made known and all is laid bare. Surprises and miscommunication are kept to a minimum and the early practice encourages continued "transparency" allowing the relationship to move about freely. I'm even making an attempt to retain a man as a friend after we discovered ourselves sexually incompatible, supposedly moving "backward."

The shades of grey are the fascinating part of relationships, they seem to be what makes most of them fun to be a part of.

Random

So I was crawling around on the floor of my bedroom this morning looking for the third condom and discovered a VCR under my bed.  I have to ask myself, "When did I ever own a VCR?"

End of an Era

Labor Day tends to mark the end of summer in America.  Of the three summer holidays, it is the last of those long weekends away from the cities and daily life.  Many people use these summer weekends to "get away," go "camping," or head to whatever beach is available to them for a final topping of their tan or dip in some body of water.  After this, after all, it's all downhill.

I too celebrated the end of the summer; the end of my first true summer in many, many years, with a trip to Minneapolis - as I'm known to do.  Because I don't explain the true reasoning for my trips, co-workers and family find me daft for spending nearly ten hours in a car for a five hour pool party.  I wasn't about to skip the final party of the year due to a lack of acceptable explanation or something as trivial as financing.  Man invented credit and privacy for a reason and America thrives on debt and liberty, right?

This trip (two months ago, actually) ended my reign as the newest nudist.  My BFF doesn't really count since he just wants to go to the pool parties and could care less about whether he's nude or not.  The group in Minneapolis held their annual membership drive at the Twin Cities Pride event and got inundated with requests to join.  The last time I was there, a hundred people crammed into a two-bedroom house that just happened to have a heated in-ground pool... surely that wasn't the real draw for the crowd at all.  This weekend I was able to spend some time with the newest members of the group and got to know them a little bit.  As we all know, a man is far more than the clothes he wears and when he's not wearing any it takes a bit more time to decipher all his quirks of personality.  One man wore only a simple silver chain and the other chest hair.  Not much information in those fashion choices.

One man preferred to stay very quiet and smile at the antics of my cohorts.  He fussed with his thumbs in what appeared to be a nervous venting, and revealed nothing about himself.  He did claim to talk more while drinking but refused the giant bottle of Captain I stole from a nearby table.  Turns out, he's not all that new to social nudity at all, just the size of the event was new.

The other man admitted to feeling awed by the newness of it all.  It is fairly rare to find gay men being both absolutely gay and absolutely male so publicly.  Of course, he also admitted to having little practice at either as honest living is a recent addition to his personality.  It takes a bit of courage to attend an event with nearly one hundred strangers, much less one with members who already know each other and are used to behaving in a manner not normally seen in the community at large.  (This doesn't mean we behave so differently that a casual observer would believe we are aliens - but that's another entry.)

I felt a bit like an old hand at this party.  Not only were these men younger than myself, and more handsome by any standard, they were displaying the outward signs of the anxiety I have written about previously.  Looking them in the eye I was tempted to simply hug them and prattle on about how it would all be OK.  A silly impulse as they are grown men and more fully committed to joining the group than I was.  It may also have been the vodka talking... my cups tend to be deep.

So goes the passing as all things.  I am no longer the wide-eyed innocent; no longer the voice of the naive; no longer a mere witness to the new.  I now am an official member of the group, a shaper of things.  I may even wield influence from time to time.  So ends my time as a nudbie and begins my next season as mentor.  I may even be called upon to dispense wisdom too, though where I'll find any is anyone's guess.  So as seasons change and karma continues to unfold I, myself, continue to change and experience the next moment.

I was once surprised by many aspects of social nudism.  I was once intensely moved by the openness of these gay men.  I was once, but no longer.  An era has ended, a new begun, and surely karma will continue to unfold and I'll be surprised and moved by the next aspect of life I've yet to notice - since that is part of the reason many of us participate in these events.  The envelope needs to be stretched and a life examined else what is the reason of it all?

Public Service Announcement - Kissing Is A Skill

So, when did kissing become something men are terrible at?  Equally, when did I start typing with dangling participles?

While the label of "slut" comes to mind as I begin this, I must say I've kissed many many men in the last several months and am appalled at the lack of skill that appears to be commonplace among us masculine individuals.  I would think a man would be better at kissing than a blow-job considering the extra years of practice one would expect an individual would have doing one as to the other.  I mean think about it - when was your first kiss and when did you first blow a guy.  I'm guessing there's about a decade between the dates.  Wouldn't I be correct in assuming you should know how to do one better than the other, yet I'd be wrong many many times over.  This is not to say we are experts at fellatio either, but that may be a topic for another time.

My ex and I spent a lot of time being intimate.  I'm quite proud of that since we also were quite boringly domestic.  Together - well, I hope he learned something too - I had the opportunity to closely examine what worked and what didn't.  Without making any claims to being kings of kink-dom, we did try and experiment more than I was ever able to before being in my romance with him.  I'd like to think I came to have some knowledge on the mechanics and techniques of being intimate.  Perhaps I know as much of nothing as the next guy, but I implore you, gentle reader, to please consider your abilities when it comes to kissing the next recipient.

Firstly, kissing is about the lips - NOT the tongue.  The tongue licks, the lips caress.  Kissing is about muscle control and massage, not lying limp while you prove you can remove your partner's tonsils without anesthetic.  The tongue can enter the entertainment, briefly, but only to tantalize your partner with what you may be able to do with it when set to other purpose.  It should not be the main attraction in this show, but rather more like Iago encouraging greater mischief.

Secondly, kissing takes two people.  Each person must not only lead the other on to different style, intensity, and technique, but also be able to follow the other as well.  It's an interesting balancing act at which men are apparently horrible in nearly every other area of their lives, so I shouldn't be surprised when men are equally terrible at listening to body language as subtle as is used in kissing.  Sex in general is about the other partner (not getting off), but that may be a topic for another time.  Kissing is more so.  If a man is a good kisser, he will be able to adapt his technique to what his partner enjoys while slowly introducing him to several other variations that he may not have encountered before.  Please, gentlemen, do not kiss anyone for selfish reasons.  Do not kiss so only you can enjoy it. Pay attention!

Lastly, kissing doesn't mean only the lips touch and all else is called something else.  Everything a man can do with lips, tongue, teeth, breath, and nose (yes, I said nose) to any part of their partner's body is all an extension of what can be done when my lips touch yours.  Taking the same massaging rhythm, upping the intensity just a bit, and applying it to the ear lobe or the nipple can really take your partner to places he didn't intend to go.

I hope you have enjoyed today's PSA.  Just Say NO, Always use a condom, Don't forget your towel, and kissing is a skill - not a distraction while unbuttoning my shirt.

Love Letter

You don't believe you are special and you scoff at the very notion.  I've told you any man lucky enough to claim you as a partner in romance would never be good enough, and you found that idea unfathomable.  I remind you of why this is so:

You seem to give all of yourself.  Not just attention and kindness to those you love, but your very heart.  You give yourself without shame nor doubt.  That level of confidence alone is admirable and enviable, yet you seem to not even notice what you share.  Like everyone else, you only see the flaws - the bits of yourself that cause you shame.  Yet when asked, you are more open and innocent of the effect you have on people than anyone I've ever known.  You are present for those you love, you truly love them - individually, unequivocally, and shamelessly.

Some of us have only felt that level of trust and compassion a few rare times in our lives, yet you give it as if it were proper and reasonable.  For some of us, this becomes difficult to understand because you then give the same level of care to the next person you know and love... and there are several.

This is not admonishment, rather an explanation from those who greet the day slightly happier because we know you.  It is not a curse or failing of your personality, but a skill to be celebrated.  More should be as unconditional as you.  More should love those in our lives without shame and doubt.  More of us should be as willing to give of our hearts as freely because when you do, you gain more people in your life who love you with equal intensity and will move the very heavens to see to your happiness.

If we all strove as much as you to compassion, the world would know no fear or hatred because we would all be supported by the knowledge that we are cared for.  All pain would be temporary and none would be alone.

For this you are better than all of us; for this you are unique; and for this, we are not worthy of the love you share, yet you share it still.

Hurry

Ever since I saw the character Fraiser quote a poem in one of the episodes, I have changed how I approach romance.  Essentially. the poem was about how love finds you, not the other way around, and to look for love is futile.

This has proven true for me three times over.  I was not expecting to meet the men I fell for, nor was I ready for the emotional reality when it happened - embarrassing behavior mostly forgiven.  All I can do is be as ready to see the opportunity for a romance when it happens and be as delicate with people in general as I can as I temper and navigate the emotional changes that inevitably occur.

To equip myself for the next adventure, I have been told I need to be complete unto myself.  Many counselors and fashion magazines espouse the idea that being satisfied with life is the most attractive quality a man can have.  I would agree that neediness is probably the most unattractive, I've never really gotten past an amazing chest to see if they like their life.  Perhaps I'm just shallow.

Following this advice, I have been able to be abnormally social for my historical self since April.  I have held conversations with perfect strangers in bars, flirted with unattractive people, hinted to friends that I have no problem with a romance with any of them, and basically made it known I am single and available.

I expanded my social circle with the special interest of social nudism to include an interstate element to my life.  My friends in Minneapolis are wonderful men.  I recently took a week's vacation to Maryland and met as many of the 350 registrants as I could.  I believe I've even befriended a couple of them.

Upon returning from a week I will never forget, I felt emboldened enough to place myself on the dating web-sites.  I've even been on a couple of hook-ups to satisfy my desire to live outside my comfort zone.  Seeing friends collect dates like pennies, I try to convince myself I could also let loose my restraint and judgment and self-doubt.

Four and a half months of this attempt to view the world differently, because it is different, and still I'm sleeping alone tonight. #sadface

Day 8 to reality

It's been several days since wrote. This is not because I had nothing to report, rather the opposite. Incorporating myself into a new group always takes me a while. However, once I do I tend to keep my social calendar as full as possible.

As this was vacation, my grasp on reality began to slip - the finally let go altogether. Days began to blur,  mesh, and warp into a sun soaked, alcohol stimulated, sexual adventure that required less and less pragmatism. My attention began to focus on the  immediate. If it wasn't for the serving schedule of the buffet table,  I would have become a true hedonist.

I lounged by the pool until my skin began to crisp. Only the did I begin to look for another, activity. I ate when food was available. I imbibed when drink was served. And I slept when my body demanded, but never before nor as entertainment.

The nights grew longer as the week went on and last night was no exception. Waking at 7am - for no explainable reason - has left me now at the airport in Philadelphia awaiting my flight with a strong urge to nap. My earliest opportunity will be in another two hours once I'm aboard the plane, though I doubt I will.

As with most events in my life, simple enjoyment without consequence has become impossible. I look for what I've gained or learned during my vacation. Many lessons are obvious and perhaps more will become apparent as time goes by.

The most obvious is that I'm not 20 anymore. My body reacts more now to changes in my diet, sleep, and alcohol intake. My body doesn't like me much right now. It has been protesting my lifestyle choices since Wednesday and will most likely punish me for days to come.

Similarly, there are certain skills one loses when one is single. I beg forgiveness from those men who had the bad fortune of meeting me too late to benefit from the practice to which I diligently adhered when I was but half of one.

Again I open this post for another edit and realize it has been another four days. My diligence lacks immediacy. My apologies.

Upon returning to work,  I found my co-workers decided to leave some of the work for my first days back. Going from absolute laziness to being busy in my occupation is an unforgivable offense. Grounds for divorce. Reason to run away from home.

My adjustment back to reality,  from the fantasy of being friends with complete strangers to maintaining social boundaries with co-workers - for instance, has been akin to a migraine. My routine at camp was to rise from bed at my leisure , fumble for a cigarette, then step nude into the morning sunshine - which warmed my skin while the crisp air wicked away the sweat from the down blanket. My first morning after vacation nearly had indecent exposure in my long list of public shames.

While at camp I spent many hours in the sun, lounging about and perfecting a tan as best a Polish man can, then diving into a chlorinated pool to rinse away the sweat. Later I would shower with soap and hot water to negate the constant use of deodorant. For eight days the only cloth to touch my skin was an oversized hoodie when the temperature dipped below comfortable. Then I spent many hours fully clothed, unshowered, and limed with perspiration with no real opportunity to get clean. Also, my body was producing extra oils to compensate for my repeated washings. Believe me,  it only took a few hours for rebellion to show itself.

Happily,  I have gotten emails from two men from camp. Perhaps the fantasy can live on.

Day 4

A common practice with nudists is always have a towel. Should one want to sit on another's property - a sofa, for instance - one uses the towel to protect the fabric from whatever might transfer from one's ass. It's all very civilized.

Here, at NakedFest, there is another politeness practice of wearing shoes, sandals, or flip-flops. The customs reasoning became clear to me after I walked through the dewy grass then over the band of sand to reach the asphalt road then into the cabin. This is a camp, a bit luxurious for roughing the great outdoors, but still on the rustic side. Dirt is everywhere and my feet would track it into areas used by everyone else. This is rude.

So, I wear my sandals and regret that I am not truly naked. When I leave the cabin for the pool or in the afternoon for a walk, I'll sometimes leave my shoes behind and then notice their absence. Again I am aware of my nudity. This also happened after sex. A little play time reminds me that I had done nothing to hide my leisure from my camp mates.

This, I find interesting when I can go to "social hour" and sip wine with 200 nude gay men, make comments on their jewelry, pass judgment in my best Garbo impression, and not feel naked. It is only when I don't have my sandals or my towel that I'm aware of what's missing. And it's only being seen after play that I feel noticed for my nudity.

Day 3

Apparently, the ideal of posting at the end of my day is too much to commit to. It is again breakfast time before I made the time to update this little diary of the events of the previous day. I was far to busy PLAYING at the end of  day 2 to bother with electronic gadgetry. As I have done other than show,  smoke,  and eat, surely I can still say I have yet to begin my day.

I have slept nude for several decades now. What I haven't ever done was step outside to smoke my morning cigarette nude, wander into the patch of sun beyond the shade trees, stretch my limbs,  and greet the day. I wandered down the lane (as every campground I've ever seen has snaking around the grounds in a lazy curve) past other cabins fronted by nude men on the porches. I can compose no word beyond the cliché to describe how quietly fun that was.

Yesterday, the weather was far too cloudy and cool for all that business. This morning,  I found warming sunshine even at 9am. This probably means the mad dash for a deck chair is already under way. I will most likely be too late for comfortable worship of the sun.

Day 2

200-ish naked gay men and campgrounds staff that is neither. Get an urge to cover myself each time I see one of them coming. I imagine the things they're thinking about us is not charitable. Maybe they just don't want to be at work on a Sunday.

Day 2

Took me a while to find the promised WiFi...  or a 4G signal for that matter. For a man who has never known 3G and the last I was on-line was in the era of 256k dial-up, I almost can't live without the near instantaneous services of 4G. 

Therefore I'll have to recap day 1 a few hours later then I intended.

The flight was mildly harrowing. Having never flown before I had to take control of all the irrational fears that popped up; sitting so close to a complete stranger, especially one who is too large to be contained by so little plastic; giving up control and allowing someone else to drive the plane; and accepting the aircraft will, in fact, complete its accent to and decent from 31,000 feet. When I could see through the cloud deck, the houses and cars are awfully little.

Being a relatively educated man, I knew most accidents happen at take-off and landing and that the cabin is pressurized, and that a bumpy ride is to be expected due to regularly occurring densities of air. What I didn't know was that the window - beyond the bit of plastic I could touch, the one assisting in keeping the cabin pressurized and the air outside flowing over the expertly designed wings use nothing but air pressure to hold myself and the 100 others in the air - has a hole in it! It was small and may not have been an actual hole  (it looked like two cones of missing glass where a machine might have secured it while in motion at a factory) but it was still disconcerting when my ears began to feel the cabin pressure rise on final approach.

After over four hours without a cigarette, I was glad to exit the plane. Asking several staff in quick succession the way to the nearest smoking area, I learned it would be easier to hop the airport shuttle to the terminal I was to meet my bus several hours hence. As my fear of missing one connection or another or others mucking up simple travel plans arranged by understanding and patient people was greater than my addiction withdrawals, I again postponed my habit. I could have walked through the airport in about as much time as the shuttle drove. Live and learn.

Nicotine levels raised to acceptable levels and a short search for munchies allowed me to look up and see Philadelphia for the first time. Well,  the airport anyway. Lovely airport,  but still an airport. I have one in my town too. Seen one, I guess.

The bus,  once found and boarded, took me and a dozen other men, mostly older than me, on an hour drive to the camp near a Maryland state park. I watched my cell service slowly disappear, to my dismay.

Arriving here was much the same as arriving to any party in Minneapolis as I saw men, only men,  in various States of dress. Some were walking to the welcoming station fully clothed and planned to leave their jeans and t-shirts in the cabins.  Others drove in personal or rented cars and we're disrobing into the trunks.

I won't bore you with more details than you care to read and only say that everyone I see has a thicker dick than me. Most are longer too.

I've read about this subject a lot over the years. I'm talking when we are in a flaccid state. It doesn't seem I have a medical condition or anything, just that I've not been blessed with anything impressive. So being able to blatantly witness such men is both a source of shame and entertainment. It is enjoyable to see what a man's body should look like.

Interestingly, I've been told more than once my shame is unfounded. So polite.

The first day ended torn between attending a screening of Headwig and joining the men in the dance hall or going to sleep. I was more horney than I knew in recent memory. The idea I could find a companion for an hour or the night was as possible and appealing as the idea of sleeping after being up since 3am. Patience and fatigue wine out and I finished the day texting my friend with that very conundrum only to receive understanding and encouragement for whatever decision I made. Big help.

Day 1

Patience has never been one of my virtues. Neither has politeness under stress. Amazing I have yet to be arrested by airport security.

Today began at 3am. I awoke to Getty Lee's voice, guaranteeing a swift response to the abused alarm. The local rock station and the baby-boomers who tune in, love Rush.

Still, even a man singing(?) falsetto couldn't possible deter this first day of vacation from being absolutely awesome! For starters, I didn't wake alone. That always helps my mood. Also, even though the reality still - as I type - hasn't set in, I'm going to NakedFest for vacation. Simply telling people I'm taking a vacation has been fun. I can't imagine how much better actually going to the festival will be.

The drive to Milwaukee was uneventful, though I must admit I wasn't awake enough to be driving safely. Arriving at the city limits I began scanning for signs to direct me to the mini-highway built to act as the airport's driveway. I found none until I relented to technology and asked my car-sitter (the lovely man who agreed to save my car from long-term parking prison) to Google our route. Once the 4G network responded, the Wisconsin DOT believed me close enough to my destination to warrant guidance.

A self-satisfied Cadillac refused to pull as forward as was possible to allow two cars to reach the terminal entrance in front of the airline assisting my travels. As this airline occupied the entrance at the far end of the line, I was forced to either double Park or circle around the grounds and attempt a spot earlier in the que. I chose the latter and felt it necessary to explain, as gently as I was able, that my companion kindly stop talking as I needed to concentrate on the unruly and mildly unpredictable traffic. An over reaction,  to be sure, but I refused to be delayed after driving at moderately illegal speeds to make up for our 5-minute-late start and my foolish pointing the car toward an inefficient path.

The twenty, or so, people in the line to collect boarding passes caused me a fearful pause until it became clear the process was automated, simple, and assisted by several ladies. Of course, I failed to actually READ the screen come my turn and had to retype my name as I entered it in its entirety rather than parsed as directed. Already a tourist and I've yet to get anywhere.

To those intrepid readers who have not yet jabbed at the screen in disgust at such minutia, I promise less detail of commonalities in the coming days. If I were spend this much time documenting the next eight days I would have nothing to document save the documentation. Surely tedious,  indeed.

No,  my flight has been delayed and another aircraft is apparently enroute to collect those of us hoping to get to Philadelphia. Between the overzealous air-conditioning and the AMA's recommendations to Congress about the perils of second-hand smoke, I must admit an urge to simply walk to Maryland rather than wait the extra hour-and-a-half.

It appears my wait is about to conclude as the pleasant-voiced woman is back to use her microphone again to inform us of things in as drab a tone as she can muster and still continue to collect a paycheck.

Now to see if the airport WiFi will allow me to post this without paying ANOTHER fee. Surely the ventilation in the bathroom will allow a couple of puffs.

Vacation Begins

8  minutes to go

Countdown T Minus...

Less than 48 hours one can find me on the East Coast and vacationing.

I got an e-mail from one of my Minnesota friends, though I don't know him, but you know what I mean. Anyway, this guy simply said he was also heading to the festival. In an attempt to not do this travelling completely alone and end up loving like the tourist I'll be, I asked of his travel plans. I had hoped we could meet at the airport to chat a bit. Then there'd only be about 199 strangers.

No luck,  he said he planned to fly in then drive rather than take the party bus available. Guess I'll meet him with all the rest...  or maybe I'll just hide in the pool hoping someone talks to me.

Vacation Planning

Two days of work left before my long-awaited vacation.

I tend to have friends who are a lot better at being social than I am. These men are able to at least pretend never to be intimidated in a social setting. They never assume, as I do, that they are unwelcome or that other people would simply continue life without them. They seem to almost - almost - believe their presence is a good thing for everybody. I tend to assume the opposite.

This tendency will make for one very boring vacation where the whole point,  in my mind,  is to meet, and befriend, as many of the 200 - or so - men that are expected to go to this thing. I envy my friends their constant distracting relationships, text messages, and phone calls. Some never actually get caught up with everyone before they have to start over with the next round of incoming news.

So,  I've been considering going against type this coming week and being as obnoxiously gregarious as I can muster. Would it help if I attempted to introduce myself to everyone I could corner? If I introduced myself and asked to take a pic of us for my post-vacation slide show, would people just find me odd and a nuisance? Or could I embody a spirit of exuberant sociability that would help everyone have more fun?

Biggest question, of course...  could I maintain such an attitude without succumbing to the voice in my head that KNOWS I'm not really wanted?

Shikantaza Sans Stripes

A single blade of grass is a clear glass of water is common imagery used in Buddhist meditation. I promise not to get too deeply into the symbolism nor the liturgical practices of Buddhism itself,  but rather it's relation to naturism in my limited world-view.

Tonight I prepared a simple meal for a friend. Spaghetti marinara, especially jarred sauce by Ragu, strains the culinary skills of only this friend which justified the effort during my otherwise lazy Saturday. Preparing the already prepared meal brought to mind another lesson from my teachers; that of eating food without adding spices. Oatmeal was the dish of the lesson and the very act of adding milk,  sugar, and other flavors to an already perfectly edible and flavorful meal should pause any practitioner with such intent.

The whole point of Buddhist liturgy is aimed to make the practitioner more aware of the world around them as it is rather than how they would like it to be. The very act of desire causes disappointment and accepting the world for what it is allows one to appreciate the joys already present, yet often overlooked in a mad rush to specific goals that may not be achievable.

The concept of the interconnectedness of all things is another tenant of the practice. One famous teacher goes so far as to teach all things, all activities,  are an expression of the very practice followers desire... that helps eliminate the idea of a goal if I have already achieved it. 

Every major religion, and a few not so major,  I have studied over the last twenty years seems to stress simplicity, humility, and an appreciation of the world around us as guides of how life is to be lived as happily as possible. They also go on to point out that if one can maintain a consistent practice one can achieve the happiness promised in the texts - in other words, if one internalizes the teachings and lives the life described as ideal then one is perfection incarnate and lives a life of naked truth.

I'm finding the tenants of naturism to be similar, whether a practitioner follows other religious activities or not.  One expresses humility in Western culture by shedding the clothing ment to cover shame... never a concept I've bought into; reduces the complexity of the need to match socks and shirt; and forces a practitioner to view the world in an unaccustomed manner by removing nonverbal signals of fashion... hopefully encouraging one to see things as they are rather than how one wants them to be.

Following this,  it shouldn't surprise anyone when some naturists bring an association with the natural world into their practice. If I begin to view the ordinary differently and can no longer rely on my preconceived notions of what "nature" looks like (ie. vertical stripes are slimming) then I might just start to notice other things long overlooked. The breeze has always blown across my body, the sunshine has always warmed my skin, and the water has always flowed over my buttocks when I swim.  Yet I feel it more when I'm nude. I'm more aware of all that contact with my skin.

If all things are an expression of Buddhist practice then naturism also is. Shikantaza is the fancy way of saying "just sitting".  I wonder how the old teachers would describe "just being nude"? A simplified state,  not only of attire but of world-view. Granted, personalities still shine through. I've yet to find a way to no longer wear unwanted aspects, and it would be interesting to attend some silent event to remove even more of "ourselves" to see what still remains.

Couldn't have said it better myself

Scrolling through the WordPress feed,  I came across this post.

Since cheeky sarcasm is one of my favorite passtimes and I can't decide between Mark Twain or Oscar Wilde as a bigger hero and I cannot think of any way to improve upon the language used by this author,  I'll simply post the link for you all to read. Enjoy, and remember Aristotle's comments on an unexamined life.

http://thoughtcatalog.com/nicole-mullen/2014/07/gay-men-need-to-stop-being-the-bigoted-caricature-i-have-of-them-in-my-head/

I Got Nothin'

Once again, this last weekend, I spent time with my friends in Minneapolis. Apparently my name is becoming associated with the white-space-filler the club's newsletter editor uses instead of advertising.  I suppose that means I owe my friends some lost revenue.

Some people complimented me on these episodes of lucidity, argued against its drivel-esque qualities, and even feigned excitement for the next installment. Perhaps personalizing personality portions preceded posting, pride precluded prudence.  I immediatly announced to the mailing list my plans for vacation in two weeks and promised to upload barely intelligible activity reports.

All this presented an interesting challenge... what to post next.  Well, I got nothin'.

One of my friends has a far more interesting story to tell about his weekend and the excitement he enjoyed than I've got about mine. Sadly, I was too preoccupied and exhausted from driving on so little sleep (a poorly planned combination) to be as social as I would have liked at either of the parties I attended last Saturday.  I suppose I could repeat the professional critics' poor reviews of the movie we watched together or make some clichéd commentary about the naturists' love of all weather (it rained) but none of that would be worth reading.

Perhaps what may be interesting, to some, is the apparent normalization of these events in my life to the point of actually growing bored for a few moments while being in a house with nearly 100 nude & gay men. Perhaps the real story of my weekend is the mere possibility of finding myself restless in such a idyllic situation. Only 1970's porn could convey a more perfect situation for any homosexual than to be surrounded by other homosexuals in an absolute state of undress. Of course, the porn would have depicted us all with side burns, furry chests, massive erections, and in states of melodramatic ecstasy.

I've commented before that I think the anxiety one feels in the first moments of a social nudist event is the same anxiety anyone feels during the first moments of any social event. The only difference being the amplification of those feelings due to the stigma placed on nudity as being equal to a state of shame... such as Adam and Eve covering themselves before the wrath of God.

Does it not follow then, given my amazing inability to socialize effectively with my peers, that I would eventually run out of those generous enough to initialize conversation with me and find myself, once again, among the flowers along the wall while those with enviable skill should kiss a stranger fully on the mouth before an audience of dozens?

A former lover of mine once contemplated moving to Chicago for a better life then chose against it and the irrational hope his problems would not follow. So too I now find some of my expectations - just because I'm nude and have yet another reason to dig deep into my reserves of self-confidence does not mean I can change the fundamentals of my personality. Unfortunately,  I am socially awkward. I find people, in general, frightening and difficult to predict yet I also have an external focus of validation requiring me to seek approval from others. Placing myself in the midst of social nudity is either brave or insane, depending on how this all plays out.

The first event this weekend was officially for new members, but while I failed to meet any of them prior or during, it was only at the more intimate gathering of men to see a recently released film that I took notice of people new to the group. Three men seemed obviously unnerved yet I heard only one of them give voice to his anxiety while another took more decisive action. I can think of many reasons, both noble and otherwise,  for my protective impulse when I witnessed this and wisely did I refrain from action. No one attending had any legitimate reasons for shyness or shame. All posessed the same basic forms, the same basic abilities to manuvuer, articulate their thoughts, and express their emotions within the limits of society's accepted moray.

Perhaps at upcoming events I should compile anecdotes from the men attending of their anxieties. Since an old hat, such as myself - able to be un-entertained after only three weekends - can still be uneasy during the first minutes of each event, perhaps I'll find the even older hats to have similar disquiet. Perhaps the bravado of certain internet personalities is mearly the same effort at acting as I, myself, have performed on occation. Maybe repeating those stories here would help even one person face their anxiety with more knowledge in its commonality than before. (Though surely both of my readers have heard it all before.)

I just hope my Captain Save-A-Stray cape doesn't clash with my reporter's fedora.

What happens if a snowflake falls into a pile of shit?

It seems America is invested yet again in a campaign for individuality.  We seem to want to all be snowflakes in the midst of the blizzard of life, unique and special (or more special) compared to everyone around us.

For time immemorial, children have strove to differentiate themselves from their parents.  Teenage rebellion is the most obvious expression of this but we really try to bend the world to our personal whim from birth.  Any new parents will tell you that babies only days old have learned to manipulate them.  Crying with varying intensities and emotional overtones clue the parents into what the child wants.  Some babies sleep through the night, others cat-nap for months.  Parents being subject to actually caring about their children have a tendency to please the child at every turn, further teaching the child that manipulation works wonderfully.

The Terrible Twos are another period in which a child finds the word "no" a fascinating exercise in exploitation.  Just how long can one be belligerent and not face consequences?  Just how mean is too mean? And the best of all, how much of this world is MINE?"

So off we go to daycare, or preschool, or kindergarten and meet other sociopaths who also try to manipulate us in turn.  The very shock of the experience burns the first day into the memories of many people.  Taunts, teasing, and outright bullying occur almost from day one when a child enters into the social sphere since each child is trying to manipulate the world around them to create pleasant experiences.

Some of this push-back teaches a child to moderate their expectations of the world's ability to provide entertainment and pleasure.  However, sometimes it just doesn't get through the thick skulls of some people who then grow up for years without realizing they are owed nothing and are only special to those who think they are special.  Sadly, I believe we're finally witnessing the deaths of an entire generation of people who have learned they are snowflakes to be appreciated with awe.

The notion that we are all unique is laughably arrogant and self-indulgent.  There is not one action I've ever done in my life that is unique to me and there are millions of people throughout history who have done the exact same thing, for the exact same reasons in reaction to the exact same circumstances.

Yet we want to feel special so we make attempts to teach our children to appreciate their own "unique" blend of personality, skill, and aptitude as they engage in the world around them.  This can be healthy for everyone, child and adult, for many reasons of niceness-exchange and expressions of love.  This can also be exceedingly unhealthy.

For example, we teach our children (or encourage our adult peers) to "be themselves."  Ok, cute sentiment.  But what do we actually mean when we say this?  What if themselves is narcissistic, destructive, and manipulative?  Anyone who has taken even one semester of psychology or sociology, or has cared for someone who is mildly sick (a common cold, for instance) will know this is one side of our basic personality.  Being attentive, altruistic, and empathetic may also be there in equal measure, but a person under stress isn't going to donate their estate on a whim to the hungry fellow who just stole his filet mignon.

Do we continue our campaign of self-actualization and personal honesty when the truth is ugly?  Do we accept that a bully is mean but forgive his excess with encouragement that he (or equally often, she) be true to themselves?  What if a painting by your good friend is utterly lacking in any artistic merit, do we continue to encourage the proliferation of bad art to appease the ghost of Dr. Benjamin Spock?

I'm all for remaining humble enough to acknowledge I'm not ever in a place to judge another's behavior too harshly, (one quick Google search would render my opinion on almost every topic ever inadmissible in any court of plebes) but I do see the pendulum swinging too far in the other direction.  No one should think they are special and unique in the face of human history and endeavours.  Someone, somewhere, at some time has already has every idea that any of us can possibly consider revolutionary.  Reinventing the wheel is not an honorable pursuit in life, and perhaps we should reconsider supporting such reiteration of redundant repetition.

Twinkies are not Ding Dongs

I took a friend to a nude pool party.  Normally this would require no further explanation, nor would it be noteworthy to warrant an entry into this journal.  However, this particular friend is unusual in my life as his age is roughly half of mine.  A chronological difference that is immediately striking within the Community and comes with all manner of bias.

I met this man relatively recently, as one would expect as if I were to say years ago you may assume some babysitting duties to have been involved, and we have grown incredibly close incredibly fast to the point of - but not crossing - that of a romantic relationship.  At least that's how I see it though I have embarrassingly little experience with healthy friendships... being the emotional extremist that I am.

To the point:  My pride with this weekend started two-fold - I could introduce this attractive young man to my more aged friends and receive the socially expected "atta-boy" for being anything other than on object of ridicule to someone of such new mint, and I could share with a friend the joy I have gained from indulging in a social-nudist activities.  Both of these points of pride were achieved, and both of my interests in sharing this event with him were treated.

What I found interesting, beyond watching someone I love relish the day and know he will remember the party for a long time to come, was the very bias I had hoped to exploit.  Mildly shameful, I also realized I harbored these very same preconceptions of which I sat accusing my friends.

In this society, we assume - rightly or otherwise - that with age comes wisdom.  While I'm sure I could name a minimum of two Presidents and a handful of evangelists of advanced years to prove this point false, the by-and-large could be said to maintain reason.  The young, even those who've achieved the age of majority, are assumed to be rash, foolish, and under-educated in the real matters of life.  These very stereotypes are a few of the reasons I suggested a naked pool party in the first place; my more pragmatic, logical, and degreed brothers had no interest in such frivolity.

The very questions about our relationship I expected to surface did so with regularity and my answers were scripted during the drive out to Minnesota, though I would have imagined myself highly praised by many if I could have answered with embellishment.

The questions and commentary I was not expecting nor for which I was prepared involved the prejudice against the young.  More than once I corrected my friends when they absentmindedly referred to him as a "kid" and had to subdue my urge to play a protective roll out of some misplaced parental assumption of his ability to socialize effectively with adults.  Even his own assumptions led to mildly daring feats of courage which he accomplished haltingly.

Yet, in watching him deftly handle his own modesty, his own fear, and manage to place himself an equal among peers I was again proud.  In listening him navigate conversation with complete strangers who he knew had unflattering opinions of him I was in awe.  He is a man of knowledge and skill to be able to not only commit to attending the party in the first place, but a man of broadly practiced socialization I could only wish to emulate.  Not once did I hear him falter under the weight of expectations of the wiser nor attempt the humiliatingly ineffective ploy of speaking with greater knowledge than he possessed.

There were moments I was reminded of my own assumptions, there were moments the assumptions of others were laid bare, and there were moments when stereotypes became the brunt of the jokes they actually attempt to hide... and sadly, I reverted to such prejudice during conversations after this education; infantilizing a man I respected as superior mere moments before.

In editing this entry, this friend asked that I amend the post with a defense of his efforts.  I find this unnecessary for several reasons.  One of which is the obviousness of such a defense.  Of course, he is trying to do the right things, be the best he can be, and acknowledges his errors.  I know of only a few people who don't, and they're foolishly unrepentant whilst paying their debts to society.  Willful ignorance and laziness tend to couple with those without many other attractive qualities... namely, being nice to others.

Another reason I find this defense unnecessary is his apparent lack of appreciation for what he has accomplished in his life.  I think back to the days when I was his age and choke on the dismal decisions I made.  I look around my social scene and watch men several years older struggle to grasp the very notions of responsibility and accountability and loyalty and balance.  For he who has not only realized the necessity but planned and executed actions that will lead to a honorable life, I tip my hat... then weep jealously.

Ralph Lauren I Am Not

Rather than risk being a pest, I will rewrite this post so that it doesn't focus on my good friend... thus freeing me from the onus of permission.

Stereotypes and bias are a fact of the mind.  One theory of psychology posits the mind contacts stimuli (internal or external) via the senses - including the sixth... which is basically our own internal dialog; identifies it; categorizes it as good, bad, both, or neither; then formulates responses to the stimuli.  Another (with evidence to support it) moves categorization one place before identification in some instances.  These circumstances usually include matters of life and death where the cerebellum is in charge rather than the cerebrum.

All that mumbo-jumbo means is that judgments and bias are a fact of the mind.  We cannot stop categorizing anymore than we could stop breathing.  Prejudice is a fact, actions based on those prejudice are decisions.

This is late in reporting, but last weekend was another visit to the awesome pool parties with my nude friends in Minneapolis.  I enjoy these times with these men more than I could possibly describe here, and if I tried I would probably sound insincere with my tendency to rely on facts and opinions I've already heard to express myself.  I would sound more like a nudist ad campaign than a person attending.

One of the reasons I enjoy the events so much is the seeming absence of these aforementioned judgments.  At no time does anyone seem to be making assessments of my body, desirability, or worth... all things I can do adequately myself should I ever need an ego adjustment.

As since most of us attending are of a certain age, the presence of anyone under such an age draws notice.  A couple of men, obviously committed to a romance, were also present.  Both were beautiful and both were noticed.  I'll have to address ideas of beauty and attractiveness at another time, but suffice it to say that everyone not familiar with these men found ample gossip to get the basics of name, relationship status, and an overview of prevailing opinion towards their personalities.  I heard nary an unkind word about these men... which just made them all the more beautiful.  Again... nicest group of people I know.

Nude, I found each to be in the peak of health and this country's standards of beauty.  Failing to find any rational reason to speak to either of them, lest I appear lecherous, I was unable to pass any further judgements of my own.

What I want to point out here, is after the party wound to a end and most of the younger men decided to leave, I again saw these two clothed for travel... as one should do to abide the neuroses of others and stay within the bounds of law.  Again, I'll have to expound at another time.

Clothing has always been a symbol of status.  Uniqueness of dress being one of the highest regarded after the materials used - or these days the label stitched upon the fabric.  Uniqueness of dress is one phrase I'd use to describe the choices one of the men had toward his attire.

While I've never actually seen an ascot outside of British television, I do believe he was wearing one... or at the very least attempting to mimic wearing one.  Since I've not made any attempts to speak to either men, I cannot say what his motivations might have been for such a daring fashion statement - if, in fact, he was attempting to make one.  However, my judgment I can describe.

It was a hot summer day, everyone around me was comfortably nude in the temperate air, yet this man was wearing a scarf - an item I associate with colder air and an attempt to keep warmth near the skin.  My first judgment upon seeing him in his clothes was one of shock, a violation of expectations.  Shocks are unpleasant, at least in my world.  I am not a fan of haunted houses or truly scary movies and abhor roller-coasters.  I'm a big fan of accurate prediction.

Once I was able to process what I was seeing, my next - and most shameful - judgment was linking the clothing choice to a stereotype.  "Really, Mary's wearing an ascot?"  

Fear not, gentle reader, this was not my most prominent nor final assessment of the man.  Rather I recognized the unkindness and intolerance of my own thinking and chose to accept his clothing as simply an expression of style.  That style needn't my approval nor, for that matter, disapproval.  He simply was dressed as he was dressed.  I would not have chosen to wear anything around my neck - June or February, but he did and I had no place in critique.

I had nearly forgotten the incident until I became frustrated with being unable to post my chosen entry, such was my dismissal of my own prejudice for all things remotely stereotypical... which may be funny to those who know me and recognize my own behavioral tics keeping with many stereotypes, including an encyclopedic memory of the names of Hollywood hunks.

Aside from wanting to place myself near beauty and gaining a neurotic sense of worth from beauty's acceptance, I now am strongly curious as to what the choice in neckwear symbolized and how else the man's personality either adheres or departs from the stereotypes with which I'm familiar.  Hearing a deep rumble erupt from his mouth when I first hear him speak and listen to an obvious fascination with cars or the NFL would be just as fascinating as confirming my stereotypical ideas of a gay man.  Subtlety has most likely found it's way into the grey areas between such extremes and I could likely find myself in love with such a creature... since I do love a challenge.

Offensive Contemplation

The other day I was talking to a co-worker about my trip to Pride over the previous weekend.  As with almost everyone I've ever met who has spent time in the military or prison, he is a very tolerant person with no overt bias about race or sexuality.  So it surprised me when his response to my friend's t-shirt was negative.

The t-shirt in question read, "Sorry girls, I like dicks."  I find this very amusing and am jealous that he wouldn't let me wear it to the parade that day... a topic for another blog.  My co-worker found this shirt to be tacky and referred to wearing it in public as class-less.

As to an explanation he offered a comparison to an opposite point of view: "That's like saying I wore a shirt saying 'Sorry guys, I like pussy' in your bar."

I was taken aback further by the territoriality of this statement.  What he implied, realizing it or not, was that the street on which we were celebrating and protesting was "their" street and we were allowed to use it for the parade.  My bar is where I may choose to be crass, but not in his areas.

One of the big questions facing nudists in the concurrent political and social movement is that of offending others by our choices.  For those who find no sexuality (or little sexuality) to the act of nudity, wrapping one's brain around the concept of taking offense to such behavior is difficult.

I began to think maybe the nature of offense was tied to that of possession and territoriality.  If something happens in "my" space, I pass judgement and have a vested interest in what happens there.  Perhaps it's a control thing, deciding what occurs around me so I feel more comfortable because I feel in control of my environment.

This seemed to be only half the answer as I went about my occupational duties the rest of the day.  Odd for a person who has spent the last twenty-five-odd years dabbling in all things psychology and sociology, I took quite a long time to finally land on an idea that seemed more accurate in describing the conversation I had those many hours earlier.

Offense is taken largely because a pattern is broken.  Our minds are always trying to find patterns around us so that we may safely predict the future.  Everything from our standards of beauty based on symmetry to the structure of a movie is often better to us when we can predict any outcome that may arise - as we can then prepare for it and remain safely in control of our environment.  Anything that lies outside these predictable patterns causes us stress.

This jolt - such as brake-lights of a car in front of you while driving on the highway - grabs our attention.  Our brain begins to suck in any and all information it can through the senses and attempts to find familiar patterns.  The biology of stress is one of the most studied fields in medicine and the list of physiologic responses to stress is long.  Amusement parks and horror filmmakers play to this very response to create a pleasurable sense of excitement.

So back to the idea of offense:  it seems we're actually talking about a stress response to an unexpected stimulus, one which is judged unpleasant upon review in the seconds after.  There are studies showing a person actually makes judgements before identifying that which is being judged, visceral reactions to images of snakes and other dangers to survival, but in the case of nudity we must assume social conditioning.  A person witnesses nudity, reacts to the unexpected, then passes a sociological judgement based on core beliefs meant to ensure social survival.

As a politically active gay man, this is not a new phenomenon to me.  However, as a newbie nudist I spend time pondering effective responses to these reactions.  The Gay Community reacted to police brutality and oppressive hetero-centric laws by rioting at the Stonewall Inn.  Pride month is June as a commemoration to these riots.

I don't see laws and treatment of nudists as being as harsh as 1960's New York was to the Gay Community so I don't recommend any riots at this year's bicycling rallies, however the Gay Community has spent the intervening decades attempting to normalize our behavior through all manner of political and social activity, the idea being that if a pattern becomes familiar less offense will be taken.

Aside from those folks in Westboro, I think society has made progress in the U.S. The Gay Community has changed its message over the years, spun the debate to such a degree that sexuality is no longer about sex but love.  Abortion changed the spin to women's health vs. baby's rights.  Recreational marijuana use spun out a healthy use campaign.

The nudist community must also find a spin that serves them; removes the eccentric aging hippy stereotype from the public image.  These partnerships with the green movement to promote environmentally sustainable bicycling as alternatives to cars only goes short step away from granola munching tree huggers of old.  There must be some other link to the broader public for the nudist community to really begin to attract attention and achieve normalization... but I'm at a loss so far as to what that link is.

Stuck in the Friend Zone

Ach!

Compliments

I suppose I'm not an ugly man, by no means hideous nor am I being recruited by some exploitative circus from some Balkan country.  I also contend I am not a beautiful nor handsome man.  At no time in my 40 years has any magazine photographer ever stopped me on the streets.

If I had a gun to my head, I'd have to admit I'm in the 50th percentile with half of the world's men better looking and the other half deserving of my sympathy.

So when I'm in a bar and a guy compliments me, either on my appearance, my wit, or my nice-ness (personality?  What portion of my person is that?), I always secretly wince and assume it is a pick-up line.  I'm not attractive, nor funny, nor nice.  Surely I've proven that repeatedly over these many years.  Possibly, I CAN be any of those for short periods, but none are part of my nature.

This last weekend (well, really only Sunday afternoon) I went to a pool party with my new naked friends in Minnesota.  The weather was perfect!  Clear sunshine, warm temperatures both of which moderated as the evening came on.  The property was perfect!  In the boonies, surrounded by Upper Midwest forestry, and at the end of a cul du sac.  I want to live there and the host (who seemed slightly inebriated) suggested I could be his handy-man on the property.  I know I was indeed drunk because I began to seriously consider the opportunity of becoming someone's pool boy.  The afternoon was as near perfect as I can imagine!  Nudists have a stereotypical reputation for being friendly and non-judgemental - gay nudists are such in spades.

A friendly gentleman repeatedly commented on my appearance.  Often it was to counter a self-deprecating remark but just as often it was unsolicited and again I assumed it was an intimacy builder.

Sit around any gay nudist event and listen to the banter and conversations around you and you will hear nearly everyone flirting.  Among gay men it seems to be a way to express affection, just as biting wit and name-calling is used.   A man or a woman telling a woman she's "beautiful tonight" is a compliment (especially if the speaker is a friend or spouse).  A man telling another man he looks "hot" or "cute" is equally complimentary - and often equally hollow.  Among gay nudists it seems almost a sport.  These men seem to revel in providing a compliment that garners a reaction, and will say almost anything to almost anyone.

There were several younger-than-me men there this weekend.  All were youthfully beautiful, all were probably 2% body fat, and all were with their lovers... save one.  All were paid compliments by everyone I heard talking.

One of the members, a regular as far as I can tell and rumored to be a board member (if such a post holds some status), is a notorious flirt.  He is half of a romance that I assume is comfortably aged - that's just a vibe I got - and spends as much of his time smirkingly complimenting everyone within his reach.  I find him humorous and quietly relish his antics.  As a naughty gay man, he enjoys finding the limits of a person's comfort-zone... then presses his dick against it.

Still I hear a hollow echo to these compliments.  As fun as some of them are - such as one which is reversed and causes blushing - all are simply a means to an end.  They are builders of intimacy, sometimes forced intimacy to overcome some form of anxiety.  This is understandable to bar-flies and nudists who have seen the same anxieties so many times for all the same reasons they have simply lost patience.  Sometimes it's better to use a sledgehammer to get through it and save everyone some time than tread lightly with someone's feelings.

All this being said, it still seems to work on me.  I still accept these compliments and internalize them should they be stated often enough.  I am a child of Aldous Huxley, after all.

During my time with my ex, I heard often my positive traits.  Some simple validations of my correct-ness during an debate (or argument... eat your heart out breeders, gays admit they're wrong), some were affectionate displays, and others are more intimate than I need to relate here.  Perhaps a different blog at some point.

These compliments eventually wore on my staunch sense of self and softened my internal criticisms.  My chest isn't THAT similar to a 12-year-old's, my feet aren't freakishly small, and my voice isn't annoyingly nasal.  To his credit - he spent years to accomplish this small alteration of my self-image.  If nothing else, the man is persistent.

As too, my time with these nudists in the Land of 1,000 Lakes.  I'm attempting to convince someone to join me on my adventures.  Each, in turn, has backed out of the opportunity for various reasons, but all have claimed shyness as an excuse for reluctance.  To these men - as I say now - I've explained that after the first 15 minutes or so of anxiety about the fact that I'm without clothes, I honestly have periods where I forget that I'm at a nudist event.  I find myself looking into the face of the person I'm talking to without the urge to slyly glance at my shoes so my eyes pass over their groin.  I forget that my dick isn't engorged just enough to be as big as possible without looking like it's an erection.  I don't hold my hands in front of me to block anyones' view.  Nor am I consciously standing a certain way to accentuate my musculature as best I can.  I act as if I'm sitting at any table with anyone holding any other conversation.

The lack of reaction to my physique... or rather negative reaction, has rekindled a cautious confidence.  Verbal compliments aside, these men who also neglect to acknowledge their own nudity during a conversation compliment me in ways no words can.  I am more than the sum of my parts.

So I reveal a secret here to anyone who reads this public missive:  I may, just maybe, look OK.

Sun Ray Hills

It's almost close by, it's relatively cheap, it has day passes and hiking trails.

It's family friendly and I'm a grumpy old man.  Mr. Wilson doesn't like kids and being nude around them is a bit anxiety-ridden contemplation.

To visit or not to visit, that is the question.

Offensive vs. Harmful

Naked unless someone is offended.
by Richard Foley
http://www.naktiv.net
Many people, in the clamour to be seen to be politically correct, seem to believe in the principle that you should not do something if somebody will be upset by it. Being naked in a public space, for instance. While at first sight, this might sound a most honorable viewpoint, I'm not sure people have thought it through entirely. 
For instance, would you be happy to join a WNBR, where nudity IS accepted, and then during the course of the ride if some one person was upset at seeing naked people, you would immediately get dressed? 
If so, this seems to me to be the very problem with society today (and maybe forever). If we only ever accept a situation on the basis that nobody (pun intended) will ever be upset, then we should bring back racial segregation because somebody is upset that there are blacks on their side of the street. We should also deny women the vote because someone might be upset, (at least half the population of Appenzell in Switzerland), that women should have any say in the running of the country. We should make gay people illegal (wtf! eh?) because somebody doesn't like gay people, or is upset by the idea of somebody being gay, or is "offended" by the very thought. Etc. etc. etc. 
As Bertrand Russell famously said in a letter to The Times: "In a democracy it is necessary that people should learn to endure having their sentiments outraged ..." 
True then, true today!

"Naked Unless Someone is Harmed"

Ideally, in the US, no law can be enacted unless the public can prove a behavior can, has, or will harm another.  The abortion debate is all about whether the fetus can be harmed or if the mother can be harmed - from both sides of the issue.  Gay marriage, gerrymandering, minimum wage, voter-ID laws, deficit spending, foreign relations, income tax reforms, immigration reforms... its all about who is potentially harmed by the legislation produced by the majority.  Gay marriage is a prime example of a majority harming the minority with bans and the courts ruling to restrict the power of the majority.

The majority of the public are not nudists - or at least not social nudists.  Yet we have laws banning nudity as obscene.  Obscene (as I noticed my spell check corrected to include the root "scene") has a history thus:  http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?term=obscene

I also had to have Google define "prurient" for me:  https://www.google.com/search?q=prurient&oq=prurient&aqs=chrome..69i57&sourceid=chrome&es_sm=93&ie=UTF-8#q=define+prurient

So I summarize that obscene is linked to "sexual" and if a "work" has no literary, artistic, political, or scientific value it can be deemed obscene.  Being nude in public - or within view of the public, such as through the window of my home - has no literary value I can argue, nor artistic unless I stretch MY definition of art for those who have tattoos, piercings, or other modifications, nor scientific as my body is too normal to be medically relevant.

However, it is the political value that I zeroed in on.  Denying my ability to dress as I please potentially harms me as it denies my Right to Free Speech and places restrictions on my activities or expression.  Should my expression be intentionally sexual, then I could see the trier ruling against me - though that could be another conversation.  However, almost every nudist I've met in person or on-line contends a non-sexual motivation for their clothes-free choices.  So, as long as I claim non-prurient intentions and make no display "obviously" sexual then I have political value to my nudity.  Any restriction goes against precedent mentioned on etymonline.com and I can claim harm.

The religious and parents also claim harm by viewing my nudity.  They would have equal justification in the political realm.  Sexualizing (as may happen without proper contextual explanation by the parents) children is illegal for obvious reasons - if not so obvious, I would be happy to provide instruction at another time.  However, if simple nudity were akin to sexualizing children then a child witnessing their parent's nudity within the home would be equivalent to abuse and no nudist resort would be allowed to admit children.

Religious observance within an impartial state is enshrined in our very founding (ideally).  To not provide some measure of shared observance the state loses it impartiality.  However, many aspects of dogma are ignored by the state.  Some people work the Sabbath as we are allowed to eat beef on Fridays and pork at any time we choose.

So again we are faced with quantifying harm.  Is the majority viewing nudity harmed more than the minority banned from expressing nudity in the public sphere or vice versa?  Simple offense examined by Richard in his blog seems to be no more complex than the political value I examine here.  There seems to be no ideal nor legal precedent for modern nudity laws other than social inertia.  Simply because current social standards applied by the average person include covered genitals at all times within the public spaces, and have been for generations, no judge would side with my argument.  I would have to prove I am more grievously harmed than a simple loss of expression - as I am not allowed to burn the flag either.

Just because something is common doesn't make it right nor is an unexamined life worth living.

De-confident

I got ditched last night!

Now, I realize I'm not a prize catch.  I realize I'm not the prettiest boy in the room... hell, I'm no where near a boy anymore.  I also realize that my socialization skills are lacking in comparison to many of the other people in the bar.  However, I didn't realize I was so repugnant as it be allowed to ignore me all together.

An acquaintance of mine came to town, an occasion I secretly have been waiting for.  The news of him bringing a guest with him was unsettling enough, but to learn this guest was to be a STRAIGHT WOMAN knocked me out of the chair.  Oh, well.  I can be nice to the lady, yes?  My plans to continue my astounding charm offensive to impart upon this man my intense and constant worth as a future husband should not be daunted by the presence of a mere woman who would quickly learn my attentions were not for her.

Upon our first meeting he made passing complaint of a former lover who annoyed him greatly with attentions bordering on stalking.  I decided instantly to play my hand cool, aloof, and dispassionate.  This worked well for me and happy fun times ensued.

My angst phone-side over the intervening period was kept secret and again I played up dispassion upon learning of his imminent return.  Again this worked to my advantage and happy fun times re-ensued.  Still I was no closer to impressing upon him my worth.

Struggling to accept our acquaintance for its current state I volunteered to join the duo for a night of frivolity and debauchery.  Much inebriation occurred, costumes were purchased, and innuendo was freely spoken.  I worked to be supportive of his socializing, worked to be patient and unconcerned of the potential rivals to my object of desire, and worked especially hard at ingratiating myself to the trusted adviser he brought with him.

Apparently all of my performances were for naught for as the night drew to a close and my hopes for an extended stay in his bed reached a peak I spied the duo leave the bar without so much as a "we're leaving."

At first, I assumed secrets were to be shared away from ever-present ears assumed by only those in high school and the intoxicated.  I waited for a few minutes and was distracted by a conversation for a short period.

Next I assumed they retired to a bar next-door to chase down a romance for said lady, though she had stated quite clearly earlier she was not in any mood for such dalliance.  I waited - awkwardly - alone, for about an hour before I seriously considered the idea I was truly alone.

My bemused BFF irritated with his mirth at my plight yet quickly sobered to my dejection.  He counseled me on the realities of my acquaintance-ship and reminded me of the quixotic behaviors of the muddled.  I decided I could not make the assumption of rudeness and retire solitary to my slumber without lapsing rude myself.  An obviously searching expression would deter any poor judgement of my entry into the breeder's establishment and facilitate my determination of current events.

As is obvious, no duo with which I was related frequented THAT bar when I entered.

I could only conclude I had been abandoned - which unleashed a myriad reasons which would explain events as I have recounted.

My search for an explanation during our cumulative hang-overs went unanswered and surely now the duo has returned to their homes apparently unabashed.  I have lost more dignity than I can quantify and feel ashamed of not only my behavior but my fantasies.

Looking toward this coming weekend I am hard-pressed to see myself charming and graceful at a pool-party for naked men.  I am emotionally wounded and find it difficult to be vulnerable, yet I'm to prepare for a situation where I plan to be as physically vulnerable as is possible outside violence.

Considering the welcome I received at my last visit with these men, perhaps my plans are my panacea.

Woe be the man who returns home in June failing to find solace or he who compounds his shame... but let's be optimistic.

Anticipation

Just one more week of work (after this weekend) until the Memorial Day three day holiday.  Just forty more hours of labor before I can join my new friends in a little suburb of Minneapolis in an afternoon of hot-tubbin' and skinny-dippin'.  Just one more week before I can reconnect with men I've only barely begun to know.

I was chatting last night with one of these men.  My generous host for the evening of board-games and soup.  After some general discussion of weather and other news (we take our weather very seriously here) I asked him if he was planning to attend the pool party.

I was astonished to hear he had other plans.  He is going to travel four hours north-west of the city to attend a camp-out-style weekend with a small group of other men.  My reaction unsettled me a little bit.

I actually considered cancelling my trip just because he would not be there.  I so long for the comfort of a familiar face that upon hearing he wouldn't be there I almost chickened out.  This, after boldly attending the game night knowing nary a soul.

I wondered aloud (quite difficult when instant messaging across two hundred and eighty miles of Great North Woods) if I should join him at the camp-out.  After hearing just how far I'd have to drive to get there (say nothing of the return trip) I realized my foolishness.

Surely there will be other men I'd met at the game night going to the pool party.  I was introduced to them all and chatted briefly with several and a few for more than an hour.  Remembering names is a personal failing, but I'll recognize them when I see them again.  I'm certain I'll bond with one or two, probably the hosts since they will be especially engaging to ensure everyone is enjoying themselves.

Presently, I'm lining up a couple of nights of debauchery with local people or, in one case, a man who is driving in from his hometown.  First up is to attend one of the bar's Friday-fish as is customarily served here. (A quasi-Catholic observance that has less to do with doctrine and more to do with the price of a plate of perch.)

Comments Wanted

I'm getting a little excited by the mere fact that I have people viewing my little missive.  Granted these few words are not important to anyone in the course of history, but I go gain some enjoyment in composing them and then publishing my gibberings to an audience.  The fact that I apparently have an audience is a bit astonishing, though I chalk that up to random web searches for porn and cat videos that happen across someone's screen and received an accidental tap from overly-sensitive display.

This may sound absurdly humble and you may well dismiss it as posturing.  However, I assure you, I am just that humble when it comes to my ability to write.  There are teen-agers with better grammar and I've heard some all-time best one-liners come from the mouths of babes.

I have considered posting more of my material to this web address, under a different page... or blog or whatever is the technical term.  I am reticent, however, because my fiction is far more personal.  It leaves me more vulnerable than my simple ramblings of events during the course of my days.  I know these events to be true, believe them or not; but my fiction... well, now it is my duty as an author to convince you (however tentatively) that those events are also real.  To fail at that task would prove my inability to write.  And so I withhold my other creations from an audience out of fear of verification.

What would possibly change my mind is some feedback from readers.  Please, if you read a post, leave a comment.  If my writing sucks, tell me; but please be specific lest I have nothing with which to improve.  If you like what I've laid bare here, that also would be helpful.  Most of all, simply leaving a mark upon these pages would show your interest.  It will take effort to leave a message for me, so I will be grateful for the effort you've made.  That alone will validate my efforts.

Mostly I would just like to know who's reading.  Are the "page views" really mis-taken links or have you really ended up here on purpose?

Outdoors and Exposed

I've RSVP'd the group in Minneapolis to join them over the Memorial Day weekend.  This event will center around the hot tub (probably since the swimming pool will most likely be too cold so early in the season).

Sitting around someone's living-room with a bunch of naked men is one thing, of which I've fussed over prior, but this event is to be outdoors.  I long to feel the air on my skin and the sun on my body... assuming it'll be sunny, but I still have concerns about "public view."

As with the first time joining these men, I will simply mull over my foreseeable options before I go - some of them here - and then simply throw caution to the wind.

My guess is not everyone will be outside and the host will have opened his house to us all, without erecting velvet ropes or locking doors, and if I choose I can stay inside.  And I will should the fencing or the greenery around the property doesn't eliminate the chance of being seen by someone who would complain.  Worse, by someone for whom it is illegal for me to be exposed within site of... so bad the consequences that I write even more poorly than usual just thinking about it.

Puzzled

A post on a nudist site today got me to thinking, a rare event.

I'm a nudist, meaning I prefer to lounge without clothing.  Clothing at work is essential since the temperature is not optimal.  Clothing while shopping is essential since social norms suggest I don gay apparel.  Clothing while in public view is essential due to current laws.

I'm a social nudist, meaning I enjoy my time with other naked men... sexually or otherwise.  I prefer sexual nudity, but I'm happy just hanging out with other nude men.  Haven't puzzled out why I'm attracted to the activity just yet... working on it.  I could associate nudity with sex and feel a sense of arousal and am denying it.  I could just enjoy the rebellion of the situation and haven't yet made the link in my brain.  Whatever the reason for my enjoyment, I intend to pursue it.

The interesting post mentioned a person's sense of privacy.  That's psychologically a control thing; I want to control knowledge of others about what I consider "private" information.  I tell people my secrets, or choose not to.

I am a nudist who feels no need to announce it.  I consider my nudism a hobby and considering it's eccentric nature consider the activity a private one.  Yet I'm a social nudist.  I intend to get nude this summer in various locals where I can be viewed by others.  Granted, due to the laws, these will be others who have agreed to witness my nudity rather than the general public who have not given such permission.

So I am a hypocrite.  I consider being nude in public a private activity and want to control the spread of that knowledge.  Worse, I've started this public blog discussing this private activity.  I don't necessarily share the address to everyone.  In fact, I've only shared the address with a relative few.  Yet anyone may access, read, and comment on the site.  Anyone can know.

I've yet to divine this hypocrisy and resolve it.  Eventually, surely I will understand my own mind on the issue and alter my behavior accordingly.  Perhaps I'll join the activists in broadening the public's understanding and acceptance of nudity.  Perhaps I'll stop this blog, delete as much as Google will allow, and abandon all public nudity.  Perhaps I'll simply accept my hypocrisy as yet another conundrum of my personality and carry on without resolution.

Idealism

Many of the naturist sites I've been on recently have revealed a theme:  the human body is beautiful but not inherently arousing and we should look to the personality within before judging anyone's true beauty.

While this is the same advice espoused by my therapist, I find I tend to disagree.

My primitive ancestors didn't stand up on the African savanna to be better able to divine another's true nature.  They stood up to see over the grasses.

While I would agree that the sense of smell is quite possibly our foremost erotic sense, sight is primarily how people gather information.  I see a red light, I stop.  I see a ball hurtling toward my head, I duck.  I see a symmetrically built and featured man across a room, I'm attracted.

I can't possibly know anyone's personality based on sight alone.  Yeah, I can tell loads by their non-verbal communication.  A man dressed in office attire or youthful-urban fashions tells me immediately what kind of person they want me to think they are.  Uniforms are important since they communicate massive amounts of information without having to explain oneself, this is why employers almost always have a dress-code.  No CPA wants his/her receptionist wearing a hoodie.

Movement and posture are also huge.  A man standing, favoring one leg, and waving his hands about without using his shoulder tells me something about the temperature of his flame.  Whereas a man standing erect, his feet shoulder-width apart, with his groin thrust forward tells me something about his self-image and his psychological assertions toward manhood and a man-image.

All of these cultural mannerisms could prove false.  Socializing in probably 50% acting anyway and most of us adhere to cultural norms whether we agree with them or not.  The most feminist supporting man in America still has a problem with being a stay-at-home Dad and most employers (male and female) still expect every man to be at work during all scheduled hours... even if they have children.

So, while it's nice and lovely to preach a doctrine of personality-based attraction, in reality sight is the first and most powerful attractor.  The young and the beautiful still have more friends - which helps them learn how to socialize more effectively, which helps them gain more friends, which is good practice for developing friendships, which gains them more friends...

I've heard this same argument from some of the more kinky elements of the Gay Community.  Enjoying leather or pig play shouldn't matter to the neighbors, yet it does when one's attire advertises such bedroom activities.  Weird is weird, and while it may say nothing about a person's generosity or kindness, it still carries a stigma.  Sons of Anarchy isn't a show about Harley riding philanthropists.  Stereotypes matter and changing them, while noble, is still an arduous endeavor and needs to take the stereotype into account whilst endeavoring.

Conclusion:  Yes, once I cross the room and begin a conversation with a hottie wearing the nylon t-shirt clinging to his solid muscles I will begin to assess his personality and make cost/reward analyses concerning my time and effort.  If he's a raving racist or just plain stupid then perhaps I'll privately enjoy the fantasy some other time.  If he lights up and turns his attention like a laser toward me, then maybe something wonderful could develop should our interests and world-views happen to coincide or complement each other.  However, it was the physical image that I first noticed.

Digital Community

So, suddenly, everybody is a nudist.  Apparently, most of my friends are naked most of the time they are alone.  No shock there, yet where were they when I mentioned it ages ago.  I've commented to all of them, at some point or another, that I'm not a fan of clothes; that winter irritates me because of all the bulky clothes; that I spend most of my time at home nude.  Each and every one of them let the comment pass without an encouraging response.  Only recently, after I was invited to a hot tub for some sexy-time (an event gone unfulfilled for reasons not pertinent here), did my friend tell me he too spends much of his morning and various hot tub times nude.  Forty years before I heard of this from someone I actually know.

Now that I'm on the internet I have become a member of several social-media sites either advertised as nudist or is a gathering of predominately nude individuals.  Some sites are mastered by those who love to practice the fine art of cyber-sex, others are for rookies interested in trading in amateur porn - namely, selfies.  Almost all seem to be filled with people who already know each other... and live in California or Florida.  Also, out of thousands of members, only a handful are ever on-line at any one time.  This seems odd to me since my connection is on whether I'm here or not, still it seems I'm still the wall flower.

One site I found only recently.  If you think I'm gonna tell you what it is, yer crazy!  This meandering of my mind is public and any asshole can read it.  I don't want just any asshole mucking about on the website I'm about to describe.  I prefer only the assholes I like.  So if you've found this page by simply surfing for all things sexy, well not only are you now disappointed, but you'll go no further with your surfing.  Please back-track and troll someone else.

Wow, digression!  This site is populated by nudists with a bend toward naturism.  The difference being, in my mind, between those who enjoy nudity (gain pleasure or suffer less due to clothes) and those who feel a moral obligation to live as closely to a "natural" state as possible.  Naturists are more likely to espouse organic farming, for instance, while nudists talk about using the microwave because the hot liquids don't spatter.

The site is open internationally and so I see lots of posts when I wake up telling the community "good night."  There are plenty of users in the usual places - not the Upper Midwest.  The admin group is concerned with keeping the site spam and bot free.  There is a verification process to prove you're people and also a nudist.  Gotta take a couple more selfies now.  I really need a friend who's good with a camera and can get some candids, but none of my physical friends really want to hang out naked... or be around me while I'm naked.  Pity, me naked is great for everyone else's self-esteem.

Still, after my warning from Facebook about harassing people I don't already know with friend requests, I am hesitant to ask the people who post there for a more intimate digital relationship.  I'm now unsure of the proper etiquette or how to go about gaining acquaintances who are amenable to such a request.  Ah well, perhaps some boldness is required.  Still, this site matters more to me than many of the others (I am a member of about a dozen social media sites and have multiple windows open at any given time to monitor the trickle of activity that may mention my name), and so I would not like to irritate the other members to the point of getting revoked... or worse, ignored.