Mark Haskell Smith - Naked at lunch: a reluctant nudists adventures in the clothing-optional world

Naked
at
Lunch

A Reluctant Nudists Adventures
in the Clothing-Optional World

Mark Haskell Smith

Grove Press

New York

Copyright 2015 by Mark Haskell Smith

Jacket design by Dog and Pony, Amsterdam

Jacket photograph Diana Faust

Author photograph by Maarten van der Zwaard

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Published simultaneously in Canada

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 978-0-8021-2351-0

eISBN 978-0-8021-9178-6

Grove Press

an imprint of Grove/Atlantic, Inc.

154 West 14th Street

New York, NY 10011

Distributed by Publishers Group West

www.groveatlantic.com

For David L. Ulin and Tod Goldberg

Youre born naked and the rest is drag.

RuPaul

Contents

Im on a Boat

W e are safely away and you can now enjoy a...

There was a pause, as if the cruise director was having trouble choosing what, exactly, he should call what was about to happen. Finally he said,... a carefree environment.

The announcement was still reverberating through the ship when the scrotum airing began in earnest; shorts and shirts dropped to the ground and penises dangled in the South Florida sun. Permission had been granted. Now buttocks could swing from side to side without restriction, and breastsfinally released from the prison of blouse and brassiereburst into the open, to be caressed by soft tropical breezes. We were on a boat. One thousand eight hundred and sixty-six nudists living the anti-textile dream.

Not that some of them werent almost nude before the cruise director gave the all clear. Many were in various states of undress, itching to toss their clothes aside. A skeletal man in his eighties wandered around the ship wearing only a fluorescent thong, his loose skin draped around his bones in cascades that looked like freckled frosting, and a gigantic, barrel-chested manhe looked like hed eaten an actual barrellumbered around the lido deck on an industrial-strength cane wearing only a loincloth. A few people soaked in Jacuzzis, surreptitiously slipping out of their swimsuits, while the less rebellious sat by the pool, looking somewhat forlorn, waiting for the green light. These were nudists, after all. And they had paid big bucks to frolic in the buff. When the all clear was sounded, they didnt hesitate.

I had never been on a cruise ship beforeId never even been interested in being on a cruise shipbut this wasnt just any cruise, this was the Big Nude Boat, a special charter offered by Bare Necessities, the premier nakation travel agency. Not only that, the cruise was on board the Nieuw Amsterdam , one of the Holland America Lines more luxurious ships, which meant this wasnt a backwoods RV-park nudist resort or Hippie Hollow down by the lake; this was the deluxe version of nonsexual social nude recreation. Meaning nudism. Or naturism. Depending on who you ask. There are several theories floating around about which word means whathistorically speaking there are some actual distinctionsbut the reality was that I was on a boat with almost two thousand people who werent wearing clothes.

I am fascinated by subcultures: the Dead Heads and Juggalos whove built unique cultures out of following their favorite bands as they tour the country, the amateur mechanical engineers who build robots in their garages, the home brewers who experiment with beer in their kitchens, and the foodies who eat at illegal restaurants in peoples homes. People do strange things. They collect stamps and watch trains, they dress their pets to look like famous characters from movies, they dress themselves to look like anime characters, they go to conventions in woodland animal costumes and have group sex in plushie piles. All of these activities have their own culture, a network of people who speak a specific kind of lingo that outsiders dont understand. Im especially fascinated by subcultures that are deemed morally suspect or quasi-legal: the people who pursue their passion even if it means possible imprisonment or stigmatization by society. I cant help it. I like the true believers. The fanatics.

My first nonfiction book was about the culture of cannabis connoisseurs and the underground botanists who source heirloom varietals of marijuana from all over the world. Cannabis culture has a rich history filled with colorful characters. These are men and women who defy oppressive antidrug laws and good-naturedly dont give a fuck about societal norms. It wasnt much of a leap for me to become intrigued by the world of nudism. Or as my wife said, First youre stoned all the time and now youre going to be naked? Why cant you write a book about cheese? You like cheese.

The loudspeaker on the ship crackled to life and the cruise director added a caveat: I would like to remind you that you must wear a cover-up in the dining areas.

Which didnt really keep anyone from being naked in the dining areas. Or in the bars. Or anywhere for that matter. They were naked on deck and in the screening room, the library, the casino, and the buffet line. Nudists crowded around the piano bar and requested songs by Elton John and Billy Joel. The large theater where stage shows were presented was filled with naked men and women. They were in the elevators, walking down the corridors, playing Ping-Pong, lifting weights in the gym, and guzzling cocktails by the pool.

In the fitness center someone asked the ships in-house yoga teacher if people had to wear clothes in the yoga classes. The teacher gave her a curious look and then, as the true reality of the question sunk inwhat I can only imagine was the image of a roomful of naked people doing down dog flashing through her headher face bloomed in panic and she said, Oh yeah. In the class. Clothes. You have to wear clothes.

But other than the yoga class, everywhere you looked, testicles and breasts hung low and pendulous, swaying side to side as the boat rocked in the open ocean; billows of bulbous flesh spilling off torsos, flowing earthward like the goop inside a lava lamp. The entire human body presented in all its natural nature was unavoidably on display.

I was sitting at what was called the Ocean Bar that first evening when I overheard a man, a silver-haired smoothy, complain loudly that there were too many old people on the cruise. Im guessing the median age is sixty-five, he said. He was sixty-two.

When old people complain that there are too many old people, then you really know there are too many old people.

Most of the passengers were retirees and most of them were American. Which is to say that there were a lot of overweight people strutting around in their birthday suits. That they did so unself-consciously, without any hint of the neurotic body obsession that has created generations of diet-obsessed, bulimic, anorexic, or just plain miserable people, was something that I found almost inspirational. They werent ashamed of their bodies, they seemed to accept themselves and one another for who they are and what they were, and, best of all, they had fun doing it.