as temperature dropped to the teens again, around 30 nudists came for their monthly "clothing optional" buffet dinner in a mid-manhattan bistro just before weekend.
their coats, their skirts, their shirts, and their undergarments all wound up folded in plastic bags by the bar while they dined nude but, I believe, never under accessorized.
i was raised in a fully clothed family. so clothed it was never an option for me to sleep in just my tighty whities. I have to put on pjs, the flannelly ones. and we lived in an island where the ambient temperature never dropped below the eighties. talk about night sweats.
the first time I went to my friend for a sleepover, I'm sorry that never happened. upon seeing my friend, lanky and not so particular with end-of-day hygiene, jump to bed in his striped briefs, the same one he had been sweating in throughout the day, I quickly made up some excuse to go home.
when mother asked why the change in plans, I told her the mosquitoes in my friend's house were particularly feral. I ran back to my room, quickly jumped into my pyjamas and that was the end of it.
then stressful college time. more nerve wracking than the pressure of snagging a membership into the right campus organization was my dorm shower situation. I, the prudish island boy, had the misfortune of being billeted in one that only had communal bathing facilities.
to sidestep potentially mortifying situations, I either hit the showers way too early in the morning when the heater is not yet on or during the lull between morning rush shower traffic and midday siesta. midway into the first term, I had to look for off campus, more private accommodations.
but then, to skinny dip or to skinny dip? this is the question I must say yes to. especially when the asker of this life changing question is no one else but this big man on campus. he was the first guy I have allowed myself to admit I have a crush on.
it was almost end of school year and we were re-evaluating the campaign strategy of our student party for that year. when that was over, he just asked me to go skinny dipping the way he would have told me to buy on my way home more silkscreen paint for our posters.
nudists, at least those registered in organizations, (yes, virginia, a whole lot of them) always make hay about how letting it all hang is the freest form of self expression available there is to the creative person.
it was way past midnight and without compunction, we just burgled into the university pool premises. then without any alarm, I saw this lithe, brown tinder kindle the already smoldering water of the pool.
in march, the manhattan nudists will again congregate for another dinner. it will be their easter bonnet event. this time, every one has to come wearing an easter bonnet and, well, nothing else.
many easters now I've celebrated and yet my old priggish self can never die and be resurrected to this freer, more creative person I've always dreamed to be.
all I have is the memory of that one miraculous march where I just floated in the middle of this deep pool while squinting so hard to take in the view of this beautiful, free man breaking the water without a splash in the leftmost lane of the unilluminated pool.