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Au Naturel
Written By: Donna Rhodes | Issue: July 2023
Donna bares the truth about the au naturel life.
Illustration by Norma Jean Zahner
With all the cray-cray gunslingers in the world, the idea of everyone going au naturel is sounding less and less ridiculous.
If you’ve been to a nude beach (i.e., accidentally came across one, heh-heh), you know 15 minutes of exposure to nekkiddity and Voila! Bodies become kind of meh. When everything’s out in the open, there’s no more mystery or stigma. And with no places to conceal weaponry, there’re no worries about danger – unless, of course, you work in a bacon-frying factory.
But the mere thought of public nudity (and gun control) cranks up America’s fussiness to level 10.
Here’s the simple truth. Nudity isn’t going to make any of our parts fall off. And if there’re no gun concealments, well, nobody gets shot.
True confession. I visited a nudist colony with an acquaintance, just to see how bad it was. I wasn’t going for the visuals. Like I said, after 15 minutes, it’s kind of a yawn anyway.
Okay, I was going for some of the visuals.
But I was there mostly as an information-gathering writer – yeah, that’s it.
No, really. I was curious. Was nudity a free-thinker’s expression of his/her/their life-choices? Was it a voyeuristic gawk at other’s twiddly-bits?
Or was it none of the above – just letting the breeze, the trees, a lot of knobby knees, and the fleas interact with us in a natural world?
As it turns out, the grand finale of my nudist date-night was this: a whole bunch of naked, lumpy, bumply people, letting it all hang out, piled on top of each other in a mound of giggles and farts. Human beings never abandon their talent for flapdoodle.
And that, brothers and sisters, is where I drew the line. I’d need a prophylactic bodysuit and several martinis to touch that pile of people parts with a 50-foot-pole. And I don’t even drink.
Needless to say, the relationship didn’t last long. My date’s reliability was as scant as his clothing. Thank goodness, as a nudist, he didn’t have holsters or suspicious skin pleats. Okay, there was that appendectomy scar that was highly suspect.
Of course, not all nudists are mental – or men, for that matter. I’ve known several women, tortured by hot flashes, who removed their Frigidaire’s shelves and drawers, made a few air-exchange and light adjustments, and jumped in the icebox for some chillin’ in the world’s tiniest Airbnb.
If you’re game for more nudist colony nuttery, read David Sedaris’s Naked. I leave you with a Letterman quote, “You’ll never catch a nudist with his pants down.” Or a gun.
