by Forest, Will
Co-ed Naked
Philosophy
By Will Forest
Copyright 2011 Will Forest
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, without permission in writing from the author. Inquiries should be addressed to:
[email protected]
Nude Scribe (nudescribe.blogspot.com)
Cover image copyright 2011 Bernard Perroud, [email protected]
CreateSpace
Quando o português chegou
Debaixo duma bruta chuva
Vestiu o índio
Que pena!
Fosse uma manhã de sol
O índio tinha despido
O português
Oswald de Andrade
El puritanismo
ha creado
un nuevo pecado:
el exceso de vestido,
que, bien mirado
y por ser tan distinguido,
en nada se distingue del nudismo.
Xavier Villaurrutia
A Charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld—
The Lady dare not lift her Veil
For fear it be dispelled—
But peers beyond her mesh—
And wishes—and denies—
Lest Interview—annul a want
That Image—satisfies—
Emily Dickinson
Table of Contents
Fall Semester
August 7
September 37
October 57
November 94
December 120
Spring Semester
January 139
February 166
March 189
April 242
May 286
Summer
June 309
July 315
Afterword 321
3
august
FALL SEMESTER
August
Sundry Adiposities
His cheeks were burning. How he’d arrived at age thirty-five without understanding the swinging and swaying and bouncing against each other of a woman’s breasts as she walks nude—a simple, physical property of unbound bodies in motion, so intimate and yet so ordinary—he later blamed on the reams of obscene laws and perverse commandments that even now caused him to drop his head in shame. But with admiration, astonishment, and hastily mustered objectivity, Assistant Professor of Philosophy Dr. Christopher Ross lifted his head back up and looked again. The sun, while searing a line of flesh along the band of Christopher’s swimsuit, broke through a cloudbank and illuminated the nude woman, young, and the young man accompanying her, as they pulled off their snorkel masks and shared laughing gasps of new air. They were just as completely nude, Christopher marveled, as they were nakedly unconcerned about the curiosity they attracted on the crowded beach.
He had seen them arise from the sea: first the shark fin-like snorkels, then rounded bases like dolphins’ backs, and finally human faces and torsos as they stood, the water streaming down their skin, unveiling muscular contours. Now, holding their snorkel masks by the straps, the man and woman had grasped their free hands together, steadying themselves against the wash, and were wading through low waves up the sand slope toward the beach. The swinging of their snorkels complemented the graceful sway of breasts and genitals unbound, an exemplary collection of appendages that hypnotized Christopher, who watched, enthralled, as these fascinating figures gained the shoreline and pulled each other into an embrace. He met their allure with the scrutiny of the naturalist who, though he predicts the scarlet bloom of the frigatebird’s pouch or the accurate aim of the archerfish, feels profound satisfaction, all the same, at the visual confirmation of his investment in so much wonder.
With the tide at his feet, Christopher also felt awash by the instantaneous realization of two certainties: that he was lying under the sun with part of himself bound in tight, wet cloth; and that he could tell by the snorkelers’ carefree demeanor, as well as by their uniformly tanned skin, that they had not gone missing any such wrappings. He verified with a few glances that all the other beachgoers in view did in fact sport on their persons some arrangement of textiles purportedly designed for swimming. But just then, it became apparent from their gestures that the snorkelers, whose conversation could not be heard over the surf, had drifted along the current from some point along the beach to Christopher’s left. As they took their bearings they had no doubt perceived the singularity of their unclothed condition, but they continued without sign of alarm or embarrassment and made no attempt to cover themselves as they began walking casually back down the beach toward an outcrop fifty yards to the east. Some of the people they passed gawked at them openly, while others dissimulated, and no one spoke to them at all.
After strolling some distance away from the last of these clothed beachgoers, and as if to continue what seemed to be their general philanthropy of anatomical edification, the couple stood back to back, locking elbows, and the man leaned forward, hoisting the woman up onto his back, her hair spilling down over his head while her breasts rolled to the sides. Showing off his strength, the man held the position for a good minute, rocking his partner left and right as she laughingly protested. Then he set her feet down on the sand, and squatted for her to mount his shoulders. They slowly stood as if one creature, and played at weaving and wobbling through the waves as he held her above the spray, eventually disappearing behind the outcrop.
Christopher shook his head back and forth, recalling an aphorism by Paul Tillich. “Astonishment is the root of philosophy,” he thought. A smile formed on his face, the banner of a call to action. And I am astonished. Therefore, I am at the root, the threshold, of philosophical inquiry. I am a philosopher, and my mission is to question why we do what we do and think what we think.
And before he had even finished the thought he stood up and tugged at his swimsuit, tempted to yank it off but too keenly aware of the collective gaze of the suited persons in his proximity. He fumbled with the drawstring, fretting about undoubtedly pale buttocks and unpredictably aroused genitalia. Frustrated, angry, surprised by his anger, he felt surge within him the determination to follow the snorkelers. He grabbed his towel and his belongings and flip-flopped the gauntlet through the amused and concerned stares of the bathing suit-clad.
As he rounded the outcrop, which he could see served as a natural beach divider, he hoped to find some indication that he was entering a designated nude area. He saw no such sign, but what he did see made him catch his breath: there were easily a hundred people here, some with sunglasses, sandals, or hats, but most wearing nothing at all. The sun generously illumined for his avid attention the shapes and sizes and colors all around him, the unsuspected limits of his prior understanding of humanity. Big, small, or big here and small there; tanned, pale, or tanned here and pale there; hairy, bald, or hairy here and bald there; each body was, quite literally, a revelation, yet in another sense no one body stood out prominently from the nude uniformity.
Except his. He knew he needed to undress quickly and soon, or his intentions could be misunderstood. And although he cast himself in the role of the curious observer, alert for more corporeal epiphanies, he realized the need for restraint even as he wanted to shout, such a singular and beautiful moment he was witnessing, like finding an entire beach full of endangered seals.
He began the search for an inviting stretch of sand to place his towel and things, guided only by the cardinal rule of no staring. He passed a group of nine or ten people congregated around a beach umbrella and a huge cooler: some were fat, some were wrinkled, but all were uniformly tanned. They were nude beach regulars,
Christopher surmised, and they were talking, laughing and drinking. As he walked on, feeling more textile-oppressed with each step, he saw a multicolored beach ball roll by, chased by an undressed child. A young woman arose from her towel, leaving her sunglasses—her only covering—behind, and walked down the beach to join another young nude woman already in the water.
Christopher could no longer tolerate the ridiculous expanse of his bermudas; here, even a Speedo was superfluous. He flung out his towel where he could, dropped his book and bag, and pulled off his trunks. An instant arousal overcame him, as he had predicted, but he knew, too, that it was an involuntary response to the sensual overload of the moment. He sat, forcing himself to concentrate on a few pages of his book, and discovered, as he read, that even though he did eventually relax, the sea breeze through his legs produced a heightened sensation of body-consciousness that undermined any habituated shame of wrongdoing.
Laughing at his continued astonishment, he shook his head and pinched his thigh. I knew such places exist – why hadn’t I done this before? What else have I been ignoring about my body’s sensations? Under the sun newly released from behind the clouds, here he sat thanking his genes that he had at least filled out his thighs and chest with more than a rudimentary muscle definition. Yet as he surveyed the expanse of his fair but darkening skin, he thought about how his “birthday” suit had aged: balding patches above his ankles and on his inner thighs, the slight promontory of a paunch, the pockmarked scars from acne on his upper arms, a hint of gray along his temples, the glasses sliding down his sweaty nose.
He had not removed his watch. Covering his left wrist with his right hand, he glanced at the now cloudless sky and guessed about a quarter past four. When he moved his hand away he confirmed 4:16 on his watch, and with this little game he felt more confident and centered. He stretched out his legs and breathed deep as he felt the sun opening his pores and roasting his bones.
Among the flesh of a hundred people all around him—of all ages and statures and hues, their sundry adiposities unanimously exposed—there appeared a pale, middle-aged man who wasn’t exactly nude, although to say he was clothed would be an exaggeration. He wore only a fishing hat and a blue t-shirt. Like an old friend, this man approached the two snorkelers with an effusive greeting, but they turned and moved away. So the man, pressing down on his hat as if resisting a strong wind, looked around and decided to amble toward Christopher.
There was no wind. Christopher stood up to confront the partially dressed man, now very near, and when he saw himself reflected, naked from head to toe, in what he thought was the man’s hatband, he felt his body flush its blood from his core out to his skin. It was a blush that rekindled the shame he had overcome to be where he was at that moment, fusing it with anger and an unexplored self-confidence. He could even see his skin redden on his reflection as he took a few steps back, confirming his mirror image’s retreat, and he kept moving backward, feeling taller and more expansive with each step, until his tiny likeness disappeared inside the hat, framed by the miles of white sand and the mutual calm of sky and sea.
Christopher felt the hair on his neck bristle as his voice dropped an octave. “Let me see that hat.”
The shirted man opened his mouth to speak but his voice fell under the shouts of a trim, redheaded youth striding toward them: “Hey, you! Look, we know what you’re doing. Hand it over.”
Before the partially clothed man could react, his hat levitated, plucked from his head by the tattooed arm of an older, bearded man who had approached him from behind. Strapped precariously inside the flimsy hat was the digital camera, its lens aligned with a hole in the band. The bearded man glared at the photographer while the younger man reached for the hat. But the cameraman abruptly ripped the camera from its Velcro webbing and sprinted off toward the distant parking area, sand spraying up behind him.
Let’s Play a Guessing Game
Christopher shook his head. “No permission.”
“Nope,” said the young man. “They never ask. Do you want this hat? I’ve already confiscated quite a few.”
“Happens that often?”
“Yeah. Some people just don’t get it. They think the minute you take off your clothes it’s all about sex. Fair game for somebody else’s fantasy.”
“Or they think we’re all exhibitionists,” said the bearded man. “They refuse to accept that we’re just normal folks, with jobs and families, who like to spend time outdoors in the buff. We don’t want some pervert trafficking nude photos of us on the net. Might ruin somebody’s career.”
Christopher nodded nervously.
“I’m Alex,” the young man said, “and this is Tucker,” he added, planting a hand on the older man’s shoulder above his Asian-styled dragon tattoo.
Christopher introduced himself and shook hands. “Are you the beach patrol?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” said Tucker. “La Rioja Beach is property of the U.S. Navy, but it’s unmarked, and besides they never do anything with it. Our group has been meeting here au naturel for some ten years now. The word has spread, as you can see. But technically we’re all trespassing on military property. Every few weeks the top brass will send out some MPs to give us warnings or, once in a while, arrest us.”
“You’ve…been arrested before?” Christopher smiled to hide his concern.
“Yeah, once. Tucker twice, right?”
“Three times now. They just throw blankets on us, handcuff us and haul us to the city precinct. The MPs have an agreement with the city police. Whole thing takes a couple hours. The funny part is they release us right in the middle of downtown...”
“Hey Dr. Ross! Fancy meeting you here!”
Christopher cringed. Fighting the urge to cover himself, he turned to recognize a student from a course the previous semester. To his immense relief, she wore no more clothes than he did. “Hey, good to see you. Guys, this is …”
“I’m Renee! Don’t you remember me?”
“…one of my most expressive students,” Christopher finished, flustered by forgetting her name.
“Don’t be shy, Dr. Ross! Oh – this must be your first time here, don’t you feel nervous standing out here buck naked?” Renee giggled and winked at Alex and Tucker.
“Well, I, uh, I…yes. It’s certainly taking me some time to adjust, but it’s great to feel the sun all over...”
“You’ll get used to it, real quick,” she assured him. “It’s really popular. People come here from all over, you know. I even heard that the State Tourism Office is promoting the place.”
“The State Tourism Office?” asked Tucker. “Just what we need…more snowbirds. This beach used to be the best kept secret on the Gulf...”
“C’mon, Tucker, the more the merrier,” said Alex.
“Too many people know about the beach now, you’re right,” said Renee. “People like that cameraman? They ruin the place. Who did he think he was fooling? That disgusts me. People like that give nude beaches a bad name.”
“Happens once or twice a week,” said Alex, “from what I’ve seen, anyway.”
Renee’s eyes widened. “You mean that guy comes here all the time?”
“Actually, I had never seen him before, but people like him.”
“I think I saw that same guy a couple weeks ago,” said Tucker.
“Well, I’m glad he’s gone. Don’t worry, Dr. Ross! Let me tell you guys, this man is one funky teacher. In our philosophy class, he’d always be telling us, ‘Let’s play a guessing game,’ and then he’d disguise a common thing with some bizarre description, you know, so we’d have to think about it in a different way.”
“Huh? Like what?” asked Alex.
“Like when we had to guess that an arm-shortener is an elbow. Or, what was it, feet coffins?”
“I know that one,” said Tucker, wriggling his toes in the sand. “That’d be shoes.”
“So let’s play now, Renee,” said Christopher, pleased at the chance to mount a familiar soapbox. “Yo
u guess what I’m doing here.”
“Okay, I guess…that I shouldn’t be surprised to see you on a nude beach, because I remember so many times you encouraged us to debate that wording in the Declaration of Independence, about ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’”
“That’s what I’m all about,” said Alex, “the pursuit of happiness!”
“With respect for other people’s rights, don’t forget,” said Tucker.
Christopher warmed up to the discussion. “So, is that your guess?”
“Yes. You’re here doing what you’d probably call ‘research.’”
“You’re right, but only in part. I was over on the—what do you call it? Clothing beach? I was over there reading when suddenly these nude snorkelers came up from the ocean. It was very impressive how nonchalant they were, and how they never looked anything but immensely pleased. And so I followed them over here. You know, in research, you’ve got to follow your lead, no matter where it may take you!”
Renee looked disappointed. “That’s it?”
“Well, if you prefer, I can add a little something about being inspired by Diogenes, Franklin, Thoreau, and other great thinkers that come to mind who exposed themselves to the elements. But really it was a snap decision. After those snorkelers made their entrance and crossed the beach like a great stage, I looked around with a new interest. I saw people covering pieces of themselves with synthetic scraps and swaths, out of ignorance. And philosophers, well: we philosophers detest ignorance. I decided to live this experience, to challenge social conventions.”