STRANGE FRUIT
How to Get Kicked Out of the Nude Spa: A Field Guide to Spotting Huge, Gnarly Naked Juju
There’s an etiquette to naturist relaxation
Joe and I went to a naked spa.
One needn’t have a reason. But my excuses are as follows: 1) I am mildly exhibitionistic (see: “modeling” and an attempt at a thirst-trap avatar); 2) All I wanted was a massage; and 3) A lot of things seem like a fruitful idea when you’re a writer.
Recreational nudity is not necessarily native to California. It may have migrated from endemic populations in Europe and Japan over the last few hundred years. But if you’ve never been to the Coastal Central part of the Golden State you’re likely unfamiliar with its glorious array of woo-woo subspecies.
Woo-woo (adj.) — “[having] unconventional beliefs regarded as having little or no scientific basis, especially those relating to spirituality, mysticism, or alternative medicine” [derogatory, informal; via Oxford Languages definition]
As naturism is a kind of holistic wellness, we were entering the center of the woo-woo habitat range.
We did some prepwork.
I’d shaved my hoo-hah and ‘pits, as is my custom. The good news about compulsive woman-scaping is that, on the spur of the moment, you can get buck naked in front of other people without much ado.
Joe had shaved his hoo-hah¹ too — which made me wonder if the whole couple’s visit to the spa wasn’t wildly premeditated. ¹Please note that Joe is not transgender; I am not poking fun at male-identifying individuals with hoo-hahs; I just like those Facebook ads that admonish guys to “then shave your hoo-hah, Daniel” if they express a particularly loud preference for partners who do that.
My good friend had gone to this spa with her husband a few months prior. She’d had a bit of stage fright — understandably so, especially for ex-religious folks. Then, she’d gawked at the first dude she and her husband walked by while strolling oh-so-casually through the outdoor gardens.
Further investigation near the hot tubs confirmed that the dude had huge, swinging junk.
“He was a show-er, not a grow-er,” my friend explained as she recounted the schlong-in-the wild sighting. Well, one would hope. Otherwise, he’d have had to be part equine.
Now, let me be the first to dispel a harmful myth surrounding nudism, AKA naturism. NakedWanderings.com says that a vast majority of people are not there to stare [external link]. And it’s important not to stigmatize the warm embrace of a natural state of being.
I, however, absolutely wanted to see the elusive tallywhackers in repose.
Leaning into awkwardness is my jam. And one of my favorite things about being married to Joe is laughing my ass off with him.
Nevertheless, we didn’t want to run afoul of the etiquette. Who wants to give off threatening juju and ruin the vibe? We looked up the spa’s do’s and don’ts online as we pulled into the parking lot.
Behaviors That Will Get You Removed From the Facilities By the Staff:
- Being under the influence of drugs and/or alcohol
- Having sex (duh)
- Offering to give someone a massage
- Doing lunges next to the hot tub, with a full-staff erection (a chub is okay)
- Doing lunges next to the hot tub, with a large caricature of a penis Sharpie’d on the inner thigh
- Butthole sunning after dusk [external link]
And, especially —
- Doing this [external link].
I’m happy to say that we didn’t learn any of this the hard way! Matter of fact, it’s a bit of an anticlimax to go tits-out with a bunch of strangers. I was less nervous than I’d thought I’d be.
Joe let ‘er hang easy, too.
*Bonus* — We saw fascinating tattoos. We overheard the most hippietastic conversations imaginable. And we chatted about zodiac birth charts with a tech entrepreneur who looked like a Passion-of-the-Christ era Jim Caviezel.
I unconsciously hummed that song from Hair — The 5th Dimension’s “Aquarius.”
My only annoyance was that there were no jets in the gigantic hot tub. This meant that every time I had to fart — which, for some reason was inordinately often that evening — I had to let the warm orbs of stink rise to the surface for all to see.
Talk about embarrassing!
My husband followed (birthday) suit, though. He rips ass with the best of them. God, I love that man.
Yer Mom’s Verdict? 10/10 stars. Would recommend overpriced, recreational nudity to all and sundry.
Note to Self: Grow out bush and armpit hair, and add “Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In” to playlist.
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