I have to attend two weddings on back-to-back weekends in October, and I haven’t a thing to wear. Worse, both couples tying the knot are composed of gay men, which means guests are expected to achieve feats of sartorial fabulosity. I don’t think my dumpy old funeral suit will cut it.
Course, one of the grooms has a history of nudism so maybe I should be grateful we get to wear clothes at all.
He once told me about the naked parties he used to help organize for other like-minded gays. On regular occasions, they would rent out a bar for the night and have a get-together in the altogether.
My two primary questions were:
1.) Did some poor soul have to wipe down all the barstools at the end of the night?
and
2.) What was the point of the evening?
As a long-standing gay dude myself, after all, I feel fairly familiar with how we act when nekkid, so basically what I was curious about was whether the bar event was a kind of pre-orgy mixer.
My nudist friend, however, did not at all appreciate my suggestion that there was anything sexual about his clothes-free soirees. He claimed they were strictly social occasions.
Which actually makes even less sense to me.
For one thing, most gay guys I know could get horny at a tax audit, and those are usually conducted while wearing clothes. But you’re telling me these homosexual nudists just want to hang out? Sounds to me like a waste of some perfectly good nudity.
The purpose of an orgy, on the other hand, seems self-evident and admirably direct. The remit is clear. But if we’re only talking about limp cocks at a cocktail party, again I must ask, To what end?
Perhaps, though, I’d feel differently if I stripped down in a nonsexual way and tossed back a few with some naked pals down at the neighborhood tavern. Maybe nudity, like virtue, is its own reward.
I’m willing to give anything a try, especially if it means I don’t have to go shopping for a new outfit.
My least favorite part of formal wear is of course the necktie—an odious adornment that’s difficult to arrange properly on your person and uncomfortable besides. Beyond those drawbacks, however, I object to ties because I resent anything that we as a society silently agree to put up with forever, even though we all recognize that it’s pointless and annoying. I feel the same way about Andy Cohen.
Not to mention that my tying technique is poor, possibly because I’m a lefty and had to learn my barely serviceable four-in-hand knot by mirroring right-handers. Mind you, that’s how we southpaws have to learn most things, seeing as how we’re in the minority. Some left-handers adapt by becoming uber-skilled with their hands. Others of us find certain tasks tricky forever.
My left-handed dental hygienist, for example, lacks a certain deftness in the way she juggles the tools of her trade while cleaning my teeth. I suspect she was taught by right-handed instructors who simply told her to flip everything she was shown, and that put her at a disadvantage.
I remain loyal to my southpaw sister nonetheless, but I will admit my sense of solidarity gets tested sometimes when she’s aiming sharp implements at my gum line and seems in danger of a slip-and-stab.
Anyhow, I don’t blame her. I blame the hegemony that always assumes right-handedness as the default setting.
Come to think of it, I suppose we can also blame the tyrannical powers of conformity for making us wear neckties and other stupid and restrictive items of clothing. There, now I’ve gone and talked myself into being a nudist after all.
Indirect Objects 