My vacation at a nudist camp.
SlateSee our Magnum Photos gallery on nudist camps. The most disconcerting part of my visit to a nudist camp I’ll call “Hidden Bush” occurred when I got in a discussion about the benefits of nudity with a longtime member I’ll call “Dick.” Nudists, nudists will tell you, are very friendly, and Dick had spotted me as a newcomer as I stood naked and adrift by the pool. Also as a woman, I was reassured by a page of the AANR Web site that promised clubs were not sexual in nature and male members’ members were unlikely to become “visibly excited.” In the event of tumescence, a male is supposed to drape himself with a towel and then jump into the pool. It’s also true that a woman wearing the National Geographic look of grass skirt topped by uncovered breasts seems somehow desperate compared to a plain old naked body. Sylvia Plath’s words from The Bell Jar came to mind, the scene in which the main character sees her boyfriend naked for the first time: “The only thing I could think of was turkey neck and turkey gizzards and I felt very depressed.” I debated whether to put my napkin in my lap, but no one else bothered.
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