The Naked Party Vs The Sex Party

Ever since a friend notoriously duped me into going to a “naked BBQ,” I’ve been hooked on social nudity. Sex wasn’t allowed, though, and by some, such a thing would be considered almost masochistic — like someone on a diet surrounded by cake. But by not blowing my wad, the experience actually blew my mind.

I discovered that adding the word “naked” to any activity made it that much more interesting: yoga, hiking, water polo, and even dodgeball. But my favorite times were always the naked parties hosted by the original BBQ group. Gay men keeping things non-sexual seemed almost revolutionary.

But like most groups, the culture shifted as the years passed. The founder stepped back and the party frequency slowed down. And the parties also started getting increasingly sexual.

Most of the attendees seemed excited by the changes as they could now go off to dark corners and finish the deed. It didn’t seem all that disruptive at first. I even had to admit my own excitement for this new change. But with each new party, these boundaries seemed to fade further and further away.

At one point, an upcoming party invitation made a bold, new announcement: “This is not a sex party. But frisky fun with friends is acceptable.” The contradictory statement intrigued me.

However, the moment I stripped down, something in the air seemed different. Instead of boners being an occasional, amusing side effect of the environment, they popped up more frequently and with very intentional purposes. The concept of the naked casual conversation started to disappear. I hadn’t gotten to socialize with much of anyone before guys started frantically dropping to their knees for blow jobs.

This was definitely a sex party. And with a sweaty smorgasbord of man-meat at arms reach, I should have been stoked. Instead I felt baffled. Why didn’t I feel more excited? Or even stranger, why did I feel bored?

Then suddenly I realized something: Out of all the edgy, sexual things I had done in my life, getting naked and NOT having sex was the wildest. The concept often challenged my naughtiest of friends. And now that all the guys were going nuts, the whole concept didn’t seem so revolutionary anymore. Instead it felt predictable … as if this was totally expected of gay men.

I politely exited the orgy madness and found another guy chilling on the sidelines. Striking up a casual conversation, I hoped to find comfort back in the old format of platonic nudity. But it wasn’t long before another gentlemen stepped into the conversation. He didn’t say a word; he just continued to masturbate and grope himself while creepily staring directly into our eyes. He clearly didn’t want to chat.

And then I realized something else: My intentions to chat with the other guy weren’t honestly all that honorable either. I thought he was attractive and if I was going to get frisky with someone, I wanted it to be with him.

This was a huge departure from my mentality at previous parties. I typically socialized with people not based on their looks but more so their character. It seemed that when sex got thrown into the mix, I began only wanting to socialize with those who I might want to hook up with and no one else. And for me, that was a less desirable side of me.

When platonically socializing in the nude, I redirected my sexual energy in other positive ways. I got to interact on a whole other level of exposure and my guards came down … my body image issues melted away. Now with sex back in the mix, my guards were back up and my main concern was about how attractive I looked.

As I gave up and left the party, I didn’t have any qualms or judgments towards the other partygoers for getting their freak on. Hell, years earlier I would have happily joined in. But after having kept these parties platonic for so long, I came face-to-face with the values that I lost by reintroducing sex.