Good afternoon. If you are able to read this, you have been preselected to be on my wide filter -- which includes only the people with whom I feel comfortable talking about certain topics I find inappropriate for the general public, and, therefore, excludes people I don't read, people who don't read me, gossips, bastards, and Christians. If you are one or more of the above, please alert me in a comment so that I can remove you. Thanks!
I am thinking, lately, about my body. My popular friend Emily brings home a posse of attractive friends every so often, and they lounge about, bearded, wearing leather and scarves, and drink, and share amusing anecdotes late into the night. Sometimes I stop masturbating long enough to emerge and drink a gin and tonic with them. I look at their faces, their long eyelashes, and I think to myself: How marvelous it would be to have visible cheekbones!
THIS BECAME IRRELEVANT WHEN I ATTENDED THE NAKED PARTY
The naked party is an annual event sponsored by one of the two filthy hippie communes on campus. It is widely reputed to be an experience.
I was afraid to go unaccompanied by a close friend, so it was a good thing that my popular friend Emily and I were both thoroughly sauced from her cheekbone-y friends' visit that Saturday. She took a shower. I trimmed my pubes. We dressed nicely, and walked to Watermyn.
There were three people dressed in coats outside on the porch. It was a cool, dry night, and the street was illuminated at regular intervals by clear swaths of streetlight. Emily opened the door, revealing a cluster of naked women. We went inside. It was orange everywhere, the light and the wood and the skin all around. Emily had gone last year (and returned with a boy's phone number written across her breasts), and led us up to the third floor to undress. The floor was covered in discarded clothing. We entered an adjacent room and made forced conversation with two girls, dressing. It soon came time to remove my boxers. When I did, something strange happened.
I suddenly became equal to and comfortable with every other naked person in the house. Downstairs, my friend Sam came to meet us. I thought it would be incredibly awkward. It wasn't. We began to talk about something that I forget. Then came Julian, my neighbor in Art House two years ago. After he said hi to me, a young man closer to his heart that me came and greeted him. They shared a close hug. It was a hippie expression of intimacy that made me feel slightly weird. I wondered if their dongs were touching. Bodies streamed around us in the hallway, amid the din of chatter and dance music.
It was a very enclosed space for what I guessed to be a hundred naked people. There was a room for dancing. I was not in the mood for dancing, as I was sobering, bereft of my closest friends, and wary of STDs. But everyone who was dancing seemed to be very happy doing it. Joe and Johnny were here. Next to it was a kitchen, with a keg. Here, I met my computer science lab partner, with whom I had spent most of the afternoon coding. There was also a girl I was afraid to address by name, because I wasn't sure she was who she was, although it later turned out that she was. The cups were all gone, so I had no beer. There was a pool room, mostly abandoned, although an unfinished game lay on the table. Finally, there was some kind of common room with sofas and a mattress. Shannon was there; she had been brave enough to sit down, and waved across the room to me. On the mattress were four spooning girls. They were lying mostly still, and blissfully, but rubbing each other with their hands, only from the wrist down, as though hesitant, despite everything. Clearly, it was the obligatory bicurious college girl room. I left, realizing I did not belong.
For the most part, people behaved as they did as at most parties. I would almost call it pretending that nobody was naked, but that would be a lie; we were all cognisant of the fact of it. We even talked about it, analytically. But there was little direct ogling, and a lot of eye contact. To ogle, mid-conversation, would be to have broken the unspoken convention of the party. No, ogling was better left to the sideways glances we cast at one another from across the room. It was weirdly asexual. I wondered if I should try and coax myself into semierection to look bigger, but I couldn't summon the will. No man, for that matter, was erect.
At one point, I wished aloud for pockets; I didn't know what to do with my hands.
The reason that I eventually left was that I was bored. I had become bored by the naked party for the same reasons that I often become bored by most parties: I am easily socialed out, and in the absence of a group of my closer friends I become increasingly detached from the social atmosphere. A small, personal naked party with my intimate friends would have engaged me more, although it would be intense for other reasons. When I returned to the third floor to retrieve my clothes, a fat girl was blowing some guy on a mattress on the ground. This struck me as unforgivably inappropriate in light of the relative asexuality of the naked party, and I turned away from them, condemning and shameful. I dressed on the other side of the room. Then I had to go back to get my boots. Then I left. On the way out, my lab partner patted me on the back and said he'd see me tomorrow. He was naked and drunk, and I was not, and I flinched when he touched me, and jerked toward the door.
And that was it. That was the naked party. I walked home and showered vigorously, checking for chancres.
This morning, unable to sleep, I watched Batman Begins.
CILLIAN MURPHY IS KIND OF GORGEOUS
He certainly wasn't that attractive in 28 Days Later. Or did it merely escape my notice? And the most beautiful part of his beautiful face is the space right above the bulge of his eyes. You can only see it when he closes them or looks down. It's a violet space, and perfectly rounded. I have tiny Asian eyes; thus, I regard the skin around his eyes with the same veneration as I do the female breast. It is a fully excellent thing.
At least I'm taller than he is.
The rest of what I got from the movie, oh, that is who Katie Holmes is, she is cute, it is a bit of a shame that Tom Cruise somehow filled her with semen.
Also, I can now appreciate all of ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) perich's usericons.
We are becoming like blood brothers, he and I, in these final hours.
I ALMOST FORGOT TO GROVEL
donutgirl, I am sorry for not going to your zombie party. I was deluged in work, and planned to stay in all weekend. Ironically, missing your party and about five others on Thursday and Friday made me miserable enough by Saturday to force me out of my room. I hope it was fun regardless, and that you didn't spend too much time crying.
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