My night at an all-nude New York dinner party.

"If anyone young is reading this, go, right this minute, put on a bikini and don't take it off until you're 34." This is Nora Ephron, reminding us that now—right now—is the peak naked moment of our lives, the highest point on a steep slope of sagging. I remembered this rule when my email dinged with a dinner invitation. The invite contained details about the host (a friend of a friend), the cuisine (Indian) and the attire (none). A nude dinner party.

I was petrified. I am an enthusiast of other naked activities—skinny dipping, showers, sex. But unlike dinner, those all start with ‘s.’ This seems important. Also, they all involve doing something. A lengthy swimming career taught me that many people are attractive naked not because of their bodies’ particulars, but because of the way those bodies move. It’s why the prettiest people are not always the most sought after. Movement is important. When stationary, my lower body looks like a bean bag chair.

Looking at her breasts six inches from the bread, I lost my appetite.

But I wondered. Nudity is something I can deal with. Perhaps I am a closet nudist. Perhaps nudism is my new untapped outlet, ready to occupy the empty space in my life between knitting and Netflix.

I rang the bell, and a geeky, middle-aged man in bifocals stuck his head around the door. Richard. He pointed to a stack of towels next to the door. The only rule of nudist events is that you sit on a towel. These were hand towels; I was expecting beach.

I was on Richard’s email list because I’d heard that a computer programmer arranges all-expense-paid trips to Florida and the Caribbean for nudist rookies. Richard, the programmer, is a sort of ringleader for New York City nudists, making frequent trips to naturist resorts in Tampa, Palm Springs, St. Maarten's and Maine, bringing along groups of four-to-30 people.

Behind him, another naked man with long brown hair sat with a laptop at the kitchen table. Richard informed me that the female guests were running late. I wondered if stripping with two strange men in a strange apartment was unwise. I scanned. They seemed passive, and I decided they probably wouldn't attack me. On the wall, a digital picture frame flashed group shots of smiling naked people. They didn’t look like they’d been attacked recently. I went into the bathroom, stripped, and took out the beach towel I'd brought from home.

I emerged and gingerly sat down on the towel on the couch, legs tightly crossed. Naked dinner is sort of like public speaking: it takes a couple minutes to win over the crowd, except you’re the crowd. Richard told me about his gig as an extra on Fur, reenacting famous Diane Arbus portraits, while I struggled to find a flattering or comfortable upright couch position. Richard didn’t hold back: one leg out to the side, balls in full view. It wasn’t lewd. When you look at Richard, you understand why he's naked: He looks like he should be naked. Dressed, he would be a 2.5; naked, he's a 7.0. He's rotund-yet-firm, tan everywhere and fully comfortable in his nudity. He says he spends most of his home-time in the buff.

The rest of the guests blew in, three late-twenties women, a masseuse and two teachers, who stripped in front of the door and plopped down on the couches and floor. And a 30-ish Asian guy, who announced his recent victory on Pants Off Dance Off, a program on the Fuse Network that TV Guide called “the dumbest show on television.” Contestants have three minutes to strip while dancing in a three-foot-square box. We watched the episode clip. He is indeed very talented at stripping in a three-foot-square box. I relaxed. When other naked people are calm, you're calm.

My earlier theory that moving is a pivotal part of nudity is all wrong. Moving while naked is a pain in the ass. It’s hard to get off a low couch while adhering to society’s Keep Your Legs Closed Always rule. But I made it to the dining room table, and dinner proceeded much like any other--chitchat about work, discussion of how cool it is to win $200 for three minutes of stripping in a box. There was no sexual vibe. Through three courses of Indian food, I found that my need to check out men’s packages had passed in its entirety, and that skin is just another set of clothes. People carry themselves differently when naked; it’s more authentic. You can read who people are at a glance. I imagined the heavily makeup’ed fashionistas of my Upper East Side neighborhood melting down under these conditions, their coiffed facades broken, their personalities unable to function in the harsh light of reality. There’s something very real about naked dinner.

New York City is one of the worst places on earth to be a nudist. The exposure laws are strict, and there’s one nude beach for eight million residents. Richard says he leads trips because he has the money, and because otherwise people would never learn how comfortable naturism is. There’s no sex involved on his part.

His dinner guests seemed free, getting a dopamine high off the rarity of what we were doing. I was not high. My hand hurt because I could not stop gripping my towel. I sat on it, or held it in my hand, or carried it around the apartment, clutching it like child’s security blanket. As long as I held it, everything would be okay. Couldn’t. Let. Go.

Also. Couldn’t. Eat. There are two types of people: those who look better dressed (Gwyneth Paltrow), and those who look better naked (Pamela Anderson), and one of the former was sitting directly across from me, a thin bank teller who was quite foxy clothed. But naked, she was thin and somehow unappetizing, and for reasons I can’t articulate, looking at her breasts six inches from the bread, I lost my appetite. I felt guilty about this.

After dessert, people lounged on the couches for a while, then pulled on their clothes in the entryway. I’ll save you suspense: I did not become a card-carrying nudist. I politely declined Richard’s invitation for a trip a sunny resort somewhere down south, and happily escaped to the bathroom, because getting dressed is a private activity.

Never was I so excited to see my bra.

“如果正在阅读本文的你正值妙龄，那么，请赶快去！现！在！就！去！找件比基尼套上，不到你三十四的时候不许脱下来！”Nora Ephron的这句话提醒着我们：现在——此时此刻——正是我们这些人一辈子的裸体巅峰时期。这个最高点一过，“垂垂”老矣的下坡路可就开始喽。当我收到一封晚餐邀请的邮件时，刚刚那条至理名言便随着收件提示音,“叮”的一声从我的脑海闪过。邀请的细节如下：举办人（一个朋友的朋友），菜系（印度菜）以及着装指导（一丝不挂）。这是一个全裸餐会哦。

我当时瞬间石化了。在其他裸体活动——裸泳、淋浴、做爱（skinny dipping, showers, sex）等方面，我都算是个狂热分子啦。但是和宴会（dinner）不一样啊，我喜欢的这些都是字母“s”开头的，这一点似乎很重要。再说，我喜欢的这些都与动态的做事情有关。长期的职业游泳经验告诉我，许多人的裸体之所以吸引人并不在于其身体有任何特别之处，而是在于他们的身体是如何运动的。这就是为什么长得最漂亮的人往往并不是最受人追捧的原因。运动的状态是关键。当我停下来的时候，我的下半身看起来就像是一包豆袋椅。

看着她的胸部离面包只有六英寸，我一下子没了食欲。

不过我还是很好奇的。“裸”这方面我是搞得定的。大概是因为我本身就是一个“地下的”天体爱好者吧。也许裸体主义就是我未开发的新大陆，将在我由编织和Netflix（译注：美国在线租赁dvd的网站）组成的生活中占据一席之地。

我按响了门铃，一个头上架着变焦眼镜，看起来一付科技痴汉模样的中年男子从门后探出头来。他叫Richard。Richard指了指放在门旁的一叠毛巾，天体活动的唯一要求就是你必须在坐下的时候垫一条毛巾。可惜这些都是小手巾，我本以为会是大的沙滩浴巾（译注：参见宾馆中不同类型毛巾的尺寸）。

我之所以会在Richard的电子邮件列表上，是因为我听说有一个搞计算机编程的自掏腰包，为天体爱好者新成员们安排了一场到佛罗里达和加勒比海游玩的活动（译注：于是报名参加晚宴先来了解一下）。Richard，也就是这位编程人员，差不多算是纽约天体爱好者协会的头头，经常组织4到30人的团到各大天体营旅游胜地去游玩，包括坦帕市、棕泉市、圣马丁以及缅因州等等。

在他身后，一个留着棕色长发的裸男带着一台笔记本电脑坐在厨房的桌边。Richard告诉我女客会晚些才到。这时我有点怀疑自己一丝不挂的与两个陌生男人共处一个陌生的房间是不是不太明智。我有点慌。他们看起来很顺服，我断定他们大概不太可能会侵犯我吧。墙上挂着一副电子相框，里面在循环播放微笑着的裸体人士的集体照。照片上的人们看起来并不像最近有被侵犯过的迹象。我走进洗手间，脱衣服，顺便拿出从家里带来的沙滩巾。

我走出来，小心翼翼地坐在长椅的毛巾上，两腿交叉紧紧地夹住。参加全裸晚宴就跟当众演讲一样，除非你是主讲人，否则总需要点时间才能搞清楚状况。当Richard给我讲述他在那部重现著名摄影家Diane Arbus生平电影《fur》的客串经历时，我正努力调整自己在长椅上的坐姿，以便自己能看起来更好看或更舒服一点。Richard倒是一点都不藏着掖着：两腿大大的分开，蛋蛋一览无遗。可我并不觉得色情。因为当你看着Richard的时候，你就会明白他为什么要裸体：他看起来就像本就应该裸体一样。如果打分的话，他穿着衣服也就得个2.5，但是当他脱光的时候可以得到７。他很丰满但并不健壮，到处晒成棕褐色，非常享受裸体的状态。他说大部分在家的时间，他都会只穿着这件“真皮外套”。

其余的客人一时间纷沓而至，有三个二十好几的女人，其中一个是按摩师，另外两个是教师，他们在门前脱掉衣服，一屁股就坐在沙发或地板上。还有一个看起来三十来岁的亚裔男人，宣布他赢了最新一期的“裸舞之王”。Fuse广播公司的这个电视节目在导视中被之为“最傻X电视节目”，参赛者要在三分钟内在三尺见方的盒子里边跳舞边完成脱衣服的比赛。我们还看了节目的片断。他果然在这方面很有天分。我逐渐感到放松了。随着其他的裸体客人放松起来，你也会感到放松的。

我之前的“运动是裸体的关健”理论真是彻头彻尾的错误。光着身子的同时动来动去真是烦死我了。如果恪守社交中“双腿时刻并拢”的原则，你会发现坐在矮沙发上想站起来都是非常困难的。但是我还是在坚持这一原则下挪动到了餐厅的桌旁，晚餐并没有什么不同之处，我们就是闲谈着工作，讨论在一个盒子里用三分钟时间脱光就能赢得200美元是一件多么酷的事情。整个过程与性根本不沾边。三道印度菜过后，我发现自己已经失去了对男士们“验货”的兴趣。而且皮肤看起来就只不过成了另一套衣服。每个人在裸体的时候都变得有那么点不同，这让他们更加真实。你扫一眼就能看出他们是怎样的人。闭上眼，我仿佛看到了上东区那些浓妆艳抹的时尚达人邻居们在这样的环境里融成一坨，装模作样的花架子轰然倒塌，所谓的个性在真实之光的照耀下完全失效。裸体晚宴具备了某种这样真实的力量。

纽约是这个世界上最不适合天体主义者的地方。这里有严格的禁止暴露的法律，八百万居民甚至连一块天体沙滩都没有。Richard 说他组团的原因不止是因为他有足够的经济实力，更是因为如果没有这样的活动，人们将永远无法理解天体状态下那种无拘无束的感觉。就他而言，这与性毫无关系。

他前来赴宴的客人看起来很自在，都沉浸在参与这种不常见的活动带来的兴奋感之中。而我却高兴不起来。我的手很疼，因为我总是禁不住要抓我的毛巾。我坐在上面，或者把它攥在手里，或者带着它在房子里转来转去，握着它就像孩子握着自己用来消除紧张的安全毯。只要我它在我的手里，就一切正常。我还是不能完全放得开。

另外，我吃不下。话说有两种人：一种是穿着衣服比较好看（像Gwyneth Paltrow ），一种是脱光才好看（像Pamela Anderson ），而坐在我对面的那位属于前者，她是一个很瘦的银行出纳员，穿的相当妖媚。但是当她脱掉衣服，我虽然说不出原因在哪，但是感觉她又瘦又让人有种说不出的倒胃口。看着她的胸部离面包只有六英寸，我一下子没了食欲。这让我有点愧疚。

甜点过后，大家在长椅上“摊”了一会儿，开始到门前穿上衣服。说到这里，让我来打消你的悬念吧：我并没有成为一名正式“领证”的裸体主义者。我客气的婉拒了Richard提出的南下到一个阳光明媚旅游胜地的旅行邀请，高兴地溜进洗手间，还好，穿衣服算是私人活动。

这真是我这辈子头一次如此高兴地看到我的bra哈。