Confessions of a Gymnophiliac

I was traveling the other night by interstate. Alone. At night. And I stopped at a rest stop. The place was empty. Like, completely empty. And the restroom had a gigantic mirror just inside the entrance. I was the only one in there. (Are you sensing where this is going?) I felt compelled to take off all my clothes, and snap some pictures. Don't get me wrong, it's not as though I had to do it. But I wanted to. I found the idea positively thrilling. Not strictly in a sexual sense - as you can observe for yourself. I just think there is a primal beauty and a forbidden sensuality to being unclothed, that can be enhanced, whether by proximity to the natural world, or, alternatively, by juxtaposition with the trappings of modern society. And I like to capture the electricity of that tension in my photography. Is there an erotic component to this beauty? Yes, there can be. I don't deny it. But that doesn't change the fact that this wasn't about sex.

If there had been any indication of a single other person present in the building - inside or outside that restroom - I wouldn't have done it. I chose that time and place because I knew I could do it without anybody ever finding out. At least, outside of the audience those pictures would have, who I could reasonably assume would appreciate (and not condemn) the boldness I exhibited. It was a closed location, with only one entrance. I could hear if somebody was coming, with what I judged would be enough time to dip into a private stall (where I had hung my clothes), so that nobody would suspect a thing. And, being a restroom, I knew (at least, I hoped) there were no security cameras in there.

Hypothetically, I would have been thrilled to have left the restroom while still naked, and wandered the rest stop. Taken some pictures standing beside the vending machines. Browsing the stacks of brochures. Sitting on a bench. Exiting to the outside through the automatic doors. But the danger of being spotted increases exponentially as soon as you cross the threshold of that restroom. There would have been no time to set up a camera. A high likelihood of being seen by staff or other visitors, long before I had a chance to hide. And near certainty that I would be caught on a security camera, with recorded proof of my mischief. (Not a heinous crime, mind you - just... mischief).

I know this isn't normal. Most people don't have these inclinations. Such thoughts don't run through their heads. And even if something were to cause them to contemplate such a bizarre scenario (as wandering naked through an interstate rest stop - or a grocery store, or a laundromat, or a hotel lobby, or any public place), it would be met with confusion, if not outright horror. Is there something wrong with me? Not just that I have these feelings, but that I am somehow able to justify them in my mind as being less than the antisocial compulsions of a lunatic? Is it not relevant that their purpose seems to be something other than simple sexual gratification? That I'm conscious of the need and the value of making an effort to avoid being a public nuisance (whether or not that's just a self-defense mechanism)?

The problem is, there's no context in our society for these kinds of behaviors. It makes me feel alone. But more than that, it leaves me in confusion, to wonder what's wrong with me. (Because there has to be something wrong, right? I couldn't simply be expressing a wonderful if rare example of human diversity, could I?). It seems related to nudism - the interest in living life, and engaging in normal activities, without clothes. Yet I have enough experience with how nudist communities respond to expressions of these kinds of fantasies - with criticism, revulsion, and ostracism - to know no kinship will be found there.* People like myself are readily labeled exhibitionists, and while that may not be completely untrue, neither is that a community with which I find fraternity. The lack of sexual motive. The effort to which I want to avoid being exposed. Not to mention the unfair (and unfairly cruel) stereotypes which are used to classify exhibitionists as subhuman, not worthy of understanding, much less sympathy.

*(I mean, if anyone should be sympathetic to a person who holds a fascination for nudity, it should be the nudist community. But they're so preoccupied with courting normalcy and presenting a good face to the world, that they spurn you and make you feel even more isolated and unwanted. I understand the importance of socio-political strategizing, but it goes beyond that. You'd think a minority would be more understanding of what other minorities go through, but instead, they swallow the mainstream kool-aid and belch it back even louder in your face because they're so insecure about fitting in themselves.)

Where, then, does that leave me? I'm okay with being labeled eccentric. An outlier. But human society demands categorization. I want to be understood. Not treated as something I'm not, just because most people can't distinguish the difference. Above all, I want to be convinced that I'm not a monster. It's not enough that I don't believe I am. I could be delusional. I have to explain my case in the hope that others can see me, and come to the same conclusion. To know that I'm not insane. But how can you rest your sense of self-worth on the judgment of others who can't possibly know your experiences and motives as well as you do, and may not even have the interest or the capacity to care? It's a cruel fate. But therein I lay trapped.

How do you extend a hand in compromise, toward a society that would simply prefer you didn't exist? To reach out for help, from someone who wants to stamp you out? And what's the alternative? Crawling around in the shadows, wallowing in loathing and self-pity? What kind of a way is that to live? Or should I prove their worst nightmares true, for lack of a better outlet? Become the monster they've fated me to be. And why do I keep torturing myself by expecting reason, let alone compassion, from the human race? There's no order. There's no justice. There's no meaning. I want certainty. I want protection. I want peace of mind. And it's not forthcoming. I just can't seem to come to grips with the fundamental chaos of living. And I can't even say these things to the people that need to hear them, for fear of what it would do to my reputation...

I have to acknowledge the possibility that I could be somebody's worst nightmare - imagine, walking into a public restroom and what you find is a naked person holding a camera (although this should be dreadfully obvious from context, I feel compelled to say it because people are idiots - the camera's not there to take pictures of you, it's there to take pictures of me). Especially - and I am loath to say this, but - if they have the "wrong" anatomy (because a penis is really just a type of horn, that proves men's fundamentally demonic nature). I mean, if that's your worst nightmare, I envy your charmed life, but that's beside the point. What's also beside the point is the fact that if I encountered such a person - a person just like me, who is as conscientious of others, as well as committed to the artistry of beauty (and not simply looking to get a kick out of breaking a sexual taboo, all other concerns aside), it would be a dream come true! I can only imagine what could come from a collaboration between two such bodies and minds in sync. Maybe that's reason enough, from the perspective of the masses, to never let such a thing happen.

But why should some of my greatest fantasies of happiness be things I'm not even allowed to want? Is two beautiful people running around naked in public really so horrible a thing? I don't know why this concept intrigues me so. I wonder how much different my life would be if I had normal, un-controversial passions. I'm sorry I wasn't born conventional, like you. I wish I had been. My life would be a lot easier. But I wasn't. Does that mean I don't deserve to live? And if I do, does it mean I don't deserve to be happy? If the world is constructed in such a way that naked beauty cannot appear without being an obstruction to the normal functioning of society, then I want to live in a different world. A world where that kind of thing can happen. And does happen. And I can be a part of it. What's the point of a life lived in misery because you can't have the things you want most? Tell me, how is this thing that I want a threat to the well-being of others? Nothing about my desires depends on the suffering of others. The existence of nudism proves that it is not a foregone conclusion. Our culture is just pre-disposed to interpret what I find beautiful as threatening. Yet it won't recognize that in indulging its neuroses, it is torturing me. Why is their peace of mind more valuable than mine, and my agony less of a concern?

The only resolution to this conflict of interests is either to strip the part of me that enjoys nudity from the core of my being, or to change society to view the human body in a more positive light. (Would that be so odious an adjustment to make?). But as monolithic an endeavor as the latter would assuredly be, it still seems more possible to me than accomplishing the former. Alas, there shall be no resolution. And if I must suffer continuously through all the days of my life, what's it to anyone if, every once in a while, somebody has to suffer in some very small part because I took too daring a risk one too many times? The shit I see humans doing - and getting away with, without remorse, or even reflection - and I have to sit here with this wretched conscience telling me I'm scum because I can't be happy without doing something that might upset someone somewhere sometime. It really is true that evil prevails because good must follow the rules. I wish I could take a pill to stop caring. To shut off my conscience. Why can't I just be content to be human, with all its incumbent flaws, without having to beat myself up because I'm not a perfect angel?