Recently, I attended a mixed gathering of naturists and clothesies. It was a new experience for me, and not researchable in any of the better known books of etiquette.

At such affairs, I will always be one of the clothed persons; there are too few occasions for dresses anymore, with real stockings and painful heels. It had been hinted by our hostess when the invitation arrived that certain guests might attend au naturel (French for "oh, naked") so I can't say I was surprised to be greeted at the door by a polite buck-nekkid gentleman to whom I had not been introduced and whose name I never heard, so diligent was my concentration on every element of his exposed anatomy between chin and hairline.

Eyes: two. Birthmark at upper lip. Hand extended in greeting. Glance down quickly, locate hand, look up without lingering on tattoo. A tattoo, down there?  Yikes. That had to sting. Check own face for nonchalant expression. 

No, surprised is not the word. Embarrassed. Stammering. Unsophisticated. I felt all of those things. And I am not, damn it! I have been around. I am a woman of a certain age whose college roommates took turns reading aloud from Penthouse Letters while we did our nails. I like the human body and its working components. But I blushed like a prude when I arrived at that party, and I felt like an idiot. Albeit an idiot in fabulous shoes.

Later, I would enjoy the company of guests with and without clothing, most of whom were not naturists and got naked in stages. I grew comfortable enough to return a farewell hug, almost, with only the smallest shift of the hips to one side so as to avoid blatant contact. I declined to add my autograph to an expanse of pale buttock, nor did I particularly wish to handle the proferred pen for reasons of hygiene. But I think I hid my discomfort rather well. I am left with two concerns.

A question:

When engaged in one-on-one conversation with a naturist, where is the clothed person supposed to look? (There is only so much eye contact anyone can sustain without a downward glance. Tattoos below the waist are a game changer.)

A request:

When there is buffet dining, might it be prudent for the naked guest to hold a large napkin or small towel at waist-height? Failing that, if you must lean across one dish to reach another, please be cognizant of the placement of your dangling john-thomas vis a vis the food. I won't sneeze on your sausage balls if you won't brush your genitalia across my snickerdoodles.