On Saturday, he hosted a party for a nudist group called Barely Social. His property is sufficiently private that one can walk around in the all together without offending the neighbors if one keeps to the front third of the property (where the house, pool, and hot tub are). His housemate, Alan, and I helped him get the place ready Saturday morning, and people started arriving around noon. We had close to twenty at the height of things, which was around 5 PM. There was barbeque, fresh fruit, silly swimming antics, and massage, and some of the men took advantage of the pool house for more intimate and private activities.
The only dud was the hot tub, which had reached a steaming 112 degrees Friday night, but refused to warm up at all Saturday evening. After most of the people went home, about ten of us decided to turn the remainder of the evening into a slumber party, and we piled onto mattresses, futons, and assorted beds and sleeping bags throughout the house. It was pleasant, fraternal, and very relaxing. The following morning, some of the guys fixed us all a fabulous breakfast of omlettes and cubed melons. The party finally broke up for good around 3 PM Sunday afternoon.
I must confess I nearly fell in love over the weekend. There was this stunningly handsome Hispanic chap named Richard who gave me the most delightful amount of attention (though not, to be perfectly objective, his complete attention, nor even his most attentive attention, which was more focused on Alan and an extremely well-built Iranian-American named, somewhat improbably, Bob). I hope to see him again and see if there are flames behind those sparks. If not, well, smoke also has its sultry charms, so long as you don't try to keep yourself warm with it.
I almost always enjoy myself at Barry's. It's restful, the gardens and fountains encourage a kind of serenity, and the pool and hot tub relax my muscles after a tedious week at the office. But there is a rather odd dynamic amongst the three of us while I'm there. Barry is very interested in me. Alan is very interested in Barry. I'm somewhat interested in them both, but not as a lover. Barry has a kind of maternal impulse toward Alan, but not a sexual one. Alan likes me as a friend and a person to talk to about Buddhism, high-tech careers, and psychology, but is otherwise disinterested. When Barry focuses his (often sexually intense) energy on me, Alan becomes withdrawn. Out of concern for him, then, Barry's interactions with me are sometimes less than spontaneous, and sometimes downright surreptitious. This makes me very uncomfortable. It's behavior based on a fiction, and it's demeaning. At least one of my friends has urged me to abandon the whole tangled triangle, but I like these guys a lot and want to count them among my friends.
I resolved some of the tension this weekend by talking directly to Alan. I asked him if my interest in Barry (and, implicitly, Barry's interest in me) made him uncomfortable. He confessed that he hadn't yet figured out what kind of relationship he and Barry have, so although there was some discomfort, he was feeling less and less basis for it. "I know we're not going to be lovers," he said. Barry still seems to need to uphold his end of the fiction, though, perhaps because it fulfills his need for taking care of someone through self-denial, a pattern he says he is working hard to break.
I, too, am looking for patterns to break. This entire summer has been an attempt to bend, stretch, explore, and generally raise the temperature of my psychological equilibrium. I am interested in seeing what new states I settle into.