There I stood — naked, in a field, desperately trying to balance on one leg.
All the time wondering whether my vagina was getting sunburnt. I, however, am into weird shit. Still, you may argue that most people go to Glastonbury without finding themselves naked in public. Now, before I go any further, let me get a few things straight — because whenever I share this story inevitably after a few too many glasses of wineI am always asked the same four things. With women and men. No, not even underwear. This was, in part, because I had just stripped off all my clothes in front of 30 strangers without the help of alcohol, but could also be attributed to the fact that I quite quickly found myself rubbing a naked man with suncream.
This turn of events would have been less awkward had he not been enthusiastically slathering his penis at the same time. Or at least I hoped that was what he was doing, considering the rapid arm movements and presence of white liquid….
His name was Steve. He came to Glastonbury, he informed me, for the sole purpose of getting his kit off and therefore spent most of his time within the confines of the nudist section. Not sure whether this was a testicle-themed euphemism or whether he really did fancy a fruity snack, I politely declined. But while Steve may have been doing his bit to keep the stereotype alive, the rest of the crowd was a surprising mix, looking, on the whole, much less likely to be legally required to stay away from playgrounds.
In fact, the age range and levels of attractiveness were arguably as varied as the shape and size of the genitals on display. Despite the presence of the 6"3 lumbersexual, or maybe because of it, I still hoped we would be arranging ourselves into a civilised circle.
This was, I had deducted, the only way to avoid direct eye-to-bumhole contact. Whichever comes first. I thought we would get ourselves into a lotus position, have a little stretch in the sun and then maybe do a spot of chanting to finish. After which, I could congratulate myself Naked yoga downward dog being such a free spirit, head back to my tent and down a bottle of vodka to settle my nerves.
This was not the case. Within minutes I was in something resembling a hetand, reluctantly following commands to spread my legs. This particular instructor, it turns out, practised a hands-on teaching style. My body, however, has been trained over the years to protect me from both exercise and creeping hands, as if they posed the same level of threat.
And she was combining the two. I instinctively held firm. My thighs became rock. She was, inches away from owing me dinner and leaving me wondering why she never called. Because, if this was the case, this would have been the point of revelation.
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Remember that line from the Baz Lurhman song? Well, Baz had no fucking idea how right he was. Here I was, worrying about what she could see, and the whole time the real threat was staring me directly in the face. By which, I, of course, mean, HER vagina. If there has ever been a perfect example of a fight or flight situation in my life, this was it.
Nude partner yoga: downward dog
Or, I could realise that it was just a pussy, not the eye of Sauron, and the simple fact that it was staring straight at me, was not a reason to lose my shit. I chose the latter, and do you know what happened?!
I did not, as ly expected, faint, go into anaphylactic shock or turn to stone. Because I had faced my fears.
So, I started to relax. In fact, I even started to enjoy myself. Ok, ok. I fucking loved it. What can I say?! I told you I was into weird shit. Maybe it was post-Vaginapocalypse adrenaline or maybe it was all the blood rushing to my head after being upside down for so long, but I felt great.
I might not have been as supple as the middle-aged bloke next to me, who frankly, was showing off — in both the flexibility and the non trouser department. But I was liberated and free. I began totting up how much money I could save on clothes if I were to do this nudist shit full time.
I mean, sure, your waxing bill is probably going to go up a bit — but maybe I could do a Gwyneth and forgo that as well.
Sabina rouge downward dog nude yoga
It would provide an extra layer of protection against Steve, at least. But whether it was to become a lifestyle or not, I realised, above all else, that there were much scarier things in the world than getting your bits out in front of strangers. That is until I was embraced in a sweaty, sticky, naked hug by Steve. in. Lottie Coltman Follow. Be Yourself Don't instruct, share.
Be Yourself Follow. Don't instruct, share. Written by Lottie Coltman Follow. More From Medium.
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