I never thought I’d get undressed in front of a pool full of people, let alone in the Ozarks of Arkansas. But it’s a testament to both the come-as-you-are queerness of Eureka Springs, as well as how comfortable I’ve become in my skin, that led to my first clothing-optional gay resort — and one of the most affirming experiences of my life.
Growing up a shy, closeted gay kid, I thought clothing-optional resorts were just taboo bastions of bacchanalia, best reserved for fantasies. This was a time of prude naivety, when I assumed these places were nothing but horny debauchery. But I’ve come a long way in terms of owning my sexuality, exploring a wider worldview of queer culture and my own bodily acceptance — no small feat for someone who suffered a near-deadly eating disorder, followed by years of dysmorphia. It’s that instability that kept me from taking off my shirt in public or even going to the beach, lest someone make a comment or express concern.
This was all coupled with a neurotic approach to any place even remotely gay-centric, simultaneously because of that anxiety and the fact that I had been married to someone who I didn’t feel comfortable with in these settings. But a lot can change when you’re in a happy, healthy relationship, and since getting remarried to a man who makes me feel valued inside and out, I’ve settled into myself in ways I never thought possible. Case in point: here we were, at an all-male resort in Northwest Arkansas, wearing nothing but rainbow sunglasses.
We were at Magnetic Valley, a surprisingly tranquil oasis reserved for men — gay, straight, bi and everyone in-between. I had been to Eureka Springs a few times before, but those trips were always clothed. This time, aptly at the tail end of Pride Month, we were ready to take a new plunge.
The resort, open since 2008, is tucked on the outskirts of town, ironically a stone’s throw from the Christ of the Ozarks statue. Although we weren’t staying at Magnetic Valley, the resort — which consists of RV sites, a hostel, suites and a “Dudeplex” — offers daily passes for its heated salt water pool and hot tub on a manicured sundeck set against a hillside with a trickling waterfall. The whole vibe was pleasantly serene, and a far cry from the clubby pools and parties I’ve visited elsewhere. It was also endearingly friendly and un-intimidating, as we were warmly greeted with pool passes and welcomed by various men floating in the water and lounging in the sun.
Admittedly, getting undressed on a pool deck on full display is not the most comfortable feeling at first, but the atmosphere was palpably reassuring. Plus, the fact that everyone else was in the same boat helps. As my husband and I waded into the pool, fellow guests introduced themselves and welcomed us warmly. There was no bacchanalia or debauchery because everyone in attendance is respectful and mature enough to separate nudity from sex. Also, the latter is not permitted in public spaces.
What’s Old Is New Again in New Hampshire
The unexpected thrill of rediscovering a home after 20 years awayWe wound up visiting Magnetic Valley two afternoons in a row, and I learned a lot about the experience and myself. For starters, the big thing is that most men are respectful and non-judgmental. In fact, these were some of the most genuinely friendly folks I’ve ever talked to, nude or otherwise. It’s clear that everyone is comfortable and encouraging of others to find their own sense of self, at their own pace. I say “most” because as I entered the pool at one point, someone told me I looked super skinny and probed further by asking how much I weighed. When I awkwardly gave him an estimated answer (because I haven’t weighed myself in 18 years), he told me I looked thinner than that. An earlier version of myself probably would have been dismantled by such comments, considering how triggering that topic was for so long. But here and now, it washed right over me. Everyone else, meanwhile, kept chitchat friendly, asking us where we were from, what we thought of Eureka Springs and if we had been to any clothing-optional gay resorts. Many, it seemed, were regulars, bobbing in the water as they conversed in small groups. It was like a gay, naked Cheers.
That camaraderie was front-and-center when, on the second day, a man I didn’t recognize came up behind my husband as we were checking in and hugged him. “Uh oh,” I thought. “Here comes the debauchery.” He turned out to be a friend of my husband’s from Missouri, in Eureka for the weekend, and this was the first time I had ever shaken hands with someone while naked. Just like everyone else there, he was affable and respectful, and the mutual nudity was a complete non-issue nor distraction. In the pool, we had a dignified conversation about our jobs and our partners, and he told me he got an immediate sense of authenticity when he met me. He probably didn’t realize how much that meant to me, as someone who has struggled for so many years but has come to take great pride in my individuality.
Authenticity is not an easy thing to teach or adopt, and I’ve flailed and relapsed on the road to finding it, but it’s something that guides me in everything I do. Having spent years hiding myself under layers, in fear that my ribs were too visible or my arms too lanky, it felt momentous to be here at all, let alone happily undressed in a pool full of strangers.
My husband and I are unabashed in our expansive approach to queer culture. There’s a time and a place for a gay bar, a drag brunch, a nightclub and a bathhouse. Bacchanalia and debauchery can be fun, healthy means of sexual expression. But we also find great value in tapping into queer culture in other ways, even ways that might be unnerving at first, and there’s something special about a shared human experience like that at Magnetic Valley. I learned a lot about myself and how far I’ve come, but I also discovered a new facet of my greater community — one that revealed yet another aspect of queer life beyond the bounds of gayborhoods or bars.
Amidst consenting adults, there’s nothing taboo about nudity. And for me, after years of shame, stripping down to the barest basics was one of the most gratifying experiences of my life.
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