I’m of the life philosophy that if I have an opportunity to do something new and different, and that it isn’t likely to cause me harm or harm anyone else, then I should probably take that opportunity and live that experience.
That’s why, when I saw something online about naked yoga in Venice, I had to jump at it. I’m not much into yoga, but I am into weird, so this had my name all over it.
I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I had big hopes.
Warning: before reading further, please know that this story is about to get weird. I don’t want complaints…
You’ve been warned…
There were eleven students in all. There were six girls, and including myself, five guys. The first thing I noticed was our teacher was exactly what you’d want out of a naked yoga instructor. I mean, when Jesus invented naked yoga in the hot desserts of Israel, this was the woman he knew he’d chosen to build his naked yoga church upon. I was completely prepared to quit my job, leave my family, and embark on a life-long commitment of praying to her beautiful temples.
Let me dial back the sexual innuendo a bit, because, if I’m being honest, it turns out that naked yoga is pretty fucking far from sexual.
After the fit teacher, the second thing I noticed was that, for a 44-year-old man, my testicles were in much better shape than most. Well, at least in better shape than this group of naked misfits. Looking at naked dudes doesn’t bother me. Naked dudes looking at me doesn’t bother me. I’m very comfortable with nudity and have never really understood why people get so hung up on it. That said, no man should ever have to see another man’s testicles splayed out on the floor below him when he’s aggressively attempting a deep haunuman split.
Also, I wouldn’t have believed you if you suggested it before this class, but I learned that it’s very possible to see too much of a girl’s vagina.
More about that later… Moving on.
Our brave yogi leader started the class by acknowledging the awkwardness of the nudity and explained how the class was designed to help us get comfortable and confident with our naked bodies.
Then she mentioned how, very often, someone in the class will become aroused and that, when that happens, we should just go on about our practice and not make an issue with it.
Okay then. I knew random boner guy wouldn’t be me. The mere suggestion of the phenomina and subsequent humiliation that would come along with sporting wood in front of everyone was so embarrasing to me that my penis immediately tried to crawl back up into my body to hide.
I guess I wasn’t as body confident and comfortable as I had thought.
I’m a married man, so it’s not like I was in there trying to make some magic happen, but I really hoped nobody noticed the fact that my penis was turtle shelling and my face was as pink as the… well, let’s just move on.
We went into some deep breathing and then began some sun salutations. A sun salutation starts with a breath, then mountain pose, then uttansana flat back, moving on into a plank, into a chaturanga dandasanda, into a cobra, then downward facing dog, a step into a forward bend, and then return to start position to start over.
If you aren’t familiar with those names, don’t feel bad, I’m not either. Basically, you reach for the sky, then touch the ground, move into a serpent pose, and then you present your butt high in the air while keeping your feet and hands on the ground. Anyone with a Pornhub account knows exactly what this looks lik. They call that downward facing dog. In my home, we call that Saturday night with the kids away at a sleep-over.
Anyway, It’s a nice way to get warmed up… when you have clothes on.
But when your dingle dangle is jangling all out and free, as you move from a low plank into a serpent position, you get some quality friction on the ribbed yoga mat, which, combined with the blood flow thats going through your warming body, combined with the nearly perfect tokus of the sun-stained surf hippie who’s in downward dog about 36 inches from your 3 o’lock, and you have pretty much the right ingredients to get your shy little turtle guy to come out of his shell.
At any rate, we did the sun salutations for about ten or fifteen minutes and it achieved exactly what it was supposed to do; it completely emptied my head and put me into my own little yoga zen mode. I might as well been in that room alone, I was immersed in my practice, and completely lost in the buzz of euphoric serotonin blasts.
Not for one second did I lose myself in that class. I was doing naked yoga with ten other naked people, and that, along with the stench of sweaty naked bits, was overpowering whatever it is that yoga is supposed to accomplish for ones peace of mind.
I don’t know what the rest of the poses were that we did in the class. I honestly can’t remember. The situation was so odd that I wasn’t really able to pay attention to the instruction, and instead I tried to use most of my powers of concentration to not stare at the other people.
Or at least to not get caught staring at them.
So, about the other people; the class was a mixed bag. As mentioned, there was the teacher, hand-picked by Jesus himself. There was the sun-stained surfer/hippie girl, whom I noticed had very long and very blonde armpit hairs.
That was probably the least unusual thing about anyone in the class. If I’m being honest, she was the most normal of all the students. Myself included.
One of the girls wasn’t really a girl at all, but more like an old-lady… probably sixty-five or seventy, but maybe ninety; hard to say. Her skin was a rich leathery brown, her old lady boobs looked like the kind of old worn-out sweatsocks that Larry Bird would’ve worn in 1985, except that these sweatsocks were being stretched to their limits by two gigantic softballs that were hanging in the ends of them. Actually, one sock had a softball and one had only a baseball.
There was a pregnant lady, and she wasn’t, like, two months pregnant, we’re talking 3rd trimester pregnant, deep into it, possibly in class with the hope of giving birth to her weird hippie baby right in the middle of naked yoga in Venice. There was a guy that looked to also be in his third trimester that appeared to be with her, but it’s possible that he was just a fat guy that was flirting with her. It’s also possible that he was actually in his 3rd trimester. I mean, we are talking about Venice California here.
There was a black girl who was legitimately the darkest person I’d ever seen. She stood at least 6’5” and had to be 200 pounds. If we lost power in that room, she would be invisible and she could take us all out in mere seconds. I wondered if that was her master plan. She’d been sent by the Westboro Baptist Church to assassinate the sinners. That said, she didn’t have an ounce of fat on her. She looked like a vampire from Blade that had come up against Wesley Snipes, killed him, sucked out all his blood, absorbing his skin pigment, and doubling her size in the process. In this day and age of political correctness, I don’t want to use the descriptor “Amazonian,” but I honestly can’t think of a better descriptive word for her. I dunno… maybe we could go with intergalactic superhero from planet SRC-32. Other than our teacher (hand-picked by Jesus) she was the most attractive person in the class.
There was a beautiful Asian girl with skin that looked like she had had been bathing herself in coco butter since birth, she had soft subtle breasts, and long flowing perfect Asian hair that almost always angers black and white girls. It angers them so much that they eventually run out and buy it for their own heads. Then, next to her, by contrast, another beautiful Asian girl, but this one with dreadlocks, and armpit hair. Exactly thirty-three percent of the female students of this class had armpit hair.
Not surprising at all.
The surfer/hippie blonde with armpit hair didn’t surprise me one bit, but the Asian with the armpit hair threw me off. She was more awkward than the pregnant woman and the pregnant dude that was hitting on her.
And it got worse than that.
While sitting in sukasana, with her bare buttocks on her sweaty rubbery yoga mat, this pitted Asian girl farted.
And it was loud.
This fart sounded exactly like it sounds when my 7-year-old tries to fake a gross fart noise with his mouth.
And it smelled.
It smelled the way you would expect a fart to smell coming from a girl with armpit hair.
Like old dates and boiled asparagus with a subtle hint of patchouli.
Now, the teacher had warned us how to behave if anyone happened to get “excited” (and someone did; I’ll get to that later); however, she didn’t give us advanced instructions on how to handle it when an attractive Asian with armpit hair and dreadlocks farts out of her bare buttocks onto her moist rubbery yoga mat when she’s three feet away from you on your left side.
So, not being properly educated on the do’s and don’t’s of naked yoga farts, I did what I always do when someone farts in public. First, I laughed, and then I said “not it.”
There was an old man with a giant, dense gray man bush that completely hid what was most likely a micro-penis and he also caught the giggles. I felt the entire class was about to share a special moment and bond over this beautiful fart when Jesus’ little helper stepped in to ruin our fun.
“Making air is normal and natural and healthy. It’s the body trying to cleanse itself of toxins.”
“Yeah, and now we all might have toxic shock,” I thought to myself.
The old man to my right with the giant gray old man bush stood up at this point and said, “this is weird. I’m leaving.”
And then he left.
He was right, it was weird. If you came to see some sexy naked girls, you’d be better off going to Bare Elegance or something like that. If you came for the exercise, you’d be better off going to clothed yoga, or, as the rest of the world calls it- yoga. The only reason in the world to come to naked yoga was to experience of the complete weirdness of it, so I don’t know why he stated this in such a way as to suggest that the weirdness had surprised him. I mean, what was this old man thinking? He’d come to naked yoga, impress some young 22-year-old Asian with armpit hair by the amount of bend in his hips during his downward dog? That she’d be wowed by his micro penis, leave with him, and they’d spend the rest of his short life making love in his dirty studio apartment in Venice?
Yes brother, it’s weird! That’s the whole point.
At any rate, I thank that old man for laughing with me so that I wasn’t the only one, and I also thank him for his micro-penis. It made me feel much better about my situation. I mean, I think he had a micro-penis buried somewhere in that gray fur disaster, but I couldn’t actually see anything through that dense forrest of depression and I didn’t have a weed whacker handy, so I’ll never know for sure.
The forth guy in our class obviously came just to show off, during halasana (a pose in which you lie on your back and put your legs up over your head) he was not too shy about the fact that his little buddy was kissing his collar bone. The fifth guy, who, unfortunately had his yoga mat right next to halasana man barely had enough penis weight for it to even hang in the downward position when doing halasana. One of them was black and one was Asian, but I’m not going to say who was who because we don’t do racial stereotypes here; it’s not that kind of story.
During the final sequence of the class is when I made the executive decision that it is possible to see too much of a vagina. I mean, with third trimester lady directly in front of me, I saw more than I’ve seen of a woman’s vagina since The Bride gave birth to our second son.
The guy with the pregnancy fetish started getting wood. He had a solid 50% boner and was on his way to 75%. It was way more awkward than was armpit hair farter. If he gained another 10% in volume, he was going to eclipse me.
That shouldn’t have mattered to me, but shit, I’m competitive, so I couldn’t let that happen. I tried working up a twenty percenter. I didn’t want to sport anything serious; I just wanted one of those first stagers that sort of takes the wrinkles out of the little fella. I mean, there was nothing erotic about this class, but my competitive inner male monkey was starting to surface and take over. I knew I stood no chance against halasana collar-bone dick dude, but I was clearly the favorite to come in second place, and I had to think that counted for something. Anyway, I just couldn’t get anything working, nothing. And pregnancy perv totally got to about 75%, which put me in 3rd place, and now that micro-peni old man was gone, I was 3rd out of 4. I would’ve expected that to bum me out, but honestly, it didn’t. I was too busy being completely creeped out by the fact that this dude was getting erect, right in front of all of us, at the sight of 3rd trimester bent over in a downward dog, and he didn’t even seem to care in the slightest that we were all clearly judging him for his weird pregnancy fetish boner. I’ll never know for sure if the girl was with him or not, but I’m guessing not because when she caught a glimpse of his 75%er, she picked up her mat and left the class.
I won’t criticize her like I did the old man. I mean, there is such a thing as “too weird” and this guy went there.
I’m just wondering what the hell would lead a pregnant woman to go to a naked yoga class in the first place?
I won’t speculate. That only ever gets me in trouble. Let’s just say I found it odd.
Anyway, look, The Dad is here to do naked yoga and other kinds of things for your entertainment purposes. I do things, much of the time, just for the sake of doing them, living life, and coming out of it with a story. Some of the time, these things are amazing and I highly recommend them.
And some of the time, these things aren’t worth much. They turn out to be nothing more than an Asian hippie dropping a wet fart bomb followed by a pervo with a pregnancy fetish sporting wood, and I’ve taken the bullet for you.
I do not recommend naked yoga. Unless you really want to see a real life micro-penis or you have the desire to see what a baby’s head looks like while it’s still in utero, or unless you just want the experience for the experience, there’s not much to be gained from naked yoga. If nudity is your thing, skip it, grab some beers, spend a day on a nude beach playing volleyball. If your not into nudity, then skip the nude beach and just go play some volleyball.
Either way, thumbs down on naked yoga.
But it does get a 9.5 out of 10 on the weird scale, and that’s worth something.