Co-Worers Go to a Spa

It's not often that you see your co-workers in the nude. But once you do, it changes things. The relationship is different after you've been naked together. No one's body is perfect. Everyone could be more muscular, lose some weight, or is not as shapely as Barbie or her boyfriend Ken. The purpose of clothes (after serving to keep you warm) is to either reveal or camouflage the body. Highlight the good, conceal the bad. When clothes are gone, the pretense is gone too.

That brings me to the day last month when the entire office staff at my employer, about 12 of us, gathered for our annual award ceremony. Congratulations and bonuses are handed out. Our boss is a big proponent of corporate bonding, so after the annual ceremony, the employees go out for a night's celebration. In past years, we've gone to restaurants, to bars, to a baseball game, the zoo, even to a museum. This year the boss announced that we'd all go to a spa.

"They offer a special group bonding experience," Eddie, our boss, said. "We'll be pampered with a sauna, hot tub, a pool and even a massage."

It sounded great, and people brought a change of clothes and bathing suits. What our CEO didn't know was that the spa had a policy on Thursday evenings. It was a clothing-free night.

We had the award ceremony in our conference room. A light meal was served, along with drinks. No one was intoxicated, but the alcohol flowed freely, and made everyone mellow. I won't attribute everything to alcohol, but I know it was part of the story.

When we arrived at the spa, we were all given plush robes. The pleasant woman at the reception desk instructed us.

"Ladies, please go to the locker room to the right, gentlemen to the one on the left. Please remove your clothes and don the robes. Remove all clothes, even underwear. As you know, Thursday is our clothing-free day. Attendants will direct you where to go afterwards."

There was surprise at this, and consternation, especially among some of the women. But the separate locker rooms for the sexes suggested that we'd be separated by sex later on. Everyone has undressed with the same sex in health club locker rooms, or even back in gym class at school, so despite some misgivings, everyone went to the lockers.

When we had stripped and donned the robes, the attendants shepherded us -- all of us -- to the spa's large pool. We weren't the only group there that night and others were inside, swimming laps, some diving from low diving boards, or lounging on chaises by the pool. Men and women. All nude.

A few women gasped. Our boss, Eddie, was wide-eyed. He had no idea what he had gotten us into. I think he was unwilling to acknowledge that he had made a blunder. So, he pretended that this was no big deal.

"We're all adults," he said. "The human body is no secret to any of us. We're here for a great evening. We have to follow the house rules. I'll go first."

With that, he shucked the robe. Now Eddie is in decent shape for a middle-aged man, but his stomach is a little bigger than he'd like. And in the coolness of the pool, his genitals perhaps were a little smaller than he'd like. But he held his chin high, walked to the water and dived in.

His lead left the rest of us in a quandary. After the boss has said this is no big deal, how could we behave otherwise? Most of the guys dropped their robes and went to the pool. But no woman did.

It was becoming awkward. Finally, Priscilla, our young, well-shaped millennial secretary, became the first.

"WFT," she said. And she disrobed. She walked to one of the chaises and lay down. A redhead, she had nicely trimmed, definitely red, pubic hair. Her full breasts completed the package. The other ladies were watching the men, to see how they'd react. I know my head was spinning but I've had enough sexual harassment training not to display it. The ladies looked at each other. Slowly, one by one, they joined in. Until Sarah, our 60-something bookkeeper, was the only female still clothed. The other men had disrobed, so she and I were the only ones left. I felt bad for Sarah. Two children and time had conspired to turn her body into a shape that needed clothes.

I've always had a good relationship with her. I consider us friends. I went to her.

"Sarah, how often in life do we get the chance to do something absolutely crazy? I guarantee you'll talk about this the rest of your life. When in Rome..."

And I removed my robe. Facing her, not concealing my penis and testicles, I took her hand. "Come with me into the water."

And she let go of the robe and did.

Now, it's a funny thing about nudity. It's the biggest deal in the world, until it isn't. When everyone is nude, it becomes the norm. Yes, we all look at everyone's body, and take note. But the shock that the glimpse of a breast, or heaven forbid, a penis, normally brings, quickly dissipates.

We swam, talked, laughed, and enjoyed each other's company, as if nothing was unusual. A few playfully splashed water on others, causing them to flee, their flesh jiggling from the sudden movements. We sat on benches in the hot tub, the women's breasts floating on the chest-high water. A few boldly positioned themselves by the nozzles spraying jets of warm water, letting it hit them in the groin area.

After a while, it was time to go into the saunas. We were given towels upon entering, but most used them to sit on, not to conceal. Men and women lay out on the benches, their sex on display. I stared at the vagina of my secretary; she took note of my penis. And it was okay.

Most of the staff is either married, or in steady relationships. It had been a long time since any of us were naked with anyone else of the opposite sex. It was freeing. It was natural. And it made us comrades with a shared secret (we damn well weren't going to mention this when we got home tonight.)

An attendant gathered us together, as it was time for our scheduled massages. The massage area is a large space with multiple tables. There are curtains that can be drawn to separate them into somewhat private compartments. But for group events like us, the curtains are not drawn. The massage is considered part of the bonding experience, as everyone can see each other -- and hear the gentle sound and moans that emanate from the pleasurable sensations of flesh on flesh.

I lay on one of the tables. A lovely masseuse sprinkled warm massage oil on my back, and with firm fingers, began to knead the skin. She worked the muscles. I felt her move down the spine, toward my backside. She used her thumbs to press into the buttocks and then separated my legs to rub down the inside of the thighs. I felt my penis begin to stir, but as I was face down, it wasn't a problem. Yet. I shifted to allow it room to be comfortable and felt it growing beneath me. With my head happily resting on a pillow, I could see others to my right and left. I watched the squashed breasts of the lady in HR to my left, lying on her stomach. And knew in time she'd be turning over. While familiarity causes nudity to lose its shock, you never lose the desire to look.

When the masseuse motioned for me to turn over, I realized my little problem was going to cause some awkwardness.

"Eh, could you get me a small towel?" I asked her. "I'd like to cover my front."

She smiled. I don't think this is the first time this has happened.

"Here you go," she said, handing me a towel. I turned over and draped the towel over my erect member. It covered me but it was a tent. Oh God. Most of my co-workers were either face down or face up, so not everyone saw. But someone did. I heard a gasp and then a chuckle. Sarah.

I looked over at her and put my finger over my mouth in a "be quiet" motion. She smiled and winked. Thank God we're friends.

When the massages were completed, everyone gathered at the spa's bar for a farewell drink. We were still naked and it did not matter.

Eddie looked at all of his happy employees and said he didn't think we'd ever go to the zoo or a museum again for our award night-out.

He's right. We've already booked the spa for our annual Christmas party. On a Thursday.