By Tim Seelig—
Warning: If you are offended by nakedness, move on.
Over these ten-plus years of writing a column for the Bay Times, I feel we have gotten to know each other. Each month, our relationship deepens. I hope it has been as good for you as it has been for me. Sometimes, when articles come out, I can almost hear you say, “Amen up in there.” Even though you haven’t sent cards or flowers, I want you to know I don’t hold that against you. Our friendship is beyond that. We have shared my joys and sorrows, aches and pains. It is because of our closeness that I feel I can share this story.
It is always a thrill for me to see one of my husband Bobby’s 80 or so concerts a year. He’s good. Eight years ago, just before we crashed headlong into each other’s lives, Bobby performed at a huge naturist gathering. They’ve been trying to get him back. It worked out for this summer, and he asked me to join him.
Some of you can’t imagine there would be a question whether I would go. You are either new here or haven’t been paying attention. You certainly didn’t grow up in my house. We were reminded often that our bodies were the Temple of the Lord. That’s why we didn’t have candy lying around the house. It was made very clear that our temple was private. That temple could also betray you and lead you right down the slippery slope of sin, so you needed to keep it wrapped up. Maybe even a blindfold was needed.
Little Tim and his brother Steve were never unclothed or unchurched. We had little Baptist bathrobes for trips to and from the bathroom. It was a cardinal sin to come to the dinner table without a shirt—even outdoors for a summer picnic. No one in the family ever saw others’ family jewels. I was absolutely horrified when 10th-grade P.E. included a shower. That’s a special level of hell.
Fast-forward 50-plus years, and my husband was inviting me to attend a gathering of 500 naked men, called GNI (Gay Naturists International). You can imagine this brought up some stuff like a plunger on a severely stopped-up toilet. I worked with my therapist. I asked her if it might help if I was naked for my Zoom appointment. She declined. Finally, with a forced, teeth-gritted smile, I said, “Of course, dear, I’d love nothing better.” It was the same smile he gave me when I asked him to jump out of a plane last year. [Editor’s note: They literally did, during a skydiving adventure chronicled in an earlier article.]
Plans were made. I packed the smallest suitcase of my life: sandals, a sarong, and sunscreen. The camp is up in the Poconos. We walked into camp, and our host was looking for us. He was naked (of course). I made sure to hold his gaze—“eyes up here.” He checked us into our room. We stripped down, and, wearing only sunscreen, we ventured into one of the most beautiful camps I’ve ever seen: cabins, two swimming pools, a lake, forests, woodland creatures. It was idyllic. It was time for the Mr. Bare Bear contest down by the pool, so off we went. I was determined not to be naked and afraid.
In two or three minutes, I was just another naked person laughing at the antics and feeling completely comfortable. I didn’t recognize myself. I felt instantly at home. Now, I know what you are thinking: back to that debauchery and sin I was warned about when I was probably 5 years old. It wasn’t that. You know the difference between naked and nekkid? Naked is being without clothes. Nekkid is being without clothes and up to something. These men were simply naked. There are some designated spots away from camp to get nekkid, of course. But that is not allowed in any public spaces. I’m not going to say there is no checking out of other people’s temples. But there were no stares. It turns out that it wasn’t a competition at all.
In many ways, it was just like the countless summer church camps I went to as a child. The one thing missing was any reference to religion, guilt, or shame (especially of the body type). It was life-changing for me. I talk about walking into an LGBTQ+ chorus for the first time and the deep emotion you experience by being in a safe space. Well, this takes that to a brand-new level.
Bobby was super excited to be back after an eight-year hiatus. Many of the men remembered him. They were sad he is now married! His concert was on the last night. When the time came, I took my seat, responsibly placing my sarong on the chair, and waited with anticipation with around 350 other anticipators. They announced the return of Bobby Jo, and he was met with thunderous applause—as he was after every song.
His music is about the heart. It is about coming to terms with yourself and finding the beauty in life. It resonated deeply with this large group of men who are on the same journey toward wholeness. The crowd went wild. Bobby told them I am in my 40th year conducting queer choirs, and they loved that. After the concert, he was mobbed at his merch table. They had run back to their cabins for some form of payment. They just about wiped him out. The T-shirts went first, strangely! There were several folks from various choruses who came to the table to see me as well. It was pure delight. Then it was the ice cream social.
On our drive back to the airport, we barely took a breath during the two-hour trip. We were so filled with the newness we had shared. I was filled with shedding 75 years of body shame that had been carefully and intentionally installed. I’m sure it is not completely gone. Portland is very open to nakedness. Next year, maybe we’ll do the famous naked bike ride through the city.
So, back to you and me and our relationship. I battled with myself about whether to share this. Then I slapped myself and said, “Girl, that’s going backward! Let it go. The people who love you are applauding. The ones who can’t rejoice with you are just jealous or stuck and need to get naked!” We’ll be back to GNI. I’m writing this naked, in fact. I haven’t asked Bobby about naked skydiving yet.
By the way, the flight attendants weren’t thrilled with my huge life change. They were unmoved that I had brought my sarong to sit on!
Dr. Tim Seelig is the Conductor Laureate of the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus. http://www.timseelig.com/
TLC: Tears, Laughs and Conversation
Published on September 10, 2026
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