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Jeff, laughing, puts a consoling hand on Rasheesh’s shoulder and says, “You can kiss her fanny, Rasheesh, but you can’t kiss her toes.” And so it is.

Here’s the thing: When you’re socializing with four or five buck-naked people, conversation tends to be more open and honest.

) or, like me, sprawled on chaise lounges, reading. ” Jeff, overhearing me, looks up from a magazine and says, “About half of us are swingers.

Another 30 percent are naturists and not interested in the sex part.

The couples in my naked posse seem more engaged and attentive than the couples I know at home.

Ten minutes later, we’re sitting in a quiet, shady corner off the beach restaurant, where she draws a line down the middle of a legal pad and says, “I want you to tell me what awful things you think will happen to you if you take your swimsuit off.” The questions go on like this for 20 or 30 minutes, with her probing deeper and deeper into my psyche until she thinks she’s hit the jackpot. ” she says happily, slamming her legal pad on the table.

So when there was a banging on the door recently while Mica was in the shower, she answered with a towel wrapped around her waist and a compact gun in her hand.

“It was two young Mormon missionaries,” Mica says, giggling.

Let’s be honest with each other.” Much to my surprise, I like these people. After three days at Desire Pearl, I’ve learned there’s really not all that much that separates them from me — or probably you.

Yet another part of me realizes that we are different. One afternoon while I’m hanging out with my posse around the pool, I look around at the three naked women sunning on pool loungers; the four or five couples of various ages being led by a cute kid from Hungary in aquatic aerobics; and all the other guests snoozing, bare asses, on daybeds or playing volleyball on the beach (so much bouncing!

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