Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms (44 page)

Pastor Winterly stared, open-mouthed and horrified at the lady minister before him. He had been wrong on first glance. She wasn’t
completely
naked save for the ministerial collar. She also wore simple, black, canvas, slip-on shoes.

But other than
that
she was most definitely naked, and so, the pastor averted his eyes.

“Madam…” he began.

“I’ve been here twenty-five years,” she said, annoyed, “and I’ve never been happier. If that’s punishment, please, God, give me more.”

“Madam. You’re naked.”

“You’re
kidding!”
she said and looked down at herself, as if stunned. “Goodness. I’m getting so absentminded in my old age. I was in such a hurry to get to work this morning.” She looked up at him and smiled pleasantly. Not that he could see her, since he was studying the filigree work on a nearby statue of Mary who people sometimes pray to for guidance but was not, in any way, a false idol. “Thank you for pointing that out to me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

She looked sternly up at the older man, amazed that he hadn’t recognized the sarcasm. For a long moment she said nothing—simply stared and waited, figuring it would eventually sink in. But he continued on merrily, not getting it.

“Would you like to go put something on? I’ll be happy to wait.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Madam,” he said, turning to her and sounding as if he were speaking to a small child. “It is
highly
inappropriate for you to be seen without clothing, especially in a house of God. The United Methodist Church would never condone such behavior.”

“Why should
they
have a problem with it? God didn’t seem to mind when
He
made me this way.”

“If God had meant for us to wander around
in the nude
, madam, He…”

The pastor hesitated and rolled his eyes heavenward, suddenly realizing he had trapped himself.

“‘He would have
made
us this way?’” she finished for him.

“Madam…”

“Reverend.”

“Yes, madam?”

“Not you.
Me.
Reverend. I have an official title. I earned it. I would appreciate being addressed by it.”

“You cannot possibly be a legitimate…”

“Would you like to see my ordination certificate?”

He seemed to become angry. He turned to look at her and found his eyes wandering over her body to get a firmer, mental grip on the situation—or so he told himself.

She was a handsome woman. A little heavy, a little loose, but still hanging together nicely. He was already becoming somewhat uncomfortable with studying her—as it seemed to be arousing certain long-unused areas within him that he would prefer remained dormant—when he noticed that her pubic hair had been perfectly trimmed into the shape of a cross.

“Good,
Lord!
I cannot
believe
—woman, are you mad?”

“Not at all.”

“You have trimmed your…em…the…the…um…pub…” he paused and drew a breath. “That is the symbol of our
Lord!
” he said with angry dignity.

“Which is why I did it,” she responded shamelessly.

She continued to stare at him, and he continued to stare at…it.

“Is it still there?” she asked.

“What?”

“Did it move?”

“Did what move?”

“You can stop staring at it now,” she told him, annoyed.

“What?”

“I said, you can stop…”

“I wasn’t staring!” he said, shivering, realizing he had been staring, and turned his eyes heavenward, though his mind’s eye still only saw that part of her which some men have also named, quite poetically, ‘heaven’. “I was just…agog.”

“Agog?” she asked.

“Agog. Stunned, flabbergasted. It’s as though you are taunting the faith you supposedly serve. I mean, it’s bad enough that you’re a minister, if you truly are…”

“Bad enough that I’m a minister? Why? Because I’m a nudist?”

“No, because you’re a wo…” he paused, and seriously reconsidered what he was about to say. Those comments had gotten him into trouble before.

“Because I’m a wo…? Wo…what? Wo
…man
?”

“We both know that women don’t
truly
belong in the clergy…”

“No, we don’t
both
know that…”

“But if the Church knew you also conducted yourself in
this
way…”

“Why do you assume they wouldn’t know? They do. They’ve
been
here. I have pictures that were taken during their visit hanging on a wall in my office. Would you like to see them?”

He hesitated again. He had nearly said ‘yes’, fairly certain she was lying, then thought better of it. What if they
had
ordained a nudist? Was it really so farfetched? They had allowed, and promoted,
homosexuality
.
Anything
now seemed possible. Good lord,
animals
might be next. After homosexuality, animals were always next.

He shivered as more horrific thoughts occurred to him. What if they had come to visit and then decided to partake of this ‘naturism’ themselves? Could he handle seeing his elders smiling and chummy, and ‘hanging out’ as the young people so aptly put it these days? He shuddered more violently.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Fine. Bit of a chill.”

“Did you want to see the photos?”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Why is this such a problem for you? This is my parish. My flock is comfortable and happy living this way.
I
am comfortable and happy living this way. And so is
God
after all. Genesis 1:27 ‘So God created man in His own image.’”

He looked at her blankly. She looked at him, stunned. Could he be this dense? Apparently so.

“Naked,” she concluded.

“Are you insane? God is not
naked
.”

“Of course He is.”

“Madam!”

“It’s true. God is a nudist. He didn’t become angry and kick Adam and Eve out of Eden until they began all that nonsense about being afraid and ashamed, and covering themselves. Prior to that, He couldn’t have cared less what they wore.”

“You take liberties with the word of God.”

“Do I? Genesis 2:25. ‘And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed.’ It’s not the nudity the Lord objected to—it was their thinking they knew more than Him, that pissed God off.”

“’Pissed God off.’ Pissed
God
off?”

“Do you need further examples?”

“I need some decorum. God and…” he paused. “…pissed, in the same sentence. Really. Madam…”

“Reverend.”

“
Madam!
However
you
may interpret Genesis, God has made it plain that nudity is a sin.”

“No, He hasn’t.”

“Of course He has. First of all, there is the issue of temptation…”

“I’ve never known a man who felt
less
tempted because a woman’s body was obscured beneath layers of fabric.”

“Women can be tempted too.” He sneered.

“I won’t deny that. Doesn’t change my point. We’re primarily tempted by a man’s mind, though,” she said, smiling. “Which you men flaunt shamelessly.”

“
However
sexual temptation may originate, that in no way makes the behavior either acceptable or correct, and to, additionally, fan the flames of lust by
flaunting
yourself,
publicly
… ”

“James 1:13 through 15 plainly states that
God
never tempts
anybody
. How can you say that the image of God—which Genesis 1:26 and 27
clearly
explains that
we
are—tempts? Perhaps our actions, or our expressions, or our fertile imaginations—the way we
interact
as women and men—might
be
tempting. But our bodies, by Biblical definition,
cannot
tempt.”

“I can see this argument is pointless.”

“Interestingly, so can I.”

“If you’ll excuse me.”

“I would be delighted to excuse you.”

He turned and walked down the aisle without another word, his footsteps echoing hollowly throughout the large chamber. As he neared the exit, the nude woman in ministerial collar called out to him. “You’re welcome back anytime, Pastor.”

He didn’t bother turning to look at her.

“Not until
you
learn how to become closer to God,” he said.

“I told you,” she said. “God is a nudist and unashamed of it, as we should be. In that regard, if no other, I am closer to Him than you will ever be.”

He pushed through the outer doors and let them slam behind him. She shook her head.

“You get one every year,” she muttered under her breath, kneeling again behind the lectern and returning to her Heaven ordained, audio-equipment difficulties.

As Morgan lie somewhere far behind me under a pile of angry, naked people, I was pedaling my little heart out toward what I hoped would be someone I could spend time with
besides
him. Not that he wasn’t often entertaining, but you couldn’t have sex with him and feel good about it afterwards—no matter
what
your sexual orientation.

So for those of you thinking I left Morgan behind out of cowardice, keep in mind that a beautiful woman was—hopefully— waiting for me, wanting to see me, and she was naked. Cowardice may have, in some small way, played a part in abandoning my one and only friend, but overall I think you can go with me on the idea that there were other more important considerations at play here. Like—she was naked.

Over the tops of some coastal cottages and the nearby tree line, I could see some tall, dark stones, which looked vaguely forehead-like. There were eyebrows and ear tops, and one particular stone was tall enough that I could see most of a nose, and one entire eye in profile. The Medium Sized Giant head, I presumed.

As I rounded the last cottage still obscuring my view, I saw two immense Easter Island-like heads a hundred or so yards in front of me and just seaward of the path I rode. They must have been, on average, a good twenty or more feet high and were rooted deeply in the sand, their backs to the ocean as they stared unblinkingly into the front of a little chalet nestled between them and the sharply rising hills beyond. It was almost as if, one distant morning long ago, they’d strode majestically out of the sea intending to conquer the world, only to be distracted by some very attractive naked person in one of the windows. Captivated, they’d stayed and continued to ogle, not realizing that in this town—whoever it was—was not likely to ever get dressed.

World domination put on hold due to prurient interest. One of the immense rocks—the Little Giant Head, I presumed— leaned over oddly, as if time, weather and unsatisfied sexual urges had made him realize he needed a bit of rest.

I knew how he felt.

The cobblestone path ended beneath me, and the bike refused to roll over sand, so I jumped off, dropping it where it was, and raced toward the smaller of the stone idols. I checked my watch, and saw that I was seventeen minutes late, and cursing, threw myself behind the immense, stony sentinel.