Co-ed Naked Philosophy

by Forest, Will

  After enduring these varied trials, they were released with their belongings on Luna Avenue. Blankets hit the sidewalk. Traffic slowed. Brakes squealed. Only then did they put their clothes on.

  Opposing Outlooks

  “Got my tattoo in Nam.”

  Christopher hadn’t asked Tucker about the tattoo. Neither of them had said anything for the past ten minutes. They were unwilling eavesdroppers on one side of a strident conversation between Tucker’s sister, Ed, and her ex-husband about their expenses over the past few weeks. Ed was wearing a green sweatsuit that completely hid any shape her body might have. Her mousy brown hair was chopped short and hung straight down all around.

  Christopher noticed that Ed’s driving suffered during her juicy outbursts on her cell phone, but not as much as when she lit a cigarette every few miles. She’d only smoke about half of each one before tossing it out the window of the rickety pick-up. Anyone trying to find them could just follow the trail of The World Is My Ashtray Woman. Christopher felt so indignant, between the smoking and the cell phone yelling, sitting cramped against the passenger door, that he contemplated bailing out of the moving vehicle. But he reminded himself that the ride was a favor to him from Tucker, who graciously had taken the middle seat. Tucker had called his sister from the police station and asked her to drive them both back to the beach to retrieve their cars.

  “I did it to impress the best-looking woman I ever saw. To this day I have never laid eyes on a more beautiful woman.”

  Christopher realized he wasn’t holding up his end of the conversation. “What was her name?”

  “Don’t know. But I let myself believe a guy who said I’d knock her socks off if I got this funky sex charm dragon tattoo. So I did it. One of those heat-of-the-moment decisions.”

  “Did it work?” Christopher looked at the tattoo again, smashed against his own forearm.

  “Went out with her one night. Found out she was a whore. The funny part is,” Tucker lifted his leg so his sister, between curses, could change gears, “I learned later she was known as the Dragon Lady!” He chuckled.

  “Do you regret the tattoo?”

  “No. I try to live without regrets. And hangin’ out with the naturist bunch is a way to deal with accepting my body, wrinkled old tattoo and all.”

  “I think I’m beginning to see what that’s all about. Body acceptance.”

  “Yeah... I’m glad you came to the beach, Chris. Sorry about the cops though.”

  “I should have disappeared like Alex.”

  Tucker’s face lit up as he turned to look at Christopher. “He sure hightailed it out of there, didn’t he?” Tucker laughed. “I don’t think he wanted to lose that young woman who knew you.”

  “Renee? She’s a good student.”

  “And she’s beautiful.” Tucker gazed out the window. “But she’s still not as beautiful as the Dragon Lady.”

  He chuckled again and looked at Christopher. “You married?”

  “No.”

  “Gay?”

  “Not enough.”

  “Well it’s none of my business. But if you do hitch up, try to find somebody who’s into naturism.”

  “That’s nudism, right?”

  “See, some people say it’s the same thing but I think naturism is a bigger word. Nudism just means being naked but naturism means more like living in harmony with nature the way God created us.”

  “Is there a nudist colony or something around here?”

  “They’re called landed clubs nowadays. There’s about a half dozen along the Gulf Coast and another twenty-five or so down in Florida.”

  “Then why do you go to the Navy beach?”

  “It’s a matter of principle. Those clubs are expensive. And I think any beach should be clothing optional. Look, a beach is a beach. Haven’t you ever fought the surf to keep your swimsuit on?”

  “Sure.”

  “That’s Mother Nature trying to tell you something. Sea lice, too, they’ll get in your privates if they’re trapped with all the sand, inside the swimsuit that’s clinging to you like a leech. But not if you’re nude. You dry off a lot faster too. And no itchy butt cheeks from sitting in a wet suit.”

  Ed reached for another cigarette and cursed when she found her pack was empty. She threw the carton into the back and asked Tucker for another pack. Christopher and Tucker could see one on the passenger’s side floor.

  “That was the last one,” Tucker said, sliding his shoe to cover the pack on the floor.

  “Well, fuck it all!” Ed yelled, howling the last word out to at least five syllables.

  Christopher glanced out the window quickly to hide his grin. He waited until Ed was back to yelling on the phone again before he turned his head.

  “You and your sister have opposing outlooks.”

  “She’s only my half sister, but you’re right. She’s a good soul. Just bought into too many things in life she should have done without.”

  They pulled up to the beach parking area.

  “So, Tucker... you think it was that hidden camera guy who sent the MPs?”

  “I think it’s highly possible.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’m thinking the agreement between the military police and the city police is about more than just jurisdictions. Didn’t you see that guy taking our mug shots at the station?”

  “Yeah, there was a lot more than our faces being photographed,” said Christopher. “Did you say anything?”

  “Oh I said something. Two words.”

  “What?”

  “I looked him in the eyes and said ‘sex offender.’ He looked down. Didn’t need to say anything else.”

  Ed stopped the truck. “Here ya are boys.”

  Christopher thanked Ed and Tucker and gave them his card, which Tucker read out loud: “Christopher P. Ross, Ph. D., Assistant Professor of Philosophy, Humanities Building 380, Gulf Coast University, Mobile, Alabama. So ... what exactly do you teach?”

  “My training is pretty broad. I can teach Western and Eastern, for example.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Ed.

  “It means European and Asian, basically. A little bit of ‘I think therefore I am’ and a little bit of ‘Confucius says.’” Christopher chuckled at his spontaneous attempt to summarize centuries of thought, which he found quite witty. Ed and Tucker laughed politely.

  “But my specialty,” Christopher went on, “is aesthetics, which means how we define and appreciate beauty, especially in art. Do you have a favorite artist?”

  “Yeah, I like Shania Twain,” said Ed. “She’s beautiful.”

  Tucker stared at his sister and then looked at Christopher. “Michelangelo,” he said.

  “He’s one of my favorites, too,” Dr. Ross replied. “I think he was a master of... how shall I put it?”

  “The human form,” Tucker finished.

  Christopher was pleased. “Definitely.”

  “Shania’s got a new CD out...” ventured Ed.

  Christopher stared at his feet for a moment. “I guess I’d better get my things.”

  “Don’t forget that paper brick you lug around,” said Tucker. The library tome had been tossed in the back of the pick-up. “What is that book anyway?”

  Christopher shrugged. “Homework.”

  Ed laughed. “You need to hurry up and get you a diploma, boy!”

  Public Relations Scandals

  “Chris, the student evaluations of your teaching are highly positive, in both introductory and advanced courses. You have been nominated for a teaching award. Twice. Your scholarly output is enviable. In five years, you’ve produced seven articles, as many book reviews, eleven conference presentations, an edited volume, grant-funded travel to Greece and Egypt in your second year here, Mexico in your fourth and India in your fifth, which was just last year, and of course your book deal has just gone through at Johns Hopkins... what’s the title?”

  “The Divine Aesthetic: Thoth, Orpheus, Ganesha and Quetzal
coatl.”

  Herb Wishinsky, Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences, smirked through his neatly trimmed beard. “That’s a mouthful.”

  “C’mon, Herb! Your first book, as I recall, was Age-Related Variables in Disappearing Dialects: The Lexical Perspective.”

  “Touché.”

  “At least mine has illustrations,” Christopher observed dryly.

  Dean Wishinsky returned to his perusal of Christopher’s curriculum vitae. “And your committee work is certainly up-to-par: Grade Grievance, Library, International Studies. No university-wide committees yet, but such involvement is not expected from an untenured professor.”

  “You mean it’s not expected from a white male untenured professor. Women and minority colleagues my age turn down university-wide committee nominations left and right. You know that.”

  The dean ignored him. “But it is these frequent public relations scandals that I find so disturbing. You will not be surprised to know that this is why I have called you in here today.”

  “Saw the paper, huh?”

  “I believe the newspaper to which you are referring has a readership of 500,000.”

  “Yeah but I’ll bet only 250,000 saw that crime report and of those, only 100,000 actually read it and of those, only maybe 50 actually know me, so...”

  “All the people on your tenure committee saw it.”

  “I wonder what generous soul made certain of that?”

  “Of course this is just the latest unfortunate incident linking the university, through you, to scandal. Shall I mention the time you screened that salacious Spanish film?”

  “The subtitles were not accurate!”

  “Language was not the problem, my dear colleague. Don’t play coy with me. The problem was nudity and sexual content.”

  “Which one? Nudity? Or sexual content? There is a difference, you know. And besides have you been to the movies lately? Hollywood films have just as much sexual content as foreign films, even though they actually have less nudity!”

  “Even so, the students had not received adequate warning as to the film’s content. And I remind you that the ratings board considers the realistic portrayal of an erect penis to be...”

  “A threat to God, mother and country, the Pope and the patriarchy... yes, Lacan’s Signifier unveiled.”

  Dean Wishinsky sighed. “The university attorney faced down a potential lawsuit only by dictating a new disclaimer policy for all foreign film screenings.”

  “Well, I wish you could have heard what delicate and God-fearing language that one—just one I remind you—offended student used with me when she stormed out of the auditorium.”

  “She must have been highly agitated...certainly she didn’t...”

  “She called me...oh, I’ll spare you, but it was about ten syllables and probably half of those ended in ‘-uck.’”

  The dean frowned and rubbed his balding temples. “Why didn’t you ever mention this before?”

  “What’s the difference, Herb? Who’s offending whom? Her word against mine. Student against prof. Victorian morals in a litigious society.”

  “Of course, yes...and another of your scandals springs to mind, you see. It was yet another offended student who threatened a lawsuit about that poster on the door...that Thornapple print...”

  “Mapplethorpe, Herb: Mapplethorpe.”

  “It was so big! It dominated the philosophy department!”

  “Er... what was so big?”

  “The poster! That naked man touching himself, and he was right next to another man who...”

  “He was right next to that week’s flyer promoting the Art and Society Lecture Series. The topic that week was censorship. Don’t you think that’s appropriate?”

  “I suppose. Chris, let’s be frank. I think...”

  “You’re the only person who calls me that.”

  “Chris?”

  “No, Frank.”

  Dean Wishinsky forced a smile. “Alright, Chris...topher, no one can deny you are one of our best teachers and most creative scholars. I don’t want to be your censor. All I ask, on behalf of just about everyone here, is that you tone down these perverse erotic forays into the public sphere.”

  Christopher stared at his dean. “Have you ever been to a nude beach?”

  “No, I have not.”

  “Well that’s your loss. If you had ever been to one, you’d know there’s nothing perversely erotic about it.”

  “Maybe so. I imagine it depends on who else is there. Nonetheless, it does not help our university image to have you appear as some pervert in the newspaper’s crime report.”

  “The crime was trespassing. That’s not a sex crime.”

  “The paper listed both trespassing and public nudity.”

  “See? There you go again! Who says public nudity is perverse, much less a sex crime? I’ll tell you who the pervert was, it was this guy who...”

  “Public nudity is certainly not the same as...”

  “...and he had a hidden camera! Now, that’s not consensual, see?”

  “... and in any case, what would motivate you to...”

  They both stopped talking.

  “But if it had been a legal nudist beach, none of this would have happened, would it?”

  “Chris...topher, please. I like and respect you, but I will not be able to defend your actions to your tenure committee, nor in a court of law. Consider your position at this institution and think about what I have said.”

  Christopher made no reply.

  “Thanks for coming in.”

  The Sensations of the World

  “I’m bringing you some coffee,” Christopher called out from the office suite’s common area.

  Seated at her desk, Tabitha Lasseter-Peebles, chair of the philosophy department, couldn’t see him through her open doorway. He must have been standing at the coffeemaker, wedged between the copier and the printer in the overtaken kitchenette.

  “Cream and sugar?”

  Accustomed to getting her way, Tabitha could not discern if this was Christopher’s attempt at ingratiation. “No thanks.”

  Receiving no confirmation, she raised her voice and started to repeat her answer when Dr. Ross stepped into her office with two mugs and a smile.

  “I remembered you prefer black coffee.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So how are our enrollments for the fall semester?”

  “The only courses that are full, as usual, are yours. But in general the enrollments are up, and we may have a few more majors this year.”

  “Great!”

  Tabitha took a deep breath to guard against the jealousy that Christopher’s popularity always conjured in her, an emotion rendered concrete in the dozens of statuettes of foreign gods he had acquired on his grant-funded travels. These little trophies populated his office shelves and symbolized, in her opinion, the showy superficiality of his hodgepodge graduate studies at UC-Berkeley, mixing mythology with philosophy with art history.

  “I need to ask you a question,’ she said, folding her hands on the desk and tilting her head back. “Did you enjoy your summer?”

  Christopher set down his mug. “If you’re referring to my visit to the nude beach, I don’t mind telling you that it was a life-changing experience.”

  “Were there any students with you?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “What?! The paper didn’t say anything about that! Are you telling me you were arrested with GCU students?”

  “No! I mean, yes, there were students there, but they ran off before they could be arrested.”

  Tabitha sighed. “Well, why didn’t you run off too?”

  Christopher focused on his department chair’s desk-top calendar and pricey pen in its holder. “Tell me, why did you get into this profession if you refuse to embody the challenges to convention that philosophy represents?”

  “What? All for a police record?”

  Christopher grimaced. “Tabitha, you’re
trapped inside your clothes. Not just you. Everybody. But especially you, with your high-cut skirts and low-cut blouses, you...”

  “Christopher!”

  “You assume no one notices what you wear?”

  “I don’t really think about it! And you shouldn’t be thinking about it either!”

  “I’ll bet you have no idea what it’s like to feel the wind across your chest. Under your breasts, even…”

  “Stop! I will not tolerate comments like that.” Scowling, she pulled up her blouse at the shoulders. “What do you think we’re discussing here?”

  “We’re not discussing your chest, per se, Tabitha, merely the fact that it is a part of your person. Or would you deny that?”

  “Well of course not! But what does that have to do with anything?”

  “You say, in essence, that you don’t deny having a body, yet you deny yourself the possibility of feeling the sensations of the world with your whole body, your whole skin.”

  “That’s correct. Me and just about everybody I know. A majority.”

  “Among the many things you have not felt against your chest…”

  “But we’re not here to talk about me. This is all about you.”

  “…sand, tree bark, autumn leaves, grass.”

  Tabitha concentrated on her doctoral diploma from Brown, hung on the wall over Christopher’s head, and took another deep breath. “I know Dean Wishinsky has already called you on the carpet for that police record, and reminded you of your prior mischief. Are you aware of how this is going to harm your chances for tenure and promotion this year?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Dr. Lasseter-Peebles blushed, offended. She knew that Christopher grew up in the Midwest, like her. Both were transplants to the Deep South via their East and West Coast doctoral studies. “Why on earth would you call me ‘ma’am’?”

  “Sorry. It just slipped out.”

  Tabitha could not see Christopher’s face, because he was looking at his shoes. She could not tell whether she had forced herself into playing the school marm to Christopher’s dejected schoolboy. In fact she never felt the control over him that she enjoyed over other men and even women. The nature of his sexual orientation flummoxed her.

  “It doesn’t matter...What matters is that you’re our star teacher and also a promising scholar. The students love you. Don’t you know you’re my secret weapon against viability?”