The Joy and Curse of Being a Sapiosexual Nudist

There’s a particular irony in being surrounded by naked men and realizing the thing most likely to turn you on is a good conversation.

Welcome to my life.

Last night, I worked at the dungeon. I love working there because the people who come through the door are some of the friendliest, most delightful folks you could meet. It’s an interesting thing to explain to people whose entire understanding of a dungeon comes from a movie: yes, there may be leather and restraints, but there are also an awful lot of lovely people happy to see one another.

And, of course, I get to see plenty of naked bodies.

After working in porn shops, publishing a nudist magazine, and hosting more nudist events than I can count, very little about a naked man shocks me. Nudity alone doesn’t automatically turn me on anymore, either. Perhaps it did in the early days, when everything was new. These days, a man taking off his pants doesn’t necessarily interrupt my train of thought.

A man giving me something interesting to think about? Now you have my attention.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found a word that fits that part of me: sapiosexual. It describes someone who finds intelligence especially sexually attractive.

In other words, talk smart to me, handsome.

And by “smart,” I don’t mean you need a doctorate, an impressive job title, or the ability to correct everyone at dinner. Please don’t turn appetizers into an oral exam. I mean curiosity. Wit. A perspective I haven’t considered. The ability to have a conversation that makes me want to ask another question instead of check the time.

There’s a touch of demisexuality in the mix for me, too. Demisexual people experience sexual attraction only after an emotional bond develops; it’s more than simply preferring to wait before having sex. I recognize something of myself in that need for connection, even if I don’t need a label to account for every spark I’ve ever felt.

Last night, a man showed up who tickles both of those parts of my brain.

He’s smart. He’s well-traveled. He smiles easily. And every time I see him, I light up.

I’ve seen him naked a dozen or so times. From what I remember, he has a perfectly fine body. But notice those words: from what I remember. I could tell you much more confidently how I feel around him than give you an inventory of his anatomy.

What’s between his ears turns me on far more than anything he’s taken out of his underwear.

That’s the joy of being a sapiosexual nudist. There’s still so much to discover about a man after you’ve seen him naked. His stories. His humor. What interests him. Whether he asks questions and actually listens to the answers. You can spend an evening with everything on display and still go home thinking, I’d like to know more.

The curse? You can be in a room full of naked men and still be waiting for someone to say something that gets you going.

It does make the usual shortcuts a little less useful. A revealing photograph can show me a body. It can’t tell me whether we’ll lose track of time talking.

And sometimes the attraction sneaks up on you. You’ve seen the man before. Nothing about his body has changed. But the more you enjoy him, the more attractive he becomes. Suddenly, that easy smile is causing a completely unreasonable amount of trouble.

I rather like that about myself. At 62, it’s lovely to know somebody can still make me light up simply by walking into a room.

I’m curious how it works for you. Are you a sapiosexual? Demisexual? Does a naked body get your attention immediately, or do humor, kindness, confidence, and connection have to join the party before you’re interested in hopping into bed?

Tell me in the comments what does it for you. I’ve seen plenty of naked men. I’m still fascinated by what makes us want one another.