In a Clothing-Optional Hot Springs

WARNING: This entry contains puerile words some might consider offensive.

During a stay at Wilbur Hot Springs you spend the bulk of your time traversing the path between a beautifully restored hotel built in 1865 and a bathing area that contains six temperature controlled pools filled with fresh mountain mineral water: 75, 98, 102, 106, 110 and a cold plunge of 55.


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The hotel and spa grounds are located deep in the foothills of the Northern California Coastal Range (no cell phones allowed). In the hotel, the kitchen and baths are communal, organized and clean. The rooms have no locks, and everyone follows the rules of the commune (as it were). But there's always someone and, of course, someone was using a cell phone.



I was in the Top Chef-style kitchen quietly preparing an almond butter, blueberry conserves and pumpernickel bread sandwich with a tall glass of cold vanilla rice milk (sinfully delicious). One other guest was doing something while making inconsistent and inexplicable chatter with me.

Girl: (laughing) I'm cleaning the kitchen.

Me (quizzically looking around): Uh. Yea. Cool.

Girl: Gotta. Gotta keep it clean.

Me: Yea. Gotta. (laughing nervously as I wondered WTF?)

Not you! she said, glaring at me.

Not me? Huh? I took my plate and hightailed it out to the dining room where I noticed the person with whom she arrived (you know these things at a clothing-optional hot springs) speaking into a cell phone. I then realized that the girl in the kitchen was talking to her friend in the dining room using a Bluetooth-enabled ear bud. Now I get it.

Clothing-optional hot springs bitch, you're breaking the rules.



Although Wilbur Hot Springs is a place for reflection and serenity, you also see a lot of ta-ta's and schlongs by the hot spring pools (the only place on the grounds where clothing is NOT required). It's equal opportunity gazing for all so I took advantage of it - with stealth, of course. After all, when am I ever going to see the female body this unencumbered again?

I made chit-chat with two exquisitely sculpted women who were a couple. These women were real and they were spectacular. I couldn't take my eyes off of them. But aside from an attempt at humor (that they enjoyed), I held no interest to them.

Who am I again?



There were a number of straight couples and I wondered what schlong gazing meant to the straight men. Were they looking at the other schlongs for the same reason I was looking at the ta-ta's? Like when am I ever going to see the male body this unencumbered again? Was it arousing to them? Even a little? If I pretended I was a straight man staying at Wilbur Hot Springs, I would find it arousing.

I remember who I am now.

Lest you think that going to a clothing-optional hot springs is all tata's and schlongs, it's also a natural sanctuary with foot trails, hot and healing mineral baths, and a quiet, introspective place to read and relax. The tata's and schlongs are just stuff to take your mind off your introspection; too much introspection makes Jack (sic) a dull boy. Check out their web site.

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