**This story was a last-minute request. It's an emotional journey of learning to overcome anxiety and learning to love yourself no matter what you look like. I dedicate 'Camp True Touch' to my friend Charles. He provided the original story concept. I hope everyone enjoys it!
-Chloe**
Part 1. The Front Seat
Cory's Perspective:
My psychiatrist, Doctor Betty Miles, suggested I visit Camp True Touch and do a little Nude Touch Therapy to help me overcome my anxiety. She claims it could enrich my life, get me out of my boring daily routine, and maybe inspire me to enroll in college. The thing is, I like boring routines. They're safe and comfortable when everything around you could hurt you. My name is Cory, and I've been blind since birth. People think I simply live in darkness, but on the contrary, I experience the world from a very complex perspective. Sound, touch, smell, and taste enrich my mind and bring me pleasure in indescribable ways. Did you know the morning, afternoon, evening, and night have vastly different sounds, smells, and feelings? I have vivid impressions of each part of the day. Thanks to my unique position in a complicated world, most people struggle to understand me. How do you comfort a depressed, lonely, complicated twenty-two-year-old blind man that lives with his parents? Doctor Betty thinks she knows how, and maybe she's right. That's why I decided to give this potentially uncomfortable program a try. When I'm depressed, life gets stale. If Nude Touch Therapy can awaken my senses again, then it's worth the anxiety and discomfort.
How am I remotely comfortable with the concept of a nudist camp, you ask? Well, the first obvious reason is my lack of vision. I don't get to enjoy what everyone wears anyway, so I don't care what they wear or what they look like. The only reason I wear clothes myself is for warmth, comfort, and skin protection. Secondly, my awesome parents took me to their favorite nudist camp every summer while growing up. I enjoyed nature in the buff just as much as they did, and they were there to help me deal with everything else. My father's declining health ended those fun trips. We haven't been back in five years now. My social life revolves around my parents. I'm extremely anxious without them. I also know they won't be around forever. That thought is my driving force to overcome my anxiety. So, after a lot of paperwork, questionnaires, waivers, and packing, Doctor Betty personally volunteered to drive another anxious patient and me to Camp True Touch the first week of June.
Jenifer (another anxious patient under Doctor Betty's care) was in the backseat while I sat in front with the good doctor. Betty was trying to encourage conversation in the car, but she was working with two very difficult and extremely shy patients. My first impression of Jenifer was her smell. It was easy to separate her scent apart from Doctor Betty. I had experienced my psychiatrist's familiar smell for years and could partially ignore her deodorant and perfume. Jenifer smelled like a warm summer day in the woods, and I honestly loved it, but it wasn't overly unique. Some people, especially women, often smelled incredibly good. I had experienced those smells often while camping with my parents in the nudist colony. I would ask my mom to describe who was giving off the lovely scents, and it was usually younger women. I knew I was experiencing pheromones at that point, and Jenifer had good ones, but I couldn't start a conversation with that topic. It was too embarrassing. My mother had often teased me when I blushed, so I knew the sighted could tell when I was embarrassed. I never took offense to my mother's playful teasing, but it opened up another door of anxiety I didn't need.
"Oh, what a gorgeous loblolly pine," whispered an enchanting voice from the back seat.
It was the first thing Jenifer said since we started the one-hour drive to Camp True Touch, and the sound of her voice made the hairs on my neck stand up a little.
"Wow, it's huge! It looks like a giant," Betty added, jumping right into the conversation. "Do you like trees, Jenifer?" she pressed.
"I do. I brought my field guide so I can identify the ones around the cabin," she whispered.
Her speaking voice was low even to my sensitive ears. I often spoke softly to avoid unwanted attention. I thought it was sweet that she did it too. Then I wondered why she did it. That was another topic I wouldn't dare bring up. Starting a conversation with a stranger was absurdly difficult.
"Wonderful, perhaps you can take Cory with you when you go out. You'll be in the cabin connected to his, so you'll be close to someone you've met already," Betty explained.
My stomach sank at that revelation. I didn't like being randomly offered up for companionship.
"Uh, Betty, I wouldn't be much help identifying trees," I noted.
"That's not true. You have a keen sense of touch. I bet you could identify every tree in the forest just by touching the bark after Jenifer tells you what it is. I would seriously put money on it."
I smiled at Betty's enthusiasm. She was a smart and crafty woman. I wouldn't tolerate her prying into my emotions otherwise, and I couldn't turn down an easy challenge.
"Okay, you win. I accept the challenge if Jenifer is willing to tolerate my presence on one of her outings," I offered.
I really liked saying her name, and I was excited to be participating in the conversation, but the silence from the backseat left me nervous. I just put Jenifer on the spot like an inconsiderate dolt. I hated it when my parents did that to me, and I turned around and did it to someone else.
"Okay," whispered her pleasant voice from the backseat, melting my anxiety for the moment and making me smile, but my anxiety doubled when I realize I had just committed myself to a naked date. Doctor Betty was a crafty woman indeed.
Part 2. The Back Seat
Jenifer's Perspective:
The moment I got into Doctor Betty's car, I wanted to call the whole thing off. It happened every time I tried to do anything new that involved people seeing me. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, attempting to calm the anxiety before it could turn my stomach sick. I knew Betty was watching me in the rearview mirror, calculating when I would lose my breakfast to the floorboard. My anxiety medication would have been helpful at that moment, but Betty took me off of it a month before my trip to Camp True Touch. She didn't want me numb for my first nudist experience. God, why did I agree to try Nude Touch Therapy? What in hell convinced me to say yes? I was in a terrible car accident when I was twelve. It left me disfigured. The right side of my body had been burned, including parts of my face and hair. My right breast was gone, and most of my right ear was destroyed. I've had countless reconstructive surgeries to smooth out the damage, and I had more surgeries scheduled in the future. I knew I looked shocking, and I hated to subject people to my presence when I didn't have to. My self-loathing was interrupted by the most beautiful pine tree I had ever seen. I spotted it out of the car window as we drove over a hill.
"Oh, what a gorgeous loblolly pine," I whispered in amazement.
It was absolutely massive. It towered over the forest like an ancient king. That's why I had agreed to the therapy. My love of nature encouraged my boldness, not to mention the high success rate of the program. My mom also offered to buy me a car if I could last an entire week at the camp. She was desperate to see my mood improve.
"Wow, it's huge! It looks like a giant," Betty added, reminding me that I had spoken out loud. "Do you like trees, Jenifer?"
"I do. I brought my field guide so I can identify the ones around the cabin," I whispered while looking between Betty and Cory in the front seat.
Cory was blind and quiet like me, apparently. He had dark hair that was short and a little messy. Betty didn't tell me much about him. She simply said he struggled with anxiety as I do. I didn't understand how. He looked pretty normal, but I couldn't judge what it was like to be blind. I assumed it had to be scary for him.
"Wonderful, perhaps you can take Cory with you when you go out. You'll be in the cabin connected to his, so you'll be close to someone you've met already," Betty explained.
My anxiety flared up after that suggestion. Socializing made me extremely nervous.
"Uh, Betty," Cory began, sounding insecure, "I wouldn't be much help identifying trees."