In Search of Famous Naked People
By Wayne Scheer

There I was in Elysian Fields, a nude resort nestled in a canyon near Los Angeles. The grounds were breathtakingly beautiful. The hot tub, as I recall, was perched on the highest peak of the area and overlooked a view of the mountains that could make an eagle cry.

But it wasn't nature that I was there to see, at least not that kind. I had been told that Elysian Fields was frequented by movie stars and other famous people, and by God, I wanted to know if the rich really are different from you and me.

Rumor had it that movie stars ranging from Tom Selleck to Helen Hunt hung out here (sorry, but the pun is intentional), and since I was visiting California I was determined to do what tourists do -- see movie stars.

Now, I have to tell you. Nudism, to me, is no big deal. I've attended numerous nudist parks over the past twenty years and on most warm weekends I can be found, naked as the day I was born, at a nudist camp near my home. So I'm not one of your typical voyeurs. I'm a specialist. I was there to peek at naked famous people, not just your ordinary ones.

Let's face it. The thrill of seeing ordinary people naked ends pretty quickly. Just look in the mirror. Those women in Playboy are genetic freaks of nature and the men, well let's just say that even in the film, Boogie Nights, they had to use a prosthetic device for the final scene.

Most of us sag, droop and flop like flags on a windy day. But that's all right; as mature adults, we learn to accept and love others and ourselves despite our less than perfect bodies. However, I was in California, the land of perpetual adolescence. So to hell with maturity, I wanted to see some perfection, damn it!

And there were some beautiful people there. Not many, to my chagrin, but some. Sadly, they stood out (the pun is once again intentional and I apologize profusely), much as they do at any other camp, as genetic mistakes or as youngsters on whom gravity had not yet had its way.

I did overhear one interesting bit of dialogue that I figure could only be uttered in California and apparently involved an almost famous person.

A young man about twenty-eight, tanned and naked, walked up to a fortyish-looking woman sunbathing on her blanket and said, "Excuse me. Aren't you so and so of the blankety-blank agency?"

Now you have to remember, the woman is lying on her back, naked, and the young man is standing over her. Equally naked. "You interviewed me for the such-and-such animation project."

I couldn't hear all of the conversation, but the woman recognized him, rolled to her side and raised herself on her elbow as the man squatted, his knees bent, and these two totally naked people discussed business as if they were lunching at a local cafe. Only in California!

Well, it was all pleasant enough, but apparently no famous people were on display, so I began to pack my towel and tanning lotion when I spotted two young women, blond and lovely, looking my way. They seemed to be pointing and smiling, and one even began to wave.

"I guess I still have it," I bragged to myself as they walked my way.

"Gutt ahftanoon," one of them said in a thick accent I took to be German. It took a while, but I finally realized after much difficulty that they were convinced that I was Kenny Rogers. And more than life itself, they wanted a picture of me (AKA Kenny) with them, so they could go back home and show their friends that they met someone famous.

So if you happen to come across a site on the Internet claiming to contain pictures of Kenny Rogers naked cavorting with two naked women, don't get excited. It's only me and my two friends, Bertha and Hilda.

It was the least I could do for them since I understood how thrilled they were at seeing a famous person in the flesh (so to speak), and I apologize one last time.