Tag Archives: Sauna

Pardon me: Can I display my T&A? Nude on a non-nude beach

Raise your hand if you’ve been chastised for being nude on a non-nude beach?

Dagmar and I can now proudly raise our hands if asked that question.

This is that story.

Initially I had some questions ...

Initially I had some questions …

We’re not nudists. I mean, we’re not naked every moment we possibly can be, which, in loose terms, I think, is what being a nudist means. I can’t be bothered to look up the definition of nudist because who cares how it’s defined, we don’t fit that description except …

Somewhere around 2007 my wife and I went to our first German water park. All German water park’s have a nudist area. These areas typically feature places to sunbath, saunas and swim. All of which is done in your birthday suit.

I’ve discussed the sauna parts before here on the blog, but I believe a brief refresher on the German sauna experience is in order.

Inside the German sauna everyone is naked. At certain times a clothed sauna “Meister” enters the packed, and I mean crowded-like-sardines packed, sauna, and closes the door. The Meister then fans a towel pushing waves of scorching wind that you have to feel to believe. He or she cracks a few jokes. Sometimes they pass out things like salt, honey or ice that you rub on your skin and then, after about five minutes, when you just can’t take another second, they open the door and let you out.

During that 2007 visit my fully clothed wife, with her typical “bull in a china

Stop judging us

Stop judging us

shop” sense of curiosity, plowed into the nude area of the waterpark we were visiting, dragging behind her a typically confused and embarrassed me. She strode up to the sauna just before the Meister was about to close the door and in broken German asked (I speak less German than I understand) what the fuck this was all about. I couldn’t understand a word that was being said as I stood there in my T-shirt, shorts and flip flops surrounded, literally surrounded, by naked people.

The conversation was short and quick and ended with my wife thrusting her hand from her throat down to her legs in a quick motion and asking, “Alles weg?” or in English, “all is gone?” She meant of course, “All your clothes?” The Meister chuckled and every naked German inside the sauna erupted into laughter.

So, in addition to being yelled at for being nude on a non-nude beach, I guess I also have “Getting laughed at by sauna full of nude Germans” going for me as well. I’m not sure if that belongs in the plus or minus column of life experiences, but it’s a moment I’ve never forgotten.

Needless to say, we were in the buff a short time later. I think I demanded a beer bracer before going Full Monty into German sauna land, but there was no stopping my wife.

Since then it’s just become a thing for us. If there is a nude beach nearby where we’re on vacation, we’re going. I don’t care. Really, I don’t care. Hell, I’ve learned to enjoy it. Forget your preconceived notions for a moment if you can. It’s not a sexual thing and it’s not sexy. Sure there are attractive people there, just like there are in any group. But it’s really, really not about that. When everyone is naked in a non-sexual manner, well — everyone is just naked. It becomes matter of fact. It ceases to be a thing.

Cut to the non-nude beach episode.

It was this past Memorial Day, it was hot out and there was a lake Dagmar knew of only 15 minutes away. She remembered it had a nude beach.

Scene of the crimes ...

Scene of the crimes …

She knew this because while she TDY’d in this area of Germany years ago she and a few friends went there and walked around the lake. During the walk she and her friends ran into a naked man on the nude side and Dagmar, after muddling through in broken German, “Why are you naked?” – shook his penis. (That’s fucking funny! ~Fran)

That’s not a metaphor. She didn’t have any sort of sexual contact with him. She grasped his flaccid penis in her hand and moved her hand up and down twice like you would shake a person’s hand. She did this because she’s funnier than I am.

Dagmar, when asked to recall the story, started to describe the event with, “I think I had a few drinks when we …”

So there’s that.

So with Memorial Day at hand, we arrive at the lake to find it devoid of people. The person in charge of the snack bar is bored, there’s one old man reading the paper at a picnic table and one lone woman sunbathing in a bikini on the beach. That’s it.

We survey the lake and conclude that the nude beach is “that” way. We base this decision on the data point that it’s far away from the clothed beach, requires an effort to get to and really isn’t close to anything. Those facts, coupled with the fact that the entire opposite side of the lake is covered in reeds with no beach of note, led us to this conclusion. Nude beaches are always tucked away out of sight and they usually take a bit of effort to get to. “That” beach was the logical conclusion based on the aforementioned facts.

Loaded up like a pack mule with folding chairs, ice chest and a backpack, I followed my chipper wife carrying our towels for the 20-minute death hike to the beach. Once there, on the empty beach, we still selected the furthest end of the beach. You know, as a courtesy to others, or something.

Towels were laid down, chairs were set up, clothing came off and my wife quickly fell asleep while I read. While my wife slumbered I noticed, in the distance, on a ribbon-thin strip of sand among the reeds, another nude couple.

Why would they choose that place, so out of the way?

Perverts, I decided.

Why else would you go there to that shitty bit of beach when you could go here? They were obviously slipping into the reeds to commit awful sexual acts to destroy the simple serenity of the nude sunbathing experience.

Yet, they never seemed to move, you know, to commit those awful sexual acts.

Hmm?

Then a man happened upon our beach, and as Dagmar slept through this development as well, he picked a spot exactly opposite us on the other end the beach and stripped down to his … swimming trunks.

Stupid German, I thought.

I turned back to whatever shitty thing I was reading on my Kindle and sunk, in all my naked glory, back into the chair.

Hours passed. OK, it was only about an hour, but it still passed.

Then I heard a boat engine start up. This is a very small lake. The only boat on the lake, logic told me, is the one that the manager of the lake uses. The lake is too small for any other boats.

OK, fine the manager is doing something in his or her boat. Looking up from the Kindle I noted that the boat was slowly coming toward us.

I ignored it as long as I could, but when the boat stopped off shore 20 feet from  me and an authoritative German woman spoke loudly and quickly at me, I could ignore it no more. I understood one word in 10 but I understood exactly what she was saying.

It boiled down to — we were naked in a place where we were not allowed to be naked and, although we were bugging no one, we could not be naked here.

Dagmar tried to pretend she was asleep, but when I beat her on the back with my Kindle enough times she was forced to acknowledge, along with me, that yes, there was a woman on a boat yelling at us. We could not be naked here.

Dagmar translated her words: “We could move into the reeds and be naked there, but we could not be naked here.” We could stay and Dagmar could be topless, but we had to put our bottoms on.

Feeling certain we understood we were naked in the wrong place, the German woman backed her boat out and left and I realized that I had just been yelled at by a German for being naked on a non-naked beach.

This might have been a federal offense in the U.S. In some U.S. states, if convicted of wagging your wiener in public you could be made to register as a sex offender. My mug shot would have plastered across the local evening news.

Not here in Germany though, here I just had to go into the reeds*.

* The area behind the reeds was actually very nice. You just would never have guessed that from the entrance to the lake.

Happy Bday Had a Few Beers. You’re one year old. Now get to work …

Happy beerday blog, you’re one year old today.

Today this craptastic collection of bad jokes, thinly-veiled, breast-fetish material and homage to alcoholism that I call “Had a Few Beers” is 1 year old.

Actually, I’m not really sure what day I started this and am really too lazy to look it up. It was January though, I remember that much. I was drinking beers in my garage when I thought, “You know what I should do with all these awesome thoughts I have, I should write them down so that the world can see how great they are.”

I should mention I was looking at a friend’s BMW parked in my garage for

Yes, early on at HadaFewBeers.com we staged, and by we I mean I, epic dinosaurs verses army men battles on a friends new BMW hood.   Why mandatory drug testing was not insisted upon at my work, I'll never know.

Yes, early on at HadaFewBeers.com we staged, and by we I mean I, epic dinosaurs verses army men battles on a friends new BMW hood. Why mandatory drug testing was not insisted upon at my work, I’ll never know.

the winter and thinking about the merits of tea-bagging various parts of it at the time.  So there’s that, if it adds context.

But here we are 89 posts later,  and I know that exact number because the dorks at WordPress insist on telling me “OH MY GOD! YOU JUST LOADED ANOTHER UPDATE” every time I, ya know, load a fucking update. I mean the last thing I want when I push “publish” is a giant pop up screen tell me about it. I have typos to fix and links to shorten. The nerds who  run this place need to actually DO a blog here.

Anyway, 89 painfully obvious updates and a year later, here we are. Hitting 50,000 views in the very near future (all of them looking for information about sauna boners it would seem if the search terms are to be trusted) and I’m ready to do some more — damage.

A quick rundown of the year would go this way.

Sgt. 1st Class Taylor’s updates were the most popular per day view with 1,276 views in a 24-hour period.

The first post to reach 100 views in a day was this one and I didn’t even write it (bitch!).

She was also my first ‘guest blogger’ … the first of four (and here they are).

The most popular search term with 1,425 hits is (do not follow this link, it’s a porn site and I honestly don’t know how or why it’s associated with HAFBs, if anyone can explain it I will pay money) Beeg.com.

The second is most popular search term is, drum roll, “nude sauna.”

The nude sauna seriously has by far been the most popular over time.  A lot of people in ‘Merica are looking for nude sauna blogs, or they just want porn about saunas, I don’t know.

Look people it’s really, really hot in those things.  I know people in Europe are

See no one is slipping anyone a Mr. Happy ...

See no one is slipping anyone a Mr. Happy …

naked and there are mixed genders in there but it’s really, really hot in there. I promise no one is scrogging in a real sauna.  Just blinking is tiresome in there, for the love of god.

The first ‘500’ views (in a day) was Things you don’t know about the military until you get out of the military.

We’ve had some great cleavage shots because a chick I know rocks at sending spur of the moment cleavage shots.  (*mental note, do a cleavage montage update later).

Our favorite blogger has to be Oh God, My Wife Is German and he gave us our first “shout out” when this first started. He also gave us another shout out after winning an expatriate blogger award. He also rocks, so go read his stuff. He breaks electric razors for his blog.  All I’ve ever destroyed here is my reputation — you know stupid stuff.

We have a facebook like page with over 1,000 likes (and growing) that you can reach (and like) here or over on the left if you don’t like my link.

Anyway, it’s all right here in this handy-dandy end-of-year report by the good folks at WordPress.com. Good job, nerds. You can see Marni Sandberg out performed Mmmmmags as the top commenter.   Though neither broke the 20 comments. Way to underachieve, ladies.

An old Army friend, Fran, came out of the wordwork and offered to edit this damn thing, something that (as you know) was desperately needed, and another friend has started trying to market it because I tweet like old people______ and ______.

Those two ______ up above are intentional.  I didn’t just start a joke and then not finish it and post it like that. I mean, I would, but I didn’t this time.  I did it because I want you — the person looking for sauna-boner information — to finish that joke. Finish it and leave it in the comments. If funny enough I’ll laugh, a lot.

This leads me to the way ahead with this thing. See I’m like a ship’s captain navigating the wordy seas. Arrgh maties! Thar be a heavin’ set o’ bossoms off the port side o’ the poop deck!  (Suck on that last sentence, Fran!)

I’d like to expand this thing.  I’d like to get more people involved, more writers mainly.  A lot of you are funny, funny, funny and if you want to try your hand at writing something let us know.  Leave a comment or send an email if you’re interested.

Because, more and more, this blog is becoming more of an “us” than an “me.”

I’m also a lazy shit, I don’t want to have to do all the work.

Seriously, in what is likely the worst casting call of all time if I’m calling on you for your “lolz!”

If you can type a sentence that doesn’t make Fran want to commit suicide,( and she’s strong in that regard. I’ve really tested her on this) and if you can make a joke that’s funny and want to give it a go, reach out. I can promise you, really promise you, that if you just want to try writing without having your name associated with it, we’re your blog. If we like it we’ll push it and your name will never be released. Most of the ‘mystery’ bloggers here are easily enough figured out because they know me personally, but I’d never give out a name without permission.

Finally, and this might be years, rather than a year down the road, I realize that

Finally a boobie free blog ... not this blog though, no way.   HAFBs will always have boobies.

Finally a boobie free blog … not this blog though, no way. HAFBs will always have boobies.

some people reading this who are otherwise very funny writers might not want their name associated with HAFB.com because of well, boobies, beer and the frequency in which I say fuck.

But I do have an idea, a totally new idea, that might be more appropriate. Something without boobs, without beer and without my politics… stay tuned.

Finally (really finally this time) thanks to Dagmar for putting up with me and reading this crap. Thanks to Fran for coming on board and editing (still hoping she writes something – she’s very talented), thanks to mystery social-media guy who honestly puts up with way too much of my shit, thanks to the mystery guest bloggers and thanks to you, whoever you are, reading this. I get a lot of joy out of doing it, but it would be very, very pointless without you.

Thank you.

Stop F’ing with me Germany … also I feel a bit paranoid. We should go to the sauna.

Germany is fucking with me.

Or maybe it’s the weather that’s fucking with me.

It’s likely best if you imagine me as a meth addict saying those two things.   A meth addict that’s been awake for eight days, hasn’t showered for 10, is covered in sores and this has gotten way off topic.

Look, I know, just as I know I will write another retarded update to this blog that the gray clouds and constant drizzle are about to hit us but, at of this mid-September point it is all 70-degrees and sunny.   If the easiest job in the world is

Brussels, Looking Hot

Like this only in Germany and crap. (Photo credit: clappstar)

Phoenix weatherman (It’ll be hot and sunny tomorrow) the second easiest should be a weatherman in Germany (bring an umbrella!) and its taunting me because you can feel the weather SLOWLY changing but without any of that normal half cloudy, half rainy crap that September usually seems constructed of.

But I’m VERY sure that in all the Septembers I’ve been here in Germany (five of them if I recall) I’m pretty sure I was wearing a jacket at this point.   But not this fall, not this September, its 70 degrees in the afternoon and I should love it.

I should …

You see I grew up in Phoenix, hence the weatherman joke a moment ago, where the sun told you to shut the hell up and get back inside on or about March 1st and didn’t stop flailing your hide until about December 15th.

Dagmar grew up in another hot … oh wait it snows there in the winter.   Half-credit only honey and really it never was that hot when we visited.  Warm yes.   Phoenix hot?  No.

The point is we both like hot weather.   We love it.   LOVE it.  We’ve actually told friends we love hot weather with capital letters.   “Hi, we love hot weather with capital letters,” we said.   It was awkward.

But it’s a good job here in Germany.   Good people, interesting work and I’ve since learned (being from Phoenix) that snow is just water, it can’t hurt you and if you put on more clothes the cold can be tolerable.

Who knew?

Which brings me to the German saunas, always a popular topic if the word searches that lead people here are any clue (perverts!).    Besides sweating while naked next to total strangers, during warm weather, there are ample places to lie out in the sun at the Sauna we go to.   There’s also a heated pool and sleeping rooms and there’s even a natural lake, and back in July and August when the sun was just ‘a-rockin’ it was awesome to jump into its cold water.

Point is we both like to tan and if you can tan in the buff why not do it?  We even seek out the nude beaches here in Europe when we go on vacation, again if you’re going to tan and you can tan in the buff, do it.

I’ll giggle like a school kid on my death bed if the cause of my demise is skin cancer, and I’ll ask for a beer and a smoke after the diagnosis.

We went there all summer long and it was awesome.    Dripping with sweat from the good old sun Dagmar would ask me if I want to go to the next special ‘honey sauna’ and I’d laugh and laugh.

No dear, I’m covered in my own sweat at the moment and when I get tired of that there’s an ice-cold pool right there to turn-off the heat.  Why would I subject myself to being in a super-hot box when obviously Mr. Sun is right here more than happy to meet my needs, and I’m getting tanned to boot.   You’re ice sauna doesn’t do that does it?

We even talked another couple we’ve been friends with for years and years into coming with us by using phrases like, “look you’ve been in Germany for years, shouldn’t you at least try it,” and “wanna see my weiner?”

Cover of "National Lampoon's Vacation [UM...

Naked vacation with friends, we can invite Chevy Chase and make a movie … only it wasn’t. At all.

I had this whole idea that I’d blog about going to the naked sauna with friends and what that was like.  I even told Oh god my wife is German dude I would but in the end it was about as funny as unpacking the groceries.   Maybe even less funny, depending on what you bought.    They’re good friends, seeing them naked didn’t cause any bit of whacky-funny stories like you’d see in a National Lampoon Vacationmovie, damn it.

Friends if you’re reading this, thanks for nothing, assholes.

Dagmar’s going to proof read this in a moment and say something to the effect of, I thought this was about the weather?   And she’s wrong, because it is about the weather and the sauna because the two go hand in hand damn it.

Last week I scanned and scanned the weather.  I checked the iPhone weather app like I was expecting a call from my dealer, I hit refresh on weather.com and weather underground like a junkie.  I even asked the guy that empties our trash.   Everyone agreed, Saturday would be nice, clear with a high of 70 something.

So what happened Friday?   Sunny and 70 is the correct answer.  What happened Saturday?   Overcast with a 100% chance of rain on the way to the sauna?  Yes it was.  What happened Sunday?   Sunny with a temperature of 73ish you ask, yes it was.

Why are you fucking with me Germany?    Also I think the cops are watching from the retired German neighbor’s house across the street.   Yeah, I sound a bit paranoid.

So, what happened today after I drove home in the 70something degree weather with my windows down enjoying the clear blue sky?   Yeah, I Googled it.  There’s a dip on Thursday, with a chance of rain, but otherwise clear skies and 70s.

I’m totally buying tickets tomorrow, one more ride on the sun train.  Chase the dragon man  …

I’m no longer allowed to talk about sauna boners and this is not really about sauna boners

I’m on another business trip and was informed by my wife today that she ‘read the blog.’ Which was odd because when I told her I was going to start a blog phrases like “you’re an idiot”, “go mow the lawn” and “I can’t wait until dancing with the stars comes on” were tossed about.

I always suspected, but could never prove, that she had snuck a peak or two at the blog. In fact I’d even conned her into proofreading a few of the entries. So both of those updates that were generally free of spelling errors, incomplete sentences and didn’t use the work fuck five times in a row where ones she proof read*.

I knew there were a few sentences or phrases or even thoughts here that she might, question. It’s not Howard Stern circa the mid 90’s wife level of “what the hell is he doing?” But still. There’s photo after photo of cleavage shots that don’t belong to her (I’ve thought about doing an entire update about cleavage shots … look for an exciting poll regarding that topic later in this update, if I remember! Oh crap I did remeber but I put it here and not at the end, because I’m awesome), there was a discussion of vacuum cleaner sex and hell there’s Sasha, remember Sasha? I do! Hi Sasha!

Also Blitzboy76 wants me to drink more and write more. I hear and obey Blitz, I hear and obey.

So what was her comment about the blog? It was, as you’ve guessed, sauna boners.

Now I realize this blog, because of a self-fulfilling prophecy at this point, is dangerously close to becoming the “INTERNET’S NUMBER ONE STOPPING POINT FOR ALL THING NAKED SUANA”. Hell I’m considering selling “sauna boner” coffee mugs, “naked sauna” tee-shirts here and … well no I’m not.

Her point was, and she was only mildly angry, that I shouldn’t write about sauna boners because people would think I was some kind of pervert.

I would like to all of you know that I am not some kind of pervert; I’m a specific kind of pervert thank-you-very-much.

When pressed, she explained, that sauna boners were not the kind of thing I should be writing about because again, people would think I was a pervert. When pressed, as in “I used the term in a very joking manner, never once referring to an actual erection (okay there had been that ONE time but that was ages ago) so I’m not sure how you could conclude that?”** She had no answer, meaning she hadn’t read much other than the headline.

I’ve known her too long for these kinds of shenanigans damnit!

Was I a better writer, better journalist, had I ‘had a few beers’ or even just been a dick I would have grilled her about her objection to the term.

Me: What exactly is wrong with the term sauna boners?

Her: It makes you sound like a pervert!

Me: I see perhaps erections in a sauna would be better?

Her: No, no that’s not what I mean.

Me: Wood in a hot wooden sweatbox?

Her: ewww!

Me: Stiffy in a sauna, that way there are two S’s in the phrase, but we should be careful with things like SS.

Her: No that’s not what I mean!

Me: Maybe something medical sounding? “Fully aroused male subject inside of a temperature controlled enviro …

Her: Shut up!

I wish it had gone that way but alas it did not. I asked her what was wrong with that term in the context I used it.

She of course couldn’t answer that because she hadn’t read it. I knew this, of course. Back, years back, when I was an Army journalist there had been a similar fight. She was mad about something I had written and when pressed I quickly learned she hadn’t read what I’d written.

Taking the time machine back to ; ; ; three, I was a young and eager U.S. Army journalist. Oh boy, eager beaver indeed! At the time there were two kinds of enlisted journalists, those that gave a fuck and those that didn’t. A sort of Tale of Two Cites opening paragraph if you will of Army journalists, meaning it was exactly the same as today. Most of the assignments the editor handed out were of the “cover boy scout troop 1043’s race-car derby this weekend” or “Go to this housing area’s meeting and find out if they’re going to change garbage pick-up day to Thursday”.

Boring shit right?

But then there were the other assignments, the ones where you, and I’m not trying to toot my own horn, but my horn shall be tooted (which is much dirtier than sauna boners for those of you still reading this), lived in the field or worked a long weekend or even worked all night. I always took these, always. I point this out because sometimes when something real to report on (real for Army journalism) came along I got first fucking dibs. Sometimes real was covering a forest fire on base and me and another of the journalists, John Barker, tag teamed that like meth addicted prostit … oh wait that’s as bad as sauna boners, maybe worse.

But a really, really sweet assignment came up when the installation I worked for canned the head chef of the officer’s club. I don’t know how much I want to disclose … okay fuck it, it was the chef at the United States Military Academy at West Point. The fact that they just hired a new one was my story but my editor turned me on to a lot of negative, very early, internet bitching about the old chef’s fuck ups. When I interviewed the new chef I had all the bad-ass questions about how he would address the complaints of the customers and to his credit he had all the answers. It wasn’t Pulitzer but it was Army Pulitzer …

Anyway as you can predict the story ran with me saying what a douche the old dude was and what a shit-hot addition the new guy was about to be.

Moar Boobs!

Anyone that just read that deserves a look at some cleavage … here you go.

Did I mention that Dagmar worked there? Not as the head chef that just got canned but as a bartender. Some faithful ally of the old Chef’s regime had put the bug into her ear that I had called the establishment a filthy cesspool of filthy cess or something.

Basically, without doing what I just did in our imaginary back and forth at the start of this, she called and asked how I could call the place she worked at a shitty place to eat and I replied that I hadn’t, I’d said it was kicking ass these days. Yada, yada, three bags full, have you read it honey? No was the reply.

And that kids is how you write a fuck lot of words about sauna boners and never once refer to a sauna boner.

Also honey, if you’re still here, Sauna boners.

* There are a few others that proof read for me … they remain nameless as long as they keep paying me to remain nameless … July’s coming up girls!

** Look there’s plenty of retarded shit here that I would have to defend, maybe, if she ever read it. Sasha, the second helicopter (she doesn’t KNOW YET … SHHH!) and that fact that on the last night of this trip I plan to have a private candlelit ceremony where I knight my left testicle Sir Droopy

Breast moles, sauna boners and what the hell is a ‘dorie gary broken’?

If you follow this blog at all, and I’m talking to BOTH OF YOU RIGHT NOW, you know that I took a two-week hiatus. During that drunken black out break I became afraid to check the WordPress stats page, because a ‘no views today’ would have made me cry like an infant in a puddle of my own pathetic.

And I would have been naked so don’t picture that in your head – to late? Shit, sorry.

But eventually the little voice my head said, “dear dickhead, you umm going to update this fucking thing or what? You’ve got one that’s almost ready to go. How about not surfing for porn and or playing games tonight and like taking 10 fucking minutes to, I don’t know, update this shit.”

The little voice was right and I was spending entirely too much time at ratemyrack.com (Emily YOU’RE STILL NUMBER 1 baby!) and not enough time making an ass out of myself here, for your enjoyment. So I uploaded business trip tips and thought, “fuck it Sasha hasn’t called in like a week, we’re good.”

Then I looked at the stats.

Jesus. Christ. Fuck. God. Almighty. What. The. Fuck?

There are days here that I don’t post that get more hits than days that I did post.

I’d love to say it’s because of all of you, the ones that are literally reading this now. I know you came back to share some of my lovely wit with your friends and family. Maybe you showed grandma that wonderful update where I used the words tits, beer, fuck and ball hair all in the same sentence, I mean that was an epic sentence but alas, it was not the reason the stats were still high.

See I wasn't kidding ... it's all about suana boners at had a few beers

See I wasn’t kidding … it’s all about sauna boners at had a few beers

It’s because, and you likely know this, sauna boners. Yeah sauna boners. I knew it would be sauna boners that saved me. (By the way that sentence has never before been written, ‘I knew it would be sauna boners that saved me’ … FIRST BABY).

D.C. Dana has awesome search terms, “mars robot, heat shield, kittens,” as an example. I never get cool search terms that includes robots and only one kitten hit. It was ‘kitten boners’ though so not much of a win there.

Two word press bloggers I follow, Sweet mother and Oh my god my wife is German I bet don’t get too many boner hits. Okay Oh my god my wife is German probably gets a few but they are the good kind of boner hits such as: are boners okay in Germany vice Boner hot boning in boning country. Actually I have never had a hit for, boner hot boning in boning country but I expect to any minute, mainly cause I’ll add it to the tags so … there’s that.

The point is boners are keeping me up (yeah, yeah you see what I did there) hits wise so … thanks. I’m happy you like reading about erections in mixed company saunas, even though they don’t really happen. And I love that you come here looking for porn (has your search engine of choice no image preview function) with terms like, “German sauna erection” and find my dumb ass spout off about Rush Limbaugh or the horror that IS the Golden Corral.

Then there are the other ones. The weird, what the hell, hits. Vacuum cleaner sex, which okay I get it’s a fucking (get it) niche but besides a weird rant I did a month ago, I NEVER MENTIONED fucking vacuums. Sure I’ve looked at the vacuum and though, could I? But I never wrote about that, until now I mean.

Here’s a fun one, “boob moles.” That was an actual search term for this blog (more than once), ‘boob moles’ and again I’m left wondering why. I KNOW on a base level why, I have the most

Sometimes I play connect the boob mole with these photos ... mostly not.

Sometimes I play connect the boob freckles (they’re NOT MOLES asshole!) with these photos but it’s hard with all my drooling .

awesome friend that on demand sends me cleavage photos and her boobs have moles on them (it makes them hotter oddly) but WHO THE FUCK COMES HERE TO INVESTIGATE BOOB MOLES …

Here’s a fun search term that four of our wonderful internet neighbors used to come to this blog, “trolls have sex with female elf.” And honestly who among us hasn’t googled trolls have sex with female elf a few times but I’m just not sure why the internet algorithms would point them here.

Finally there is this search term, ‘dorie gary broken’. Yeah, whatever that is. I Googled dorie gary broken and Google basically told me to shut the hell up

I quit, okay I don’t quit but I want to quit.

Part 3: Naked in mixed company German sauna reborn … erections and gayness

I had hoped this was going to be the third and final German sauna story, but I think there’s going to be a fourth.

Yeah, there’s going to be a fourth.  Besides saunas being (99 percent of the time) a great relaxing day, they can be (1 percent of the time) hysterical … to me, and hopefully to you.

While I’ve had some rocking days here at Hadafewbeers.com where there were TONS of daily hits, the blogs about being naked in a German sauna gets a lot of hits every damn day. While ‘Merica, F’yah generated a lot of hits, the sauna stories continually get hits albeit in smaller numbers . On days, hell weeks, I don’t post … in the search terms that WordPress provides on the stats page, German sauna is still the strongest, all around, hit generator.

Which leads me to believe there’s a lot of perverts reading this. Awesome.

The other two sauna stories, for those who missed them, are located here (Part 1) and here (Part 2).

Last time I posted on the topic I promised the following in this update.

Gay man hits on me in the sauna and the same gay man hits on me later story follow up.

What happens exactly when the whole place goes nude.

Three erections

Yes, Dagmar, OK, I was looking at those girls cause they were hot

The Pee-Pee Patrol

Exhibitionist girl

Sailor man’s penis

We’ll get to the first three this time and the last four next time … I’ll even add in a bonus, what happens when you meet a fellow American at the sauna.

Finally, Dagmar and I have gone to the sauna a few hundred times and these experiences I’m about to share are the exception, not the rule. If you’re ever in Europe and are thinking of hitting a traditional European sauna, nothing like this will happen to you, but if it does tell me all about it.

So here we go.

Gay man hits on me in the sauna and the same gay man hits on me later story follow-up.

This is the funniest trip to the sauna and also it’s the one that makes Dagmar cry with laughter whenever it comes up in conversation. Gay men have from time to time, since I was like 13 or some shit, hit on me. Dagmar finds every single instance extremely funny and I hate her for it.

Fuck you, Dagmar it’s NOT funny!

OK, it’s pretty funny.

Did I mention crowded? The sauna’s are crowded.

As I think I explained in a previous post, at most big saunas there are sauna meisters and they, every half hour or so, run a special sauna where you rub honey on your naked flesh, rub salt on your naked flesh or, for all I know, somewhere in northern Germany there is a “smack yourself in the face with a dead fish” sauna.  Point is, there are special saunas and you have to get there early because they get VERY, in a way that capital letters cannot convey, crowded.

By the time the sauna doors close you are packed in like naked sardines and I don’t know of any other kind.   Literally, you are squeezed into your space on the sauna bleachers desperately trying not to make skin to skin contact with anyone to whom you aren’t married.

This particular sauna was a salt sauna, where you sweat your balls off and then rub salt all over your skin because according to Germany, evolution didn’t allow us to shed dead skin cells effectively enough and we need the help of salt.  Alternatively, my skin feels really smooth and soft after this particular sauna which is why dudes think I’m gay a lot.  It’s a lose/lose situation.

“Get to the fucking point,” I can hear you all saying and “FUCK you” is my reply.  You get hit on by a gay man while you’re nude with your WIFE glued to your side and we’ll see how easily you segue into the story.

OK, so during this salt sauna, when you’re vigorously rubbing rock salt all over your body, you need some help rubbing the salt on your back.  That’s OK, though, because I have Dagmar to do mine and I do hers.

Then it happened.

I speak enough German to order a beer and to prove I don’t speak German.  What I mean is, I don’t speak German.

The man next to me wanted me to rub the rock salt on his back. I was naive enough, at the time, to rationalize this in my head.

See the guy in the center, the one with the clothes, yeah he’s the sauna meister.

There are, I assumed, plenty of gay saunas in Germany. My thinking was anyone looking for gay sex would never come to these huge, mixed-gender saunas looking for gay sex.  At this point in my then-3 years in Germany, I knew the Germans to be fanatical rule followers and I honestly assumed this was another German dedicated to the health benefits of the sauna.

Still, though, there was the twinkle in his eye.  Never ignore a fucking twinkle folks, never.

I rubbed that salt into his back with the vigor of a German.  “Do a good job,” I told myself. “Work that upper back, scrub the middle back and, damn it son, don’t skimp on the salt. Use some of yours if you have too.”

I introduced him to Dagmar shortly thereafter because even I, with the gaydar of a dead raccoon, am starting to get it.  It was at this point, I believe, when he told Dagmar, “You are married to a beautiful man.”

OK fuck.

Dagmar laughed her exposed boobs off the entire time.

The sauna ends and I think nothing of this episode other than I’m glad that’s over. She and I exit and shower. She now has wonderfully smooth skin. I now have wonderfully smooth skin and a wife that is in hysterics laughing at me.

Outside of the main sauna area there are, in the summertime, numerous lounge chairs. I mean we all love a cancerous tan right?  I do.

As Dagmar and I sunned ourselves, au naturale, mister “You are a beautiful man” came back to assure Dagmar that she was still married to a beautiful man.

Seriously.

What happens exactly when the whole place goes nude.

What happens when the whole place goes nude is the best, if only, transition to three erections.

Remember that, on most days, from the time the sauna opens until it closes, there is a clothed side that consists of fun slides, wave pools, mineral baths, and then there is the nude side that has, in addition to the saunas, a large heated pool and a few other things like a massage  area and a bar. These are separated by an imaginary line on the floor. Beyond that line invisible line, everyone is naked, except when they are not. Which is usually. Outside of being in the sauna or the pool most everyone wears a towel or a robe.

Yeah, there’s always some naked dude or 80-year-old woman who’s just said, “Fuck it, no one is checking me out anyway,” and they wander around sans clothes during their entire visit, but generally, everyone wears something.

As you can tell from the textiles, this was not after 7 p.m. on a Saturday. It is, however, the place we go to.

At approximately 6:55 p.m. though, on the clothed side there’s an announcement over the intercom that I think says “Hey clothed people, the naked weirdos are about to come over to the clothed side of the place so flee if you want to,” or something like that. And then it just sort of happens, some people leave, some strip, others stray in from the naked side and by 7:15 it’s a done deal.

Not that exciting, except it leads directly to three erections which, I at least, found hysterical.

Again, even after 7 p.m. most of the people who are still there remain wrapped in a towel or robe when not swimming or laying in the sun.

Most people.

Three erections

I don’t remember the exact time of day, but it was just after the whole place went nude. While having a cigarette during one of our trips I noticed three 15- or 16-year-old males seated at a small circular table yelling at each other and apparently fondling themselves. Yeah.

Before you close your browser and draft an email where you call a disgusting liar, hear me out.  The boys were seated at the table in such a way that they couldn’t see what the other was doing, though it was painfully obvious, and they were yelling at each other. It was like a train wreck that I could not turn away from.

I should have stamped my cigarette out, fled the German sauna world forever and immediately entered therapy, but I was baffled and wanted to see what the fuck they were going to do.

Besides the obvious, I mean.

And the yelling? It seemed like encouragement, but I have no clue what they were saying because I don’t speak German, but who the HELL encourages their other friends while they are … I know, I know get to the point.

And then it all became clear what these three adolescent masterminds had up their sleeves. At a certain point in this circle jerk they stood up, boner all a-poppin, and marched directly through main area in what I guess was an attempt to scandalize the masses and or get a “rise” out of my gay friend in the salt sauna. Prank wise I think it’s a four out of 10. Balls though?  You bet.

Holy crap I’m naked and so are they!

This photo I found on the internet proves Germany is cold, ’cause the internet never lies!

Germany is a cold, wet, cold, freezing, cloud-covered, cold, testicle shrinking, shivering, cold country. But it has really good beer and food so, you know, it’s a balance. I’ve lived here with Dagmar since about 2006. I think I could go on and on about Germany and Germans. Their little quirks, annoying things, stuff that is just bizarre, stuff I wish more Americans did (myself included) … it’s obviously a country with its own identity and culture.

This is about the German, or at least a part of the German, culture that has absolutely no aversion to nudity. Let me refine that a bit. At German saunas the people, both male and female, mingle nude and it’s not as weird as you would think. Or it is as weird as you would think, but they don’t care, they’re naked.

As any 10-year-old with the ability to set Google’s safe search option to “off” likely understands, beaches in Europe are generally topless. Actually I can get rid of the qualifying “generally” I think. It’s safe to say that on any given beach in Europe, you will find topless women.

Someone recently asked me why I was still here in Europe. The above paragraph is the reason. It’s topless beaches and beer. I can drink a beer and see lots and lots of boobies. And I like beer and boobies. Together … well it’s a little like heaven.

But back to saunas. Germans think there are health benefits to sauna going. I have no clue if they’re right or not, but I do know enjoy the sauna, particularly in the winter when the thermometer is pegging out at a high in the 20s.

This is what i will deal with for an eternity when I die …

The place I’m most familiar with is a water park named, oddly enough, Miramar. If you have kids I think you’ve been to a similar place. It has a giant wave pool, screaming children, water slides, screaming children, inner tube rides, screaming children and a snack bar/real bar occupied by, you guessed it, screaming children.

Why the hell would I go to a place infested with screaming children?. Because apart from the kids play area, they also have an area that consists of hot pools and quiet rooms and, most importantly, they have the nude side.

The Nude Side.

NAKED PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!

As you enter the nude side, the entrance to which is only sorta, kinda hidden from the clothed side (walking to one of the clothed pools you’re basically looking directly into the entrance of the nude side) you are immediately accosted by all shapes, sizes and ages of nakedness. Although there’s the line in the sand where you are expected to remove your bathing suit and stow in lockers any items you have like keys and wallets, there are, unsurprisingly, a lot of naked people.

After disrobing, because the Germans have a rule for everything (but this is a good rule), you’re expected to shower before entering the actual sauna and swimming area. Interestingly, or not, 99 percent of the sauna-goers don’t just walk around naked, they have a towel or more often a robe on between the saunas. This percentage drops considerably in the warmer months, but still, the general rule is if you’re not in a sauna or in the pool, you’re covered up.

To sum up the ‘textile free” or nude side, it consists of five indoor saunas, two tubs (one warmish and the other BONECHILLINGLY cold) two “quiet rooms” and a (’cause it’s Europe) snack bar/restaurant area devoid of any screaming children. Outside there is a pool, four smaller saunas, the “Sauna Maximus” (a HUGE sauna) and another quiet area.

Inside the non-special saunas, people come and go as they please. Some, like the Jagersauna outside, are super hot. Others, like the aroma sauna, have aromas like lemon or straw.

Inside these saunas everyone sits from toe to buttocks on a towel and … wait.

HOLY CRAP I’M NAKED!

I think this is the point where I need to address the naked part because some of you are thinking this is very weird, pervy or just fucking insane. You’re all wrong and you’re all right. Taking off your bathing suit is weird for the first time, for the first five minutes. After that you start to realize that the atmosphere in a German Sauna area is about as sexy as a hospital visit.

For a moment you think, ‘HOLY FUCKING JESUS I’M NAKED AND SO IS EVERYONE ELSE,” but then the discomfort fades because everyone is naked. You quickly realize that all men have a penis and when not erect it looks like, well, a non-erect penis. All girls have pronounced breasts and a vagina. Strip away (haha!) any hint of romance, lust or sex, and it’s as sexually stimulating as a medical text book. Besides there is a lot of looking straight ahead, lots of eye contact. No one, you can be reasonably sure, is checking you out** because you really don’t stand out, even though you’re naked.

Guys reading this might be thinking, but aren’t there some hot girls, hot naked girls?

Yes, there are, but again it’s simply not a sexual environment. I confess I have thought, “Wow, nice body,” but in a sea of bodies that’s akin to saying in a forest, “Wow, that’s a nice tree.”

(For the record, I’m rarely actually in a forest because it’s very hard to get a beer there unless you bring it yourself and then, what the fuck are you doing drinking in a forest retard? A bear is going to eat you.)

Every hour, on the hour, a special group sauna is held in either an indoor sauna or the Sauna Maximus outside. These group saunas are where it turns weird. Until now the saunas are basically sparsely populated. But during the special group saunas, it turns into a packed sauna where you will sit on your own towel, naked, shoulder to shoulder and leg to leg.

HOLY CRAP I’M NAKED WITH ABOUT 60 OTHER PEOPLE, ITS HOTTER THEN HELL AND SOME IDIOT IS MAKING IT HOTTER.

You have to get to the group saunas a good 10 minutes early or you’re going to have to fight for a seat or you might even be turned away. Contrary to what I said in the paragraph previous to this, there’s no actual skin to skin contact, but it’s close and yeah, you do bump into the person next to you. If you just said “Ewww!” swapping sweat with strangers, oh nooooes! Yeah it certainly happens but you shower immediately afterwards so …

It’s like this, only a lot bigger and with a lot of naked people. Also there’s no guy in charge of making even friggen HOTTER!

At the scheduled time the sauna master comes in, closes the door and the fun begins. No shit, the place has people in charge of the sauna event. It is Germany after all. Usually there is a quick introduction, some joke I’m not likely to understand and then the buckets of water are poured onto the rocks cranking the heat up to 11. The sauna master, clothed in shorts and a T-shirt, then starts to wave a towel over his or her head while walking around the sauna in an effort to crank the heat up past the mystic 11 and into the unknown 12. They are successful. It gets up to “HOLY SHIT THIS IS HOT” temperatures in a short amount of time. Then, they usually do some sort of gimmick. Two of my favorites are the honey sauna and the salt sauna.

In the honey sauna they — no shit, I’m not making this up and I’m not drunk — pass out small cups of honey which you are then expected to rub on yourself. If you have never seen a room full of naked people vigorously rubbing themselves with honey while a clothed person twirls a towel over their heads, you haven’t been to a German sauna. I don’t need hallucinogens, I’ve rubbed honey on my naked body with total strangers. The purpose of this is to attract insects and/or to give your skin the ability to sweeten tea. Actually, I have no idea what the purpose is, but I’m sure it’s a skincare thing.

Mmmmmm honey, a super hot room and sweat!

My other favorite (well the honey thing isn’t a favorite it just cracks me up – who the hell thought of that?) is the salt sauna. I actually like the salt sauna. I’m a heterosexual male and I realize that what I’m about to type will make everyone reading this question that statement, but the salt sauna makes your skin super smooth. Halfway through this sauna, just when you’re thinking that your body can’t really be producing the amount of sweat it is currently producing , they pass out small cups of rock salt.

Rock salt, not just for de-icing your driveway, but for vigorously rubbing all over your naked body too!

Cup of salt in hand, you pour a bit on your leg, arm chest, everywhere and scrub. Words of caution, do not get this shit in your eyes and any little open wound (shaving nick, cut on a finger) is about to sting like hell. But the after effect is, (again I am a heterosexual male) really smooth skin. I find myself hours later going, “Why are my arms so smooth?”

Then, just when you feel faint, just when you can’t take another moment of heat, just when you think you’re about to catch on fire, the sauna master opens the door and everyone pours outside. Typically, they have some sort of refreshment available, a Popsicle or a glass of tea or a piece of candy.

This after–special sauna-moment is another one of those, “Am I really seeing/participating in this weird shit?” There you are, buck naked except for flip flops, a group of between 20 and 60 men and women sucking on a Popsicle, drinking tea and desperately trying to cool down. Immediately after a sauna Germans love, love, love to dunk themselves in cold water and there are showers and buckets everywhere for just that purpose. I’m interested in not having a heart attack or enticing my testicle to relocate into my abdomen, so except for a few experimental tries, I forgo this aspect of the sauna.

That’s the naked German sauna experience in a nutshell. After round after round of sweat like a man waiting on the results of the girlfriend’s pregnancy test, it’s time for a beer and maybe a bit to eat and then it’s over.

There is one other aspect of this experience that I’ll save for another day. That’s the two days a week that the whole damned place goes “textile free.” At 7 p.m. there is an announcement and magically everyone is naked … the transition is, to me at least, funny for its own reasons .. more about that next time.

* Yes. If you’ve known me more than 10 minutes, you fully understand that after the fifth beer I’m as likely to remove all of my clothing, regardless of the situation, as a 2-year old … I am unable, with beer, to resist nearly any dare. It’s a gift/curse.

** No one is checking you out unless you’ve done something that screams CHECK ME OUT. There is an older man, who Dagmar and I call “look at my penis man.” He is about 70 and I’m reasonably certain that he must have been a sailor in the 1970s as he’s covered in aged tattoos and, get this, has more piercings on his penis and scrotum than is reasonable or even sane. I have seen him engage with other Germans discussing his dick artwork (I assume, all parties involved were looking directly at his junk so I can’t imagine is a discussion about Greek debt). There are a few “personalities” at the sauna that Dagmar and I laugh about … more about them next time though.