Curious About This Practice?
The Questions Men Often Ask First
The following exchange is shared with permission, though no personal details have been included. It reflects the kind of questions men often ask before their first visit.
I don’t publish private correspondence; this example exists only to help others recognise their own hesitations.
Hi Geoffrey,
I came across your website a few nights ago and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. I’m not really sure why I’m writing — part curiosity, part hesitation, I suppose.
I’ve read what you wrote about peace and presence, and it makes sense, but I still can’t quite picture what actually happens.
I’m not used to being around another man without some kind of role — workmate, coach, drinking buddy — and the idea of just being there sounds almost impossible.
If I’m honest, I think I’m scared of what might come up. I’ve spent most of my life keeping things contained, and I don’t know how to stop doing that.
The idea of being naked with another man makes me realise how rarely I’ve ever actually relaxed.
But there’s something about how you describe it — not therapy, not spiritual, just quiet — that keeps pulling me back. Maybe I’m looking for permission to stop holding it all together for a bit.
I’m not sure if I’d be the right kind of person for this, or if I’d just get there and panic. But I wanted to ask anyway: do other men feel this way before they come? And is it… normal to be this unsure?
— no name given
Hello —
Yes, what you describe is very common. Most men feel exactly as you do before a first visit. Uncertainty is natural when something asks nothing of you.
We spend most of our lives learning to perform — to prove, achieve, and explain — so the idea of simply being with another person can feel disorienting at first.
There’s no requirement to be a certain kind of man, only a willingness to be present as yourself.
You won’t be asked to reveal anything you don’t want to, nor to behave in any particular way. There’s space for silence, for conversation, or simply to sit quietly until things settle.
The nudity is not the point — it’s just a way of removing the last layer of performance, of making the meeting simple and honest.
If at any time that feels too much, you can stop. Everything is by consent, always.
Most men arrive with a little apprehension and leave with a little more ease. Nothing dramatic, nothing forced — just a slower rhythm, a clearer sense of their own breathing.
If you decide to visit, you’ll find the pace unhurried and the atmosphere without judgment. And if you decide not to, that’s fine too.
The practice is here when you’re ready, and until then, simply taking time to reflect on what drew you to write is already part of it.
Warm regards, Geoffrey
