Whispers go up around the loft party that the famous photographer Spencer Tunick is here and searching for people to get naked and pose for him. If you haven't heard of him, Tunick has become very well-known over the past decade for his mass nude photos taken everywhere from Central Park to Australia's Royal Botanical Gardens (photos are available on his website). Nude bodies fill up landscapes and become almost unrecognizable, simply a sea of arms and legs and torsos and heads. Because the party is for a staffer of a website where Tunick often shows his photos, Tunick has shown up and is ready to do what he does best.

My date and I race around the room asking the few other people we've met if they'll be posing. "I have my period," I whisper to the girls, knowing they'll understand. I'm on the fence at first, but ultimately I know I can't pass up this extraordinary opportunity. I've wanted to pose for his photos ever since I first heard about them, but they usually require 4 or 5 a.m. arrival times to shoot outdoors before too many people are up and about, and if there's anything I'm not, it's a morning person.

Spencer works his charm, flattering and complimenting us, and then I really can't say no. We go into a back room. Once we're in there's no turning back; it's nude or nothing. As we shuck our clothes, working quickly until we get to the underwear stage, where we move decidedly slower, we all look around uncertainly, not entirely sure what we're about to get into. A cute girl and I are the last ones changing, and we're rushed along by our naked cohorts. Two boys smoking on the balcony startle us by rustling the curtains, but by now we don't care who sees us. Being naked in that environment is intimate but not sexual per se. That's one of the things I've long noticed and admired about Tunick's photos; he pays homage to the natural beauty of the human body but doesn't hypersexualize it. He makes each body not exotic and other but simple and natural, multiplying bodies until they almost merge together into one gigantic being.

About 20 of us huddle in the room, filled with an excited energy and slight case of nerves. I'm naked in a room filled mostly with strangers, and yet there's a certain bond between us. We're all brave enough to have chosen to share in this moment together. I ogle sexy tattoos that I never would have gotten to see otherwise, take quick peeks at bodies of all sizes. I'm oddly unselfconscious about my body, which is a surprise; it's one of those things where if you think about it too long the situation seems odd but if you jump right in everything seems is perfect.

Spencer tells us how he wants us to move, to go from standing to dropping to the floor like an actor pretending to die. We do, but there isn't room for everyone to lie down straight so we curl up where we can. It's hard to tell at this point who's where; only the camera knows, and we'll have to wait until July to get our print of the shoot, Tunick's standard payment to his models. It's warm from the body heat as we lean against each other. Then we shift positions and those in the front move to the back. I'm hidden behind other bodies, giggling at the absurd coolness of the situation as I look over at my friend J. We're all equal in our naked huddled mass; checking each other out will wait for the more flirty atmosphere of the party. We lay still for a few minutes while the camera whirs, trying to stay still, leaning against each other and trying not to make any noise. There's a sense of time being suspended; where you'd normally be curious and want to rub your hands over another's naked body, instead you stay still and wait.

Spencer has us close, then open, our eyes, no smiling. And in the blink of an eye, it's over, a total of about five minutes of nudity captured for posterity. One of the party's hosts tries to round up some of the still unclothed guests to streak the party. After the frenzy of posing, I'm up for it, but the idea fizzles out from lack of interest. We put our clothes on slowly but I hesitate to leave the heightened intimacy of the room, and after I do go out it's a lot easier to flirt.

I felt extra special to be treated to a Tunick shoot in the privacy of someone's home at an hour when I'm normally awake There was a surreal quality to the shoot because it happened so fast, and barely gave me time to figure out who amongst the party guests had posed and who hadn't. Did I see that cute guy standing there in the buff, or not? But ultimately, it didn't matter.

For me, the shoot wasn't about nudity or sex per se but about art, about the way that our bodies, which often cause us so much pain and trouble, can look to an outside eye, unadorned. In the few moments I had to glance at everyone, I realized how gorgeous we are in our natural state, and as much as I love a good outfit, I saw how beautiful we can all look without all the extras. I also respect that there was never a sense of being looked at sexually; there were no once-overs in the traditional sense. Instead there were looks of awe as we took in so many naked people in a room together, something I usually only see at an orgy.

All of us were equal in our nudity, left bare and beautiful and that is something we don't get to appreciate very often. I'm very glad I didn't listen to the nervous voices in my head that told me to sit this one out. It was a fun, giddy, and beautiful moment, and I will proudly hang my print of it on my wall.

Posing for Spencer - by Rachel Kramer Bussel

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