I didn’t mean to fart on anyone.

That’s not how you want to start a story, or a spiritual journey, or a new friendship circle at a nudist wellness retreat, but here we are. Naked. Unfiltered. Slightly winded. And fully committed to radical honesty.

This book is about farting. More specifically, nude farting. A topic no one talks about, but everyone experiences. Because once you take your clothes off, there’s no buffer. No jeans to muffle. No leggings to absorb the blast. Just you, your bare butt, and the raw acoustics of the world.

The first time I nude-farted publicly, I was in the middle of a silent meditation circle. Everyone was deep in “breath awareness.” I was too. Very aware. Of my breath. Of my body. Of the breakfast burrito I’d eaten four hours earlier that was suddenly staging a protest in my lower intestine. I tried to clench. I tried to redirect the energy into my chakras. I even tried mentally begging the universe, “Please, not now.” But the universe was like, “Oh honey. Now.”

It echoed.

It echoed off a yoga dome wall and into my soul. A deep, rumbling, shame-ripple that bounced off a bamboo fountain and back into my lap. Susan snorted. Tanya fell over. I whispered “Namaste” and thought about digging a hole and climbing into it.

But that moment? That cursed, gas-powered moment? It changed me.

Because there’s something about being naked and farting—uncontrollably, unavoidably, and gloriously human—that forces you to let go of every last shred of ego you’re still clinging to with your sweaty little butt cheeks.

Farting while clothed is already awkward. But farting nude? That’s an advanced emotional sport. There’s no pretending it was the chair. There is no chair. There’s no blaming your Spanx shifting or your pants squeaking. There are no pants. There is just honesty. Honesty... and the scent of hummus, if you’re not careful.

This book is not a science book, although we will talk about gas. And butts. And digestive betrayal. It’s not a health guide, although I’ll give you some survival tips for when your colon turns on you mid-squat pose. This is a celebration of the weirdest, most hilarious, most vulnerable part of being a naked human with a functioning gastrointestinal system.

And it’s about freedom.

Because once you’ve farted on a stranger during naked partner yoga, there’s really nothing left to fear in this life.

So take off your pants. Loosen your grip on your shame.
And let it rip.