Perhaps because of his concern that people will confuse cuddle parties with orgies, Mihalko has adopted a kind of kindergarten teacher language. He calls the people who attend his parties "cuddle monsters" and calls their praise "cuddlemonials." He signs his Cuddle Party newsletters with phrases like "Happy spooning." He says his parties create a "safe space" that allows people to be "energetically open." He has a community of apostles who attend cuddle party after cuddle party, saying it relieves stress and social anxieties.
Cuddle party guests have included a born-again Christian, a sanitation worker, a tattooed general contractor and a man who was either an Orthodox or a Hasidic Jew, Mihalko isn't sure which. Many of the cuddlers are in their twenties and thirties. The oldest cuddler was an octogenarian.
In a "puppy pile," Su Sinclair, left, and organizer Reid Mihalko, bottom, are among those sharing their personal space at a recent cuddle party.
(Photos Sarah L. Voisin -- The Washington Post)
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It costs $30 to attend a cuddle party; $20 if you take advantage of the Endless Summer Spooning Special and sign up with a friend. There are also cuddle party T-shirts and mugs and teddy bears and thongs. Mihalko and Baczynski say they're planning a book and training courses so other people can throw cuddle parties.
As she collects money by the door, Baczynski says she wants to hold an HIV-positive cuddle party and a senior citizen cuddle party. Perhaps they should hold one for college freshmen, she says, and for people with autism, and for the S&M community and members of Alcoholics Anonymous and for practitioners of polyamory, a modern twist on sexual swinging.
Mihalko says he caps the sexual tension at his parties by holding them during the day, banning alcohol and making sure no one wears lingerie. He says kissing is allowed because it's not necessarily sexual.
"When is kissing making out?" Mihalko asks. "When's kissing just nurturing? . . . I can be hugging you and my hand is partially touching your breast and you can feel completely at home and safe. Or, you can be in an elevator and you can have somebody barely touching you and you can feel unsafe."
Still, there are moments when the cuddle party feels like a warm-up for something steamier. There are a few swingers at Saturday's event, though they don't wish to be publicly identified. Toward the end of the afternoon, a cuddler in a group hug surreptitiously caresses the backside of the woman beside him.
"I get now what my life's been leading up to," Mihalko says in a moment of introspection. "We all want touch in our lives, but nobody's telling each other."
Mihalko's journey toward his destiny has been uneven. At 36, he has held just about every job other than professional cuddler. He grew up in Pelham, a small town in southern New Hampshire. At Brown University, he studied fine arts and did comic book illustration and played football. He studied karate and massage. He moved to New York and played an evil henchman and an evil nurse on soap operas. He became a minister on the Internet through the Universal Life Church. He spent 2 1/2 years taking courses at Landmark Education, an outgrowth of the '70s est movement.
For 14 years he has also been working as a bartender. After talking to many customers about their relationships, he says, he decided to become a sex and romance coach. Although he has no degrees or official training, he has read a lot and "had a lot of conversations with experts."
He has written several romantic comedy screenplays and sitcoms, none of which has sold, and an as-yet unpublished "humorous how-to book for men on oral sex."
He met Baczynski at a party.
"Our first conversation was like, 'Oh, you're a sex educator? I'm a sex educator!' " Baczynski says.
Now 26, Baczynski studied public relations and women's issues at the University of Georgia. According to her online biographies, she has been involved with AIDS groups and women's sexuality forums, and is a "registered Barbara Sher success team leader."
