In February, after throwing some massage parties, Mihalko came up with the idea for a cuddle party. He invited Baczynski, who offered to join forces. These days, the business is about breaking even, Mihalko says, and he pays his bills bartending and working as a romance coach.
He is unmarried, and won't say much about his dating situation. "All the relationships in my life are fully expressed," he says.
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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About two hours into the cuddle party, the three men and a woman who've been sitting awkwardly on the bed stand up and move toward the door. They look shell-shocked. "There's a guy's nipple hanging out of his shirt," one of the shell-shocked fellows says, eyeing a husky cuddler in a loose-fitting tank top. He and his friends head out the door as Mihalko strokes a woman's face and talks about something being "so confronting."
It is only over the next few days that the rest of the cuddlers find out that the four who left abruptly were employees of DC-101's "Elliot in the Morning" radio show, sent by shock jock Elliot Segal to infiltrate the party and report back on the air. On Monday, they entertain the listening audience with tales of a foot massage.
The cuddlers also discover that the impostors came with the permission of Mihalko and Baczynski, who kept the whole thing a secret. Suddenly, the cuddle party's "safe space" doesn't seem so safe anymore. Several cuddlers feel betrayed. Mihalko and Baczynski are suspect. Was getting publicity more important than maintaining the sanctity of the cuddle party?
"It sort of felt like they were sort of shamelessly self-promoting themselves," says Patten, the exotic dancer. "They've just basically violated trust."
"This has been an amazing learning experience," Mihalko says in the days after the party, as he sifts though angry e-mails from D.C. cuddlers. He says he wasn't going to let the interlopers come to the party until he had an "amazing phone conversation" with Segal, who convinced him radio coverage would be a positive thing.
"We actually have a lot of people who have signed up for the newsletter, crediting DC-101," he says.
Perhaps these are the inevitable growing pains of a new movement. In any case, several of the D.C. cuddlers are still high on their experience. Ursula Esser, 28, of Arlington, says the cuddling gave her an epiphany. She realized that she has been starved for emotional intimacy. And even Patten says she might cuddle again. She feels like she made several good friends, which is strange, she admits, given that she doesn't know their last names.
But who needs last names when there is the power of touch?
At the end of the cuddle party, Mihalko and Baczynski initiate a "puppy pile." Everyone lies on the floor on top of one another, arms and legs intertwined. Someone's head is on someone else's buttocks, and someone else's head is just about in someone else's armpit.
"Whose foot's that?" someone asks.
The music cycles around to John Lennon's "Imagine." And for the moment we're all dreamers, and the world is living as one.
