I love being naked when I’m alone, in every way imaginable.
Clothes bind me when my body wants to be free. I like the look and feel of my skin, soft, enveloped in my sheets, cool night air all around me. My skin is vulnerable to the chill. It’s the body’s largest organ. Fragile and strong. Holding everything together. Sensing. Protecting.
A naked soul is the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. No hiding, flaws and sweetnesses laid bare before me. The only thing I see is a perfect being in all its splendid glory. It almost feels wrong when we remember that perfection isn’t supposed to exist. But it does. It hides within us all.
Being naked is the only way I can exist but it’s forbidden. Anger, stretch marks, open minds, breasts, pain and genitals are torn apart until there’s nothing left. They do it, we do it to ourselves. We have to hide behind clothes and what we’re supposed to be. I won’t. I’ll reach out and touch you if you let me.
Touch. Feel. Excite. Stare into eyes that have nothing to hide. Don’t let me down and I’ll let you inside. Soon you’ll be mine.