That was a word of the day yesterday. She said she loves how I greet the day with “nothing.” Completely naked, not a sock, not a shirt, not even my glasses with which to see. She’s not wrong. Typically I spend the first full hour of my day completely bare and legally blind, and with her present I feel even freer than I do alone. She likes to see me this way, and to play with me.
Not all women I’ve known were like this. Obvious unease and looking away forced me to shirt up, at least. Not here. Not now. We spend so much of our time together naked that she had to comment on my underwear yesterday, remarking that she’d never noticed it before. We had to laugh because the reason for this is that I’m almost never wearing it when she’s around.
Nakedness, for me, goes beyond the flesh. I feel most at ease when everything is exposed, when anything goes. That is true for writing, radio, discourse… How does one arrive at true nakedness? Is there a point of purity? Or is it just a vulgar, selfish joke? She clearly embraces it, physically and intellectually. We spend long hours in bed, holding and touching each other, barely moving beyond the necessity of breathing.
I make her laugh so hard she cries. This happens daily, in fact. I like a woman who can laugh. So many cannot.
