So, Friday afternoon, Shoog turned up at my house with their camera and we got in my car and headed out to my mom's place in the country. She'd been alerted as to plans and asked to make venison meatloaf and greeted us warmly. I gave the tour of the house, warned mama off the back porch, and shucked my tshirt and shorts.
"Does everyone laugh when they take their clothes off?" I asked. Yes, they do.
I stripped down to my skivvies and sat where Shoog told me to sit. Propped my arms behind my head or set my hands on my belly. Flashed all my ink. Talked about various fat rolls and how your body changes over time.
We wandered upstairs and took some on a bed. We hung out on the front porch off mama's bathroom. I watched cars speed by and never look over to realize I was out enjoying my skin.
"Does anyone ever not want to put their clothes back on after?" I asked. Yes, sometimes.
It's only for everyone else's sake that I ever wear more than what I had on that day (which I have on now). But there's so much gender and size and class mixed up in casual nudity. So I said to hell with it, and now I'm art. I've checked out my photos on Shoog's instagram, and the comments are flattering.
Oh, and mama's meatloaf was damn good, too.
We wandered upstairs and took some on a bed. We hung out on the front porch off mama's bathroom. I watched cars speed by and never look over to realize I was out enjoying my skin.
"Does anyone ever not want to put their clothes back on after?" I asked. Yes, sometimes.
It's only for everyone else's sake that I ever wear more than what I had on that day (which I have on now). But there's so much gender and size and class mixed up in casual nudity. So I said to hell with it, and now I'm art. I've checked out my photos on Shoog's instagram, and the comments are flattering.
Oh, and mama's meatloaf was damn good, too.
