• Rochelle Arucan

Nude Truths

Catching a glimpse of yourself unclothed, and then all of the sudden you're in a trance. No this is not a case of narcissistic obsession. Your weary has realized a few things, is all...

First I cup my right boob, then my left- Being careful not to squeeze too hard, this isn’t foreplay after all, and I can’t get carried away, I just need to feel them- I’m just curious is all. It’s been a while since I paid attention to my breasts, you know, like really paid attention to them.

My breasts still have weight, although I think the right boobs gravity is losing its youth. There’s an extra half finger tuck I don’t remember being there before. Is this the start of that inevitable sag? Or did I just never notice it before? Maybe? I guess this explains why that nipple seems to have more girth when aroused, or cold, or just touched in general than the left nipple. Is it a righty type of body-type thing- I am dominant on my right side.

A friend of mine had a baby recently and she says one boob grew to be bigger than the other overnight, and now her bras are even more useless than they were before. She isn’t wrong, she is walking around slightly top heavy lopsided, but I lied and told her I hadn’t noticed. She’s not happy about it- I don’t think I would be either. Pregnancy is already a subject I don’t even like to talk about. I mean first you’ve got this thing that takes over your youthful body, making you fat. Then this thing comes busting out of your vagina making it so you will never have a nice tight little funnel ever again. But then it just ruins the last thing you got going for you- Your man magnet, money making, first set of eyes? Your voluptuous tits become a milk factory with nipples the size of coasters, and they no longer belong to you because now those nips belong to it, and it pulls and sucks until gravity no longer exists because the milk stretched tits no longer carry milk- just extra skin.

I’m shivering.

“How long have I been staring at my naked, freshly showered, wet body for?”

I should probably stop squeezing at my breast, it’s a little colder than I’d like it to be right now.

I grab my towel and finally dry off. I’ve been doing this a lot lately. Looking at my naked self, wet or not. I don’t know why I started doing it now that I’m thirty, or even exactly how it all started. I vaguely remember waking up one morning, hair disheveled, with nothing but socks on and it was then that I caught a glimpse of my nude, socked self, in the stand alone mirror at the end of my bed.

Slightly hungover, at first I chuckled at the site of this naked socked lady, but then began looking at my knees. It was bent and round and looked strong and smooth. My eyes crawled from the nub of my knees to my hips, then up my sides onto my shoulders and down my breasts.

“I will no longer look the way I do now one day”,

I thought to myself. It was a quick mapping of my semi-newly thirty year old body, but it was enough.

You’d think this is something you do only when you’re younger. Touch your curves, feel your breasts, stare at your skin and then awkwardly make eye contact with yourself which brings you out of your weird sexual self trance. But you do it to remember what your youthful self looks like, and also because you’re superficial like the rest of the world and wish your body were more perfect- whatever that means. It’s an obsessive game you play, did my butt get bigger? My waist smaller? Is that a mole? No it’s chocolate, how’d that get there? You know… that mirror mirror game.

I’m sitting on my bed in my towel now. This feels nice.

I remember an ex lover of mine who would stand naked every time after sex, he was so confident being naked. I loved watching him as he walked around and stretched after laying in bed with me. It helped that he was the right kind of sexy I wanted in that moment, but it was also that he was so comfortable just being in his skin. Cold or not- it was always the same, he was always the same.

Every movement he made, made me blush. It always felt a little embarrassing to feel my cheeks go hot and my lips wrinkle to keep from giggling. I think he was my first honest love, the kind you’re the most open to, because at the time it felt the safest. He was also my first real heartbreak, as honest loves tend to be in the end. Some times I miss the smell, and feeling of that time. But only sometimes.

One night as we laid there covered in sweat and all that scent, he asked me what I thought of my body. I hadn’t realized that in all that staring I did- he was also watching me. He told me that he thought it was funny that I would cover up so quickly after sex, hidden away in burrito form of the bed sheets, or buried under everything like a nun.

“You’re so confident in your clothes, why are you not confident out of them?”

I hadn’t the answer at the time. He had told me then that I should look at myself in the mirror, see what he sees. Then kissed me on my forehead and told me that I was beautiful. We almost lasted two years. Almost.

I guess I wasn’t ready then, to do what I do now. Not that I even know all the reasons for why I stare at myself, wet or not, naked. I guess every time it’s for a different reason, some times with questions, other times with nothing in mind- just to look. Maybe it’s to remember now, because I hadn’t before. To look at time and what it has done. Follow scars and think back on how I got them. Feel ghost touches from ex lovers as I stare at one body part to another. Whatever the reason, it’s happening. It’s happening right now.