I know. The title sounds like the name of a track lifted from a prog metal record. But it’s a title that came to me and I thought: You know what, I don’t mind that.
This might be a bit of a ramble post so if you’ve opened this and you’ve just got in the car after work or you’re out in the midst of life, wait till you’re home – in bed, in the bath, on the couch — whatever your comfy realm is.
So a lot of my upbringing – the parenting style of my parents, how they raised me Catholic – would go on to play its role in my sexuality. Or coming to terms with said sexuality. I talked a bit about this surely: How my upbringing may have informed my dominant style.
One thing it did influence was how I approach nudity. Nudity felt sexual, taboo. Dangerous. I wasn’t naked for myself until I was 13. I didn’t start sleeping naked until, I wanna say, my early twenties. I’ll get back to sleeping naked in a bit. But BEING naked, just in a regular, mundane setting was unheard of. Until I got the urge out of nowhere to strip and go running through my parent’s acres of land.
Out amongst the trees, with the wind whipping my legs and a breeze teasing my cock, I felt wild. Untamed. And probably more important, not belonging to religion or strict parenting. I was so giddy I felt kinda queasy. Like I was a newborn animal drinking greedily from a spring.
In my twenties I’d find out I was primal. Which is to say, for those unfamiliar and those passing by the blog, belonging to a state of mind where I think less and feel more. I act animalistic. I let all the thoughts in the moment – love, lust, goofiness – come to me and I give it a big ol’ bear hug. I love storms and I love being out in the rain and now I’m naked a fair lot in my day.
I HAD TO REWIRE MY MIND. Because being naked felt taboo it made it feel wild. Because it felt wild it made it slightly sexy. Because it felt slightly sexy I grew to discover I enjoyed exhibitionism sometimes. The IDEA of getting caught. And because I enjoyed exhibitionism, I felt shame. Which stopped me from exploring being naked.
In my twenties I began to sleep naked. I loved it. It was peaceful, relaxing. It made me realise just how much I hated the feeling of clothes choking on me and not letting my skin breathe. It was no longer a thrill thing, it was a thing of comfort. An act to decompress after a stressful day by eschewing clothes and my societal mask to be ME.
I realised that nakedness was something that relaxed me.
So I took it outside of the bedroom.
I did mundane things around the house. I did the washing. I did my writing. I did various household things while naked. And piece by piece, it chipped away at – not only this feeling of shame residing in me, like I was a pervert – but my insecurity. I’m my own worst enemy. The way my ass looks, the shape of me. I was lanky and gross and looking like…well, bad mouthing me doesn’t serve anyone.
I still have those moments where I feel insecure. I don’t think those go away. Not always. I think you just become more of a warrior in managing them.
Being naked more has also just made more aware of my mind as well. Aware of all these little pieces that make me primal or dominant. I feel at home being naked. I feel relaxed and calm. It makes me realise just how much I grumble when I have to get dressed and play the part of me to society and friends. When, really, I’m at home best curled up somewhere naked and reading.
I have so many thoughts and can talk / write about this till the cows come home.
If you’re of a similar background to me and thinking you’d like to be naked more – try it slowly. See how you feel. At a pace that makes you comfortable. More than this, be kind to yourself. Love yourself. Let that inner nudist or primal be free in their own space. You might be like me, you might never go back to sleeping in pjs or something.
