Category Archives: Nudity

Nudist Fiction: My Dilemma

I’ve realized that my “___-Word Story” series doesn’t mean anything. It’s the literary equivalent of a sugar rush: brief satisfaction followed by a feeling of What did I just do?

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To go into more detail:

One of the subjects I write about on this blog is nudity.

Specifically: Nudists. I write stories about people who go naked, and have written about the times that I myself have gone naked.

The reason why is: I find people who go naked fascinating.

The reason why is: “Wear clothes” is a near-universal rule in any family and any society. And yet, such people say “No.”

I don’t see nudists as rebels. But, such peoples’ choice to go without clothes goes against the grain. And I want to know what drives a person to make such a choice, and what they learn about themselves, others, and the world around them, as a result of being naked.

Only, I often find myself disappointed. I get the impression that a number of people only go naked in order to more easily pleasure themselves sexually.

That’s where I come back to me writing about nudity: I feel like I’m writing stories for a reason that is equally shallow.

For example: My most recent story:

The night I sleep naked, I am told, “You sleepwalk.”

Reading those words again, I think What does that even mean?

Nothing.

At least, not to me.

sigh

Looking back on all my writing about nudity over the years, “I Have Found It” is the one piece I can honestly say I am proud of.

Everything else just… bleh. It doesn’t feel right.

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I want to do right by people who choose to go naked.

It’s my duty as a Catholic to see the humanity in all people, regardless of what they are or aren’t wearing:

“‘Whatever you did to the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did to me.’”
~ Matthew 25:40

And, ultimately, I don’t see that happening when it comes to 99.9% of my writing on nudity.

Change is coming.

By the grace of God, it will be the change I need. Whatever that may be.

On a final note:

Thank you to the beautiful woman who made the photo used in this post possible.

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The Garden

Picking a flower from the garden
I know there is a world out there for me

Woman

These words are slightly different than words in “Arrietty’s Song” by Cecile Corbel (an instrumental version of which is below) which was the first thing that came mind when I saw the piece of art posted above:

Thank you to the beautiful little girl who made the piece of art used in this post possible.

Why I Won’t Be Finishing “Wild Child”

I won’t be finishing “Wild Child,” a short story I was writing about a mother and her child who live in nature, and what happens to them when they encounter civilization.

The reason why is: I realized I was writing for the wrong reason.

To explain:

3 years ago, I dropped out of university.

And this fall, I enrolled at a community college, in order to pick up where I had left off; in order to receive an education that would allow me to put bread on the table.

And in all that time, I feel like I’ve been running away.

I’ve been trying to escape from my struggles. Even if I know that, ultimately, my struggles will make me a better person.

And, I found my “escape” in fellow blogger sunshine lou.

Her writing about being naked in nature is what gave me the idea for “Wild Child.”

Her writing awakened a longing in me. A longing to be, in her words, “Naked and free.”

I didn’t want to just be free from clothes and out in nature — I wanted to be free from the struggles that were sapping my love for life, and get away from a mindset (“I’m a failure because I dropped out of college”) and an environment (college) that were causing me to hate myself.

And, I’ve realized: That’s no way to live.

What I mean when I say “That’s no way to live” is:

Through my writing, I shouldn’t try to express an experience (being a woman naked in nature) that is not my own because, ultimately, my words won’t be authentic.

I’ll never be Lou, and I shouldn’t try to be.

I need to learn to not hate the struggles that have made me the person I am today. I need to love myself for all that I am.

And that won’t happen if I keep on wishing I was someone else.

Wild Child: A Short Story — Part 6

“Gods!” Calla swore when the bandage was applied, immediately clapping her free hand over her mouth. Blinking away tears, her eyes found the cause of her pain.

Wrapped in a blanket in front of the fire, the wild child slept on.

Thank you.

“My lady–”

Calla snatched the open bottle off the table next to her, throwing her head back to take a swig before the doctor could say another word.

Now that her fingernails and toenails have been clipped, a good brushing and some clothes and she’ll be a proper little girl.

Gritting her teeth as the doctor applied the final bandage on her left arm, Calla stood, swaying.

“Thank you…” she said, eyes darting to the bottle before traveling up and down the length of bandages applied all over.

“My life is service,” the old man said, bowing.

“And this,” Calla said with a rueful grin, pointing to the sleeping child, “is my service. Return to your own children, good man.”

“I am at my lady’s call,” the doctor said with a bow before departing.

Alone with the child once again, the dominant emotion that Calla felt was shame.

Hiding the empty bottle under her bed, she sat next to the child, watching her sleep.

After her bath, the child’s long dirty blonde hair was not so dirty anymore. Her skin was as pink as a newborn baby’s. And, looking at her fingers now, one would never guess that her nails had drawn blood.

Where did you come from?

Calla’s musings were interrupted by the door to the room flying open with a sound loud enough to wake the dead. Her husband staggered through it, looking as drunk as she felt.

“I found the she-beast!” Ryker shouted before bending over, vomiting on the floor, and toppling forward into it. Out cold.

Shaking, Calla did not notice the blanket being draped over her shoulders until, turning, she saw the child, heedless of the fact that, because of the open door, anyone could see all of her now, looking at her with an expression that said Don’t be afraid.

And it was in that instance that Calla knew the answer to her question.

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