Na Na Na Naked Time

I don’t know what it is: chest surgery, hormones, working out, or self-esteem or a combination of them all, that I just want to get naked all the time – and I don’t mean in front of other people. It’s not an exhibitionism thing for me; I prefer to do bare it when I’m home and alone. Lucky me, my roommate works twelve-hour shifts several days a week so when she’s gone, little does she know that our place turns into the Valley’s premiere nudist resort. I love it here, there’s a big wall around the small property and even the neighbors whose property butts ours, can’t see in. It’s awesome!

I find myself even when I’m out around town running errands up to Trader Joe’s picking up some veggie Riblets (YUM!), I’m often thinking about how when I get home I’m going to strip down. I seriously look forward to it. I do take all the precautions though; I check for my roommie in case I got her days off mixed up, I look out back for the pool guy, draw the heavy red velvet-like, light blocking, curtains at the front of the house, and start peeling off the clothes.

I’m not doing it because I think I’m hot. Trust me, to look at my chubby mid-section and my chicken legs, it’s not hot! If I were a bio-guy, my belly is big enough that I wouldn’t be able to see my dick. The truth is I really just have this weird physical, maybe even primal urge to not have clothes on, it feels restricting. I’ve also been sleeping all naked too. That’s definitely a first for me. Maybe that’s a little bit of the hormones talking there, thinking it’s a primal thing. When I type the word ‘primal’, I think of primates; when I think of primates I think of the shape my body, after chest surgery, on hormones, working out, my chest is now a little primate-like. I totally have a little monkey thing happening. Sometimes I look down and totally see an ape-like shape, minus all the hair. Seriously, I’m a friggin’ chimp.

Wanting to take my clothes off is a completely new and shocking feeling to be having, considering it was only a few months ago that I used to refuse to take off any clothes at all – especially during physical intimacy. Before my chest surgery I was so closed off and was almost completely disconnected from my body. Granted it has been primarily my chest that I have had such a hard time with but it lead to other disconnections with the rest of my body. I do think chest surgery has greatly impacted my relationship with my whole body. Before surgery it seemed every move I made throughout my entire day and night revolved around covering or camouflaging my chest; trying to bind or strap it down; pretending it was smaller or flatter than it was; layering threads over it; sports bra, a-frame, t-shirt, then shirt. I often had fashion crisis’ if I were going to an event or had a show. Sometimes I would just find an outfit I liked and stick with it because of how it concealed my body. Rarely would I breakdown the layers, even when I would to lay my head to rest. How sad really, when I think about it.

After becoming truly intimate, and I’m not referring to sexually, with my current partner, we have built real intimacy, closeness and and a solid foundation of body trust, I did eventually take off my top layer shirt and even my t-shirt a few times. But I was still voluntarily blocked and bound by at least my tank and sports bra. I never wanted to draw any attention, movement of my chest, or revealing of my flesh. The most difficult times were when I would look down at myself when I was being sexually intimate and I would see my own cleavage. Jeezuz, I just had a hard time even typing that I used to have cleavage! So weird to type it, I’m not embarrassed by that, just kind of in disbelief – even though I had it for decades! Having it was more than distracting and more often than not, I would go someplace else in my head while being intimate. Sure I would go through the motions of sex, it would even be good, hot or fun but the constant monitoring of my body absolutely dictated whether or not I could really be present or get off with my partner. So as a result of feeling these things, I was so outside my previous body that I could rarely connect to it and feel what was happening to it.

Perhaps that is a little much to post on here but I’ve decided to leave it because it’s true and I hope it will help other Butches and Trans guys who can relate and not feel so alone with those feelings.

When I think of that now, it makes me super sad. I feel like I know that I’ve missed out on a lot over the years with previous partners feeling this way. But also knowing that everything has happened exactly as it’s supposed to have, I don’t question that at all. So I don’t think it’s regrettable; it was exactly the way it was supposed to be AND I still count it to be a terrible loss when you’re in it – to be completely bound by your body like that. I was or thought I was comfortable or okay doing all of that management of my body. It was still painful, I just got used to it. I’m not only sad for myself and having felt that way my whole life, but I am sad for all the other guys, Butch and Trans alike, that may have felt this way or the many out there who are still tortured and bound every day. Anyone who has ever felt these things, you are not alone.

Alright, enough heavy, and back to my nakedness! You might be wondering, what does one do when one is at home, all naked and shit? Pretty much whatever I want! I do the regular stuff anyone would do.. laundry, make a grilled tuna melt sandwich with that new wasabi mayo I picked up at Trader Joe’s, Mmmmm wasabi. Sometimes I do a few chores, like vacuum. My roommate and I have put together a gym in our garage and I like to go in there and put my iPOD in the tiny, gay hot pink boom box, and work out.. YEP, NAKED! Don’t worry, I put towels on the benches when I work out. Yeah, there’s a sight to see, me all naked, looking like a primate, wearing only a pair of padded work-out gloves, pumping iron, NAKED. That’s right Jackie Warner, eat your heart out!

So whatever came together to create my love for being naked, phenomenon; I’m grateful. The obvious thing to think is that since my chest surgery I have a new sense of my body. A new sense of myself that I used to only deam about. I remember in my old body, teetering off to sleep at night, with my hand tucked underneath my layers; resting on my stomach, and imagining if I could, the slide of my hand further up my chest and there being nothing there.

Remember in the film Something’s Gotta Give, when Jack Nicholson cuts and rips the white turtleneck off of Diane Keaton and she is freed from her closed off, cotton cloak? I kind of feel like that except, thank the baby Jeezuz, Jack is missing from the frame.

I no longer need to layer my body with garments. When I’m selecting my clothes, I usually grab a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and that’s it! Which is unbeleivable to me! Now in the second drawer down of the bureau in my room, there lie about a dozen of my a-frame tank tops, folded and lonely and I’m FREE.

XO, LYMI,
Ian