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BREAST STORIES
Breasts, Breasts, and More Breasts. I Finally Got Over Public Nudity and I’m Hooked on Naked
Off with the old, still off with the new
I walked into the naked sauna spa on New Year's Eve. It looked different than I’d imagined.
I expected something from a Godfather movie or a Turkish bath — endless marble walls and floors filled with hot tubs containing hairy men with gold chains tangled in their salt and pepper chest hair.
This spa was small and intimate, dimly lit, and entirely female. Not one hairy ball.
I don’t get naked in front of just anyone. I like my walls. It took me decades to build them. I put them up for a reason, but I’d been invited by people I liked and I was tired of being shy about my body.
The night before my coming out naked party, I awoke many times. I am a Midwestern girl. A lot of people are still wearing Speedo one-pieces on our beaches. The g-string bikini on our modest beaches still elicits whispers and judgment.
I wasn’t only worried about my nudity — though that was a biggie. I was feeling shy about the ambiguous Asian tattoo to the left of my belly button I’d gotten when I was 18.
