Naked, But Not Exposed

Naked, But Not Exposed

This story begins with me taking off my clothes.

The black boots come off my feet first. They are followed by my short navy blue dress that really did little to hide my thighs. I take off my red Victoria’s Secret bra and hot on its heels come off the matching panties. I slide those off to my knee and give them a little jiggle before allowing them to fall to my feet. I then lift my legs, one after the other to carefully step out of them. I don’t know why I do that. Maybe it’s because, in stepping out of my panties, I inch closer to him.

This is how I always come to him. Shed. I’m shed off of makeup, off of Coco Chanels and Victoria’s Secrets. Shed off of airs.

He is looking.

I don’t use my hand to cover my breasts or any other part of my nudity for that matter. Nude feels comfortable with him.

“Come.” He says. He has this look in his eyes. This look fetches a sigh and a skipped heartbeat from me. I cover the distance between us with one step. I don’t speak. I don’t smile. He is dead serious. He doesn’t try to touch me. He keeps looking. The only thing that moves is my heartbeat. It is beating in my ears and in my temples. This is what alive feels like.

Alive is standing before him naked. It’s having his eyes on me. It’s knowing that he sees me.

He won’t touch me. Not just yet. First, his eyes do the touching. I feel every part of me that his eyes touch. They move around. They look around. They worship around. Then they come back to find my eyes.

“This is it,” I say.

His right hand moves. He touches my cheek and I close my eyes and lean into his palm. His hand is warm. His tongue on my neck is warm too. His left hand burns my hip and spreads the fire to my behind. His chest feels a bit cool against my nipples. Not his fault. Nipples are sensitive motherfuckers. But soon, there’s no air circulating in the nonexistent space between us, so his chest now gets to warm my nipples.

His tongue leaves my neck and gets acquainted with my tongue. They get acquainted, become friends, marry and live happily ever after. Our lips run into each other and get into a tussle. Crushing against each other, giving each other room then squeezing the life out of each other again. There’s licking, there’s biting, and there’s sucking. His hands take turns to say hello to my breasts. The hello soon turns into a long-winded conversation.

There’s a bed and we’re on it. We’re messing it up. He’s messing up my hair. I’m messing up his heart. He’s messing up my curves. The parts of us that were cold are now burning. He’s messing up my heart. We’re a hot mess.

There is space between us, and then we realize that space is still that word made up by someone afraid to get too close. So there isn’t any space between us. There is space again, there is no space again. Space, no space. I want to scream. And then, finally, there’s really no space between us. The marathon has been run and won. The finish line has been crossed. I’m sweating, he’s panting. For a while, we don’t know where he starts and where I end. His left hand is attached to my back. My breasts belong to his chest. My right leg has paired up with his left leg. Everyone seems happy with their newfound accomplice. Our eyes are closed. He’s holding me tight. I’m smiling. He’s smelling my neck.

“This is it.”

I’m not smiling anymore.

He opens his eyes. Now I get to see his soul.

I borrow my boobs back. He takes back his hand. Our paired legs feign ignorance and stay put.

“Why? What are you afraid of?” He asks.

See, I don’t have to answer that because he knows exactly what I’m afraid of. I force the separation between my leg and his as I stand up to fetch my clothes from the floor.

He sits up on the bed. His eyes pierce straight through my skin.

He sees the sexy, the wild, the confidence, the success, the power. He also sees the woman. The lover. The woman. The love.

Damn it. He sees the love.

This man. Maybe you’ll meet him someday. Maybe you’ll run into him in your daily rush. At the till in the supermarket, or you’ll sit next to him in a matatu. Who knows, maybe you’ll move in next door to his humble bedsitter. Your paths might cross and you might even exchange a word or two. I hope when that happens, you’ll see him for who he is.

I know for a fact that at first impression, you’ll be tempted to think that he is your ordinary jerk of a man. That he will pursue women just to prove that he can have them. That he’ll be in a relationship with you while ogling at everything in a skirt. You might even fail to notice him because you’ll think he doesn’t have much. Oh, but he will surprise you.

He’ll treat you like a queen. He’ll do things that only men like him think to do – he’ll take you for a walk in the woods. He’ll use words that only men like him use, “Love is her. And to love is to be with her.” He’ll bare his soul. He’ll not pretend to be someone he’s not. He will call every morning to check on you. If you’re having a bad day, he’ll come to you and make it better. He’ll stock up on grapes in his house because he’ll want you to enjoy your favorite fruit when you visit. His eyes will see through any clothing that you pile on, deep to your soul. He will eat the burnt toast that you offer him with a smile on his face, not bothered by your poor culinary skills. He’ll listen to you. He will make love to you while R. Kelly sings “When a woman loves” in the background. He’ll savor his time with you like he’s waited to touch you all his life. Then he’ll sit back and watch you fall in love with him. When you offer him your cigar to puff on, he’ll decline. Because he doesn’t need a high. Because he is the high. And he knows it. And he is not cocky about it one bit. Okay. Maybe a little?

This man will teach you that love is found in small spaces.

He had me, this man. Putty in his hands is what I was. If he were to say, “Babe, I need you to jump.” My answer to him would be, “How high, my love?”

And I couldn’t have that. For the life of me, I just couldn’t have that.

So if you happen to see him, treat him with kindness. Because, I bet you, he will be kind to you.

This story ends with me putting my clothes back on and walking out on a man I insanely love.


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