Nude Descending a Staircase

Nude descending a staircase, yeah right.

I would never. Not even if I was alone, at night,

And you paid me. I hate my body. I can’t even get dressed without crippling anxiety and

Well what if.

Let’s see-nude descending a staircase. For me?

Puckered and sculpted calves leading up to thick, full thighs. You can see the cuts of muscle

Though they aren’t professional thighs. Then, a beautiful set of hips, they sit there. Clear curves protruding from the rest of my torso. They aren’t strong, hard muscle. That’s funny, hips aren’t meant to be that way. Mine are no different-thick and soft, beautiful grips for a man who will love me someday. Then my stomach, my middle, my torso, my most hated spot in all the world, my hell. But it is fitting for my body-not too big and not too small, but just right. Soft yet shapely, contouring a bit with some muscle underneath, but not perfect. Perfect for me, perfect for eating and living and perfect for descending nude down a staircase. Beautiful. Rising up to my breasts, which I always think are too big, too fatty and awful looking. But they sit stately and ornate, the right size when you take me all in. Not too big or too fatty or even awful. They are just breasts, you know. And then my collar bone and neck. I’ve never really noticed them. They kind of just sat there, but now-now they are my crown, small jewels that you don’t notice on a swarovski bracelet until the light catches them. Defined collar bone but not pronounced, with a swan-like curve rising over it to support my oval face and waterfall curls. My face is the first thing you’ll look at when I descend nude on a staircase. More likely, my eyes. Almonds with milk chocolate, warm brown eyes topped by arched, dark brows begging you to ask me anything. My nose is too big, isn’t it? But here it compliments my face, it’s romanesque bridge making me appear regal, even. And my smile lines and bags under my eyes, well, where are they? They disappear in my blush at being nude descending a staircase, my fanning eyelashes, and my dazzling smile. You see those bumps and acne scars on my forehead but in all this arrayed presentation you need a little texture to the skin, a little sign that you are raw, untouched, because you are real. Atop my head is the bee’s nest-I hated my curly hair and always wanted it out of the way, but now I see how it falls down my back, over to the side, gracefully. A gorgeous brown with honey colored highlights naturally corkscrew into waves gliding down my bare skin. You would like to see it untreated, unbound like this. I know I would. So a nude descending a staircase. But we are descending and I am a human being so you see the back too. Mine is long, with that graceful curve of my spine that seems to be so aesthetically appealing to artists of ages old and new. It is a natural flow to the base of my spine, where my bottom curves in two full, muscular hills of flesh. I worked hard here and you can see the proof. I might have once glanced at the feel of the skin-some cellulite dotted the curves, and hated them. But now? Now I love them. They are mine and they are quite a thing to show off, it we’re all being honest. So I walk, down those stairs, timid but confident in this machine that is my body. Strong, and soft, and built to perfection because it is mine. I accept this. I will do the unthinkable, I will be the nude descending a staircase.

And you won’t have to turn the lights off, or pay me. I’ll do it for free. I’ll do it when the sun is shining. I’ll even do it with an audience.

Isn’t nakedness beautiful?