Not perfect. Not airbrushed. Not anyone’s idea of beautiful but her own.
“Just a body,” she whispered. “Just a vessel.”
“You’re naked,” Emma hissed, looking anywhere but at him. Purenudism Junior Miss Nudist Beauty Pageant
“You can do this,” he said. “Remember—everyone here has a body. Just like yours. Scars, stretch marks, bellies, breasts, backs, butts. All of it.”
“I’m describing freedom.” Leo leaned forward. “One weekend. If you hate it, I’ll buy you dinner for a month.” Not perfect
So when her best friend, Leo, invited her to a naturist retreat in the hills of Vermont, she laughed so hard she snorted tea through her nose.
The drive up was a blur of green tunnels and growing dread. By the time she pulled into the Sun Meadow Naturist Resort, her palms were slick on the steering wheel. “Just a body,” she whispered
And she realized, with a soft shock, that she wasn’t hiding.
She went because she was tired. Tired of the arithmetic of getting dressed—the sucking in, the smoothing down, the strategic draping of cardigans. Tired of the voice in her head that sounded like Kyle from seventh grade. And maybe, secretly, tired of sculpting beautiful bodies while hiding her own.
That afternoon, Emma swam in the pond. The water was cold and perfect, and she floated on her back, looking up at clouds shaped like nothing at all. She felt her belly rise above the surface, felt the sun on places that had never seen sunlight outside a bathroom. And for the first time in her adult life, she wasn’t thinking about how she looked.