“Close your legs,” she scolded. She said it so forcefully, it frightened me. I curled into the fetal position, snatching my dress down over my summer tanned legs. She said it so forcefully, I just knew I had committed a terrible wrong.
I’d conduct much of the rest of my life with my legs crossed at the knee, or ankles, constantly tugging at the hem of my dresses and skirts, over contemplating a purchase that might come up too short.
Close your legs became a theme song of my life. I hadn’t realized it until I had my own daughter and would often hear others telling her to put her legs down and close her legs. I also had not realized it was a problem.
As I opened myself to the world of living sexually free, a world I had not known even existed, I began to partake in erotic expression, doing things that you are discouraged from doing naked; things that were unrelated to sex; things that aren’t commonly known or “acceptable” to be done naked; things like nude photoshoot, lounging on my balcony (only a few neighbors could see me), walking around my place and not covering to answer the door, getting paint on my boobs from nude arts and crafts, and naked morning stretches.
The most I’d ever done nude was sex, sleep, and shower.
Even though I did those things well, I was experiencing my nudity from an unencountered perspective.
Before naked morning stretching, I hadn’t realized how often I walked around with my thighs clenched in an effort to keep my legs closed. Y’all don’t know the freedom my body felt; freedom I didn’t know I needed so much.
As I lay out on my stretching blanket, I assume the position. Lying flat on my back, I placed my legs straight up into the air and spread them widely apart.
“Wow,” I whispered in a room all by myself as I realized this is a position I’ve only ever taken during sex.
And now I wanna fuck.