I stay wrapped longer than necessary.
The towel rests low on my hips, not tight, not defensive. Just present. We are at a small naturist campsite, late afternoon. The air is warm but not hot. Others have already settled into their chairs, bare skin catching the light without thinking about it. Conversations move the way they always do in such places, unhurried, practical, ordinary.
I could remove the towel.
There is no rule forcing me. No one is waiting. No one is watching with expectation.
And yet I wait.
