Evolution

I came to the nudist hotel wearing red bathing trunks.  The front desk staff leaned over the edge of the counter and looked the shorts repeatedly up and down, even though such small and simple shorts could be summed in one glance.  They could not refuse me lodging, but all of my gestures and necessary movements interested them.  I collected my key and moved my luggage in, with fellow guests pausing to regard my seemingly severe shorts.  Later, I went to the pool.  Naked children came near to point and giggle and be shooed away by one naked parent or another.  Naked men and women tried to watch, without staring, the whole range of my shorts.  They came out of the pool on the side opposite of my pool chair and sat stealthily peering around the pages of a book or a pool cabana menu.

The next day, I came to breakfast in clear, cellophane shorts.  I sat alone, and no one paid any attention to me.  I moved through the lobby with no disruptions.  I collected one of the free newspapers from a low acrylic table and sat by the common fireplace to read the day’s news.  A hotel employee came over and nakedly bent crescent over, so as to speak privately: referencing the day before, he congratulated me on my transformation.  I surveyed the room, with its comings and goings of naked patrons pursuing the ephemera of their mornings.  My cellophane shorts crackled and I felt large and determined and in the proper place.  I nodded in affirmation.

Later, back in my room, I put on the stunning red bathing trunks.  I walked about in the small living space.  I watched myself in the mirror, but I kept away from the balcony door. I will survive, even enjoy, my public dignity.