It's good to be exposed. For a few weeks after this event I regard my thick thighs and tiny breasts as unique, and mine, even without the myriad modifications and adornments – things I've added to claim (or reclaim) various separate parts of mine. Not the same, not like Nikki Taylor's. But definitely a whole, entire, naked body belonging to me. Worthy enough for Times Square, or the Brooklyn Bridge, or the Gaseteria on Lafayette and Houston, or the Nevada desert. And most certainly, for the naked, vulnerable, sleeping boyfriend spooned against me.