The Myth of the Perfect Nude Body (And Why No One Actually Cares)
I’ve seen a lot of dicks.
Some curved. Some pierced. Some wearing more confidence than coverage.
And I can tell you — perfection doesn’t walk around poolside. But liberation does.
I showed up to my first clothing-optional resort convinced everyone would look like an underwear model with a trust fund and a gym schedule.
Instead, I met retired teachers with tan lines.
Accountants with farmer’s tans.
One man had stretch marks, a joyful laugh, and more flirt game than anyone else there.
It was humbling. And weirdly hot.
I Brought Shame to the Pool — No One Else Did
The first thing I learned: no one cares as much about your body as you do.
Seriously.
While I was mentally Photoshopping myself in real time, everyone else was too busy living — floating, drinking, laughing, lounging with their bellies out and their insecurities forgotten.
The room didn’t stop because I had love handles.
No one screamed, “Ew!” when I took off my towel.
They just… made room.
The Fantasy vs. The Flesh
Gay media tells us the ideal body is 8% body fat, perfectly groomed, and perpetually Instagram-lit.
You know what that guy usually looks like at a nude resort?
Uncomfortable. Distracted. Constantly adjusting himself and checking reflections.
Meanwhile, the chubby guy with back hair is holding court in the hot tub like it’s his birthday every day.
There’s a difference between being admired and being enjoyed.
I’d rather be the second.
Hot Bodies Are Cool. Real Ones Are Magnetic.
There are always a few head-turners. Guys who glow like Greek statues.
But what actually pulls people in?
Eye contact. Humor. The ability to chill the hell out.
If your body is a little “off brand” — congratulations. So is everyone’s.
And yet somehow, we keep showing up, dropping our towels, and realizing we’re not alone.
That’s the secret no one tells you:
You don’t need a perfect body to be desired.
You just need to stop hiding.
If He’s Not Judging His Love Handles, Why Am I?
I watched a man with a sagging belly, no hair, and a face like Santa get absolutely swarmed in the pool.
Why? Because he was warm, magnetic, and fully himself.
It made me wonder — who taught me that beauty was a spreadsheet?
The best kind of sexy is the kind that’s not performing.
The kind that says, “I’m here, I’m soft, and I brought sunscreen.”
Confidence Isn’t in Your Abs — It’s in Your Energy
There’s something holy about a man who takes up space without apology.
Not because he’s perfect — but because he’s free.
And that’s the kind of body I want:
One that isn’t scared to laugh, to stretch, to be seen.
At some point, I stopped wanting to look like “the ideal” and started wanting to feel real.
And now?
I take up space. I let the belly roll. I walk toward the mirror instead of away.
Not because I’m perfect.
But because I stopped waiting for permission.
What I Didn’t Expect to Learn
The most liberating thing about being naked isn’t the freedom from clothes.
It’s the freedom from performing.
The myth of the perfect gay body isn’t just a lie — it’s a distraction.
And once you stop chasing it, you make room for something better:
Belonging. Ease. Joy. Presence.
And maybe, finally, pleasure that doesn’t require a six-pack to earn it.
Tell Me Your Story
What’s one thing you used to hate about your body that you’ve started to embrace?