March 29, 2026
You’re taking off your clothes and he says, “You look nice,” and it’s an incredibly kind thing for him to say because you are a middle-aged woman, bending over to remove your leggings in a very unflattering pose.
You are taking off your clothes in the kitchen looking out the picture windows, high enough on the hill that no one can see you unless you walk directly in front of the glass. Still, chances are limited, as the two nearest houses across the street are vacant anyway. It’s a great sense of freedom, being able to see out into the world while the world cannot see you taking off your clothes as long as the doors to your office are closed.
You are taking off your clothes and it is cold upstairs. The little tubular space heater is humming as you crawl under two blankets, no top sheet, a concession, and the heater bakes your naked body in its little cocoon and you are very warm and comfortable, very soon, enough to turn off the heater with its gleaming red eye in the night, the only source of light in the room.
You are taking off your clothes and I am watching you in awe, amazed at the shape of your shoulders, the firmness of your belly, your excellent ass. I ask how you look so good when you spend most of your time supine. “I spend eight hours every night,” you reply, “sitting on an exercise ball.”
I visualize you, sitting on a giant red ball, your head visible above the front desk, bobbing up and down as you bounce…
SecretSalon.blog 
You’re Taking Off Your Clothes
You’re taking off your clothes
and you’ll let yourself look in
the mirror
but first you’ll remove your
glasses
so you can see the shape
of your body but not the
details that have claimed it
making body positivity
cheerleading hard now
rah rah – – you’re older, you’re
thick — thick & juicy &
heavy, baby
You’re taking off your clothes
and sliding under the
cool sheets of your bed
you’re listening to the
dogs lick their
genitals
like there’s peanut butter
on the parts
for a moment you’d
rested your hand on
your mons & your fingertip
on your clit
the bed to yourself
& no one to see you naked
& you thought for a moment
eh?
Maybe?
But then the night’s quiet was broken
by the sound of your
dogs licking their
parts & your hand
froze, your fingers
stopped your whole
body shivered in
complete & total gross out
& you furiously sat up
in the bed
and you yelled into the
darkened room
“Bo! Chloe! Stop!”
Your voice rang out, it
cut through for a moment
& then, they’re back
to licking, slurping,
nonstop slop slop
So you slip out of bed & back into your Blondie
t-shirt & your grey sweatpants
& you sigh — let them lick
you think. I love my
dogs.
& you pick up your phone
& scroll
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I can’t wait to get out of this bra. It’s old, used to be my favorites, I didn’t want to throw it away – ever – and it’s also the only one that was clean this morning, That’s why it is torturing me tonight.
The clasp broke a long time ago. I use a safety pin to keep it on me. The pin doesn’t do a great job, it just hikes the bra up on one side or the other, causing me to tug the opposite side back into a proper fit all day long.
I pull my shirt up over my head and my ponytail catches in a small metal tag on the back of my shirt collar. There go a few strands of hair, but I don’t stop to feel that pain because I am in a big rush to get the bra off.
The safety pin has somehow twisted around and is pointing up and down instead of side-to-side: Did I fasten it that way this morning? Maybe I did, because I got dressed before coffee instead of the more intelligent ‘after coffee’ choice. I struggle to get the pin open, but it won’t. Oh, am I trying to open the wrong end?…no, I still can’t open the pin.
I rip the bra over my head, just like I did my shirt, and my hair gets caught in the pin this time. I yank off the bra and throw it down the stairs, a few long pale pieces of ponytail floating behind it.
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