You either have a naked window neighbor or you are the naked window neighbor in the city. I am without question the naked window neighbor. A little too comfortable being myself, I take pride in something most consider taboo which is being in an au natural state of existence. Maybe it is because I am Floridian and grew up in a beach town donning a bathing suit in front of all the people I knew on the regular. The gymnastics leotards certainly didn’t combat against my own personal desensitization. Truly what difference do a couple strategically placed strips of fabric make? When you see celebrities wearing the equivalent of their birthday suit on the red carpet and you wonder where do these people come from? Honestly, I think we just happen. Or the answer is Sweden, they are not body shy either.
When I come home I peel off the layers shedding them as quickly as I can. Sometimes I leave a little trail, but I try to make a concerted effort to shove them into the 1950’s metal hamper attached to the wall in our bathroom. Weird things you find in old places. Even when I am clothed at home, at best it is in an oversized t-shirt and granny panty underwear. When I walk around sans brassiere I have ever so classily coined “free-titting”, another of my made-up terms, to compliment the phrase free-balling. If you come over unannounced I may attempt to accommodate by wrapping myself in a blanket skirt. If I know you well enough I am not going to bother. By knowing me you have essentially been warned.
August days are full summer in the city, although today was more on the mild side of the heat index. Still, I overheat easily and do not find any form of perspiration comfortable. Per usual I was airing out in my full grandiosity topless, only in a pair of black cotton underwear sitting in my green velvet arm chair, the nearest seat to the air conditioning unit. My feet tucked under me, legs bent and tangled, knees pointing northwest and east not observing modesty, woman-spreading while reading an article on my phone I notice the front door open about twenty feet in front of me. Cohabituer pops his head in and slides Miss Dog into the apartment since she is overheating after their after work walk. One of our upstairs neighbors stopped him to chat for a moment, which is not an uncommon occurrence since our building has ten units making us a more close-knit community than a larger complex.
And there is our male neighbor from 1B standing against the brick wall with a direct line of sight into our living room and all of my glory that spilleth over. Quickly his head turns and I see Cohabituer’s arm pull the door shut, not aware of where I am sitting since by this time in my coming home routine I make my way downstairs. We are known to the tenants of our building since we are on the ground floor and anyone who enters the building will pass our unit, we are friendly, and often do favors for our neighbors. The most recent favor we did for the married early 30 something couple in 1B, cat sitting their black and white tuxedo kitty, likely prompted striking up a conversation today. This is a person whose home I have been in many times, just not when they are home. We have their key and they have ours. His wife once described him as her sweet, safe and responsible Swiss husband. It was regarding a motorcycle ride, but overall the sentiment universally applies.
Did I guilt a good man into worrying about having seen me in a human’s most vulnerable form? I am glad I did not recognize who it was immediately and reach my arm up to wave hello. Then he truly would have seen me naked according to Cohabituer, because my nipple would have been visible. This is a decade plus debate we have had over women’s breasts. To him, if the nipple is covered, even if the rest of the breast is exposed you are not naked. Only the nipple counts. I emphatically disagree. While the nipples are a portion of the breast, it is not the entirety of it. Uncovered you can tell so much about someone’s shape, perkiness or lack thereof, and true size opposed to possible padding in a bra. The nipple, having its own size, placement, color, and other attributes as factors that we do not often see is just another facet to the nudity.
When Cohabituer came in he wondered if 1B had seen me sitting there. I grinned and replied he didn’t, exclaiming cheekily that my nipples were both covered and made the arms suctioned to my chest pose I was in when the door opened. Unbothered and well aware of my nudist ways he swiftly dodged the mockery I made of being virtually undressed but having one simple place concealed and agreed I was correct. Casually I said oops and shrugged off having been witnessed on display stating as I always do, “Hey, women’s nipples have been legal in New York City since 1992.”
Given my propensity for bareness I’m surprised this is the first time this has even come close to happening. Our blinds are partially raised all the time for our cat who has a regimented schedule of judging the other Upper West Siders while sitting on her window sill. Although we are on the ground level, we are not level with the street. Our courtyard and building entrance dips down four stairs so even if you were on the sidewalk or in a building across the street the line of sight of me coming and going from the shower to the spiral stairwell to our second floor is obscured. Unless you are standing in the courtyard at the trash can and make a point to look in, which does not happen unless someone notices Kit Kat and decides to summon her attention. While I think it is rare it could very well be happening all the time. I could have a cool nickname around the neighborhood. Am I the Plush Naked Girl of the 2020’s to Friends’s Fat Naked Guy’s character? No one try to poke me with a stick.
As far as our neighbor goes, he may not be able to look at me the same way after today, but I won’t recall the incident a few hours from now. Such is the life of the naked window, and now door, neighbor.
New York Nobody 