Chapter 2

Next to Sally and John’s master bedroom (and bathroom), a small adjoining bedroom served as their office or den, with a desk, computer, and leather recliner under a floor lamp. This would become Mom’s bedroom; they added a small bed and an armoire—a large cabinet with a rod for hanging clothes and drawers at the bottom.

At the opposite end of the house were two bedrooms for the four of us. I learned that only just before our arrival, Jake learned Hank would be moving in with him. Deb and I would be sharing the bedroom that had previously been just for Hank. There was just enough room in Jake’s bedroom for Hank’s bed and dresser. His clothes on hangars were now squished into Jake’s closet.

I had the clear impression that neither brother was pleased with this change, although they didn’t complain in front of me. Meanwhile, Sally and John equipped Hank’s former bedroom with two small beds and two dressers. Our few dresses and skirts easily fit in the closet, and we were quickly unpacked.

Mom stepped inside and surveyed our room.

“This looks nice and comfortable for you two. Can you think of anything you need right away? No? Alright. It’s almost time for dinner. The three of us need to undress now. Remember, that’s rule number one in this house. Put your clothes in this wicker hamper next to the door; we’ll do our laundry tomorrow.”

At least she’d warned us in advance about being naked in Sally’s house. There was no putting off the inevitable. Already, my pulse was climbing, and we hadn’t even begun to undress. But Deb seemed totally unfazed, as if being nude all the time was no big deal. She had self-confidence where I had self-doubt.

I wanted to fit in here at Sally’s, and nudity was required. I wanted the stability and security after the disruption and struggles of our past year.

But adapting to her alternative philosophy—living by her rules, being constantly naked—meant stepping into a world where I couldn’t hide myself.

I would be fully exposed, both physically and emotionally. The thought made my stomach twist. “Bodily Expressionism” and nudity? Was I ready for this?

Mom didn’t know about my lousy sexual history. Deb didn’t either. Some parts of my life should stay buried, not dragged out for discussion. I’d never had the kind of positive experiences everyone else seemed to take for granted. I worried that exposing my body would somehow expose my past intimacies.

I needed to focus and looked to my mother. As always, she was calm and kept speaking in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Rule Number Two,” Mom said. “There’s a stack of hand towels on the bathroom counter. Take one with you to sit on while you are having dinner or out in the living room. Any questions?”

Deb didn’t understand. I didn’t, either. She asked, “Wouldn’t it be easier just to wear panties?”