Nudity is an odd thing. It seems as though we are at once surrounded by it and shielded from it, oscillating between offended and titillated. But breasts are everywhere — on our computers, on our movie screens, in our fantasies — both in full reveal and implied under a sheer tank top. We play at prudishness, but we long for full-frontal. I like nudity. Provided that it is consensual and adult, of course.
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Growing up as an overtly awkward white, middle class Brit, this is not a sentence I ever thought I would be uttering. I was crippling self conscious growing up. The rolls of my stomach, the cellulite adorning my arse, the stretch marks on my boobs. I hated it. My vagina was as alien to me as an iPad would be to a goldfish.
There's this thing guys do in the throes of hot sex , and you might not even notice. We pause, and we look. Because when you're totally in the moment, you put on one hell of a sexy show, and we love to watch. The thing is, visual cues are a major part of the sexual response for men. Your body has a hypnotic power over us—during sex or otherwise.