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Interestingly, I found that didn't always mean taking things to a gluttonous place, at all.
I had thought that as a chronic pleasure-seeker, only following my desires might lead to pure mayhem.
I could hear exactly when it was hungry, and feed it just what it wanted, whether that was a giant salad, or Oreos slathered in peanut butter.
I could feel when it wanted to move; rather than telling myself I "should" work out, I simply wanted to feel my naked form stretch and swim in the sun.
I saw all their breasts; brown, pale, saggy, impossibly perky. As the day progressed, I went with one of the other writers to sunbathe naked. It was awesome, like this whole level of competition or reserve had been stripped away, right along with our clothes.
It was nice to feel myself unlearn certain fears, when each time, my boundaries were completely respected. Literally being the only person in sight with a bush, I realized, made me different.
But it also made me remember what my other recent experiences dating have taught me: being different also makes me sexier.
There was no reason to get down on it for anything, certainly not when it was serving me so well and fabulously.
In our puritanical society, the word "hedonism" has gotten a bad rap.
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Before, I thought they were nice, but in need of public normalizing. When I was wearing a shirt or dress to dinner (a rule for the cafeteria, for hygienic reasons), I let them be pressed flat, and even found it kind of sexy.