I have a strange super power. I see naked people. All the time, everyone. It is as if nobody ever wore clothes around me. Men, women, old, young, tall, short, fat, slim, furry, hairless, boring, exceptional, ugly, gorgeous. They are all naked. All I see is flesh, skin, bodies, legs, breasts, hair, holes, buttocks, flaps and bits. At home, at work, in the metro, at the shop. At the library, the tax office, the university, the doctor's.
A blessing and a curse. I certainly do not mind a sneak peek at a dreamy damsel or a well groomed gentleman. I picture them touching themselves right there, right then, on the train or the escalator. I see them roughly fucking each other in the middle of the crowd, grunting and screaming as they pleasure each other. But nobody else sees it. Nobody notices. Me, on the other hand, I cannot get off right there and then. It would not be discrete. People would see, people would mind. I have to wait to be home, by myself, or to relieve myself in the shower, at work. What a bore.
One day on the train, a woman with a kind smile looked at me with a smart sparkle in her eyes, while I was trying to ignore all the beautiful naked bodies around me. It seems she understood what I was feeling, why I averted my gaze. She was naked too, of course, but I enjoyed that. She giggled silently, uncrossed and crossed her legs. I think she saw right through me.
Maybe she had the power too. Maybe she saw me naked and furiously jerking off on the train or taking my seat neighbor from behind. Maybe she could not wait to be home to finally be free of all the people without clothes, and finally get her own business taken care of.
I should have said hi.
Nate Walton is a photographer based in Los Angeles. His incredible work and vintage style represents a new libertine generation with distinctly Californian flair.