No Permission Slip

This isn’t a statement or a position. I’m not naked for confidence, art, theory, or rebellion. Clothes are optional and my body doesn’t require commentary. There’s no metaphor here, no lesson waiting underneath. Sometimes nothing happens — no meaning, no desire, no transformation. Just skin existing without purpose.

I’m pansexual, but the word came late. Not because I needed time to accept it, but because I didn’t need language to live it. Attraction was never organized around gender, and intimacy never followed scripts for me. I don’t escalate naturally. I distinguish closeness from attachment, care from ownership. This is not a declaration or a defense — just an honest account of how desire, relationships, and privacy have always worked in my body.