The relief of my skin. The release of the band. The embossing on me runs red, warm and sensitive to the touch. What lies in these grooves but soothing rubs and inundating floods of blood returning from where it was displaced. Exhale as I let the blood pool in its new home. Nothing constricts the skin anymore. I am exposed. All curves and lines are commonplace now. No secrets remain.

Reflexively, my hands feel for a holding place, arms defaulting to akimbo, uncomfortable draped at my sides. Here I remain in all my glory. Your compliments ring false as I stand before you. I accept only what I think is true and I’m not sure I believe you. Your definition of beauty when it comes to me can dwell on my physicality. This is your error. This was not why I disrobed. And yet I relish this disconnect. Your apparent appraisal valuing this work more than I. Is it so? Drive the price up. You’re right; this is a rare treat.

And what about this frame? Does it do? Sure, it shows its age, but look at the feathering, the paint, the weight of it. The portent. The silhouette is dear. Watch it move. And yet, you don’t understand the manifestation of this beauty. You see something stare. Intrinsically beautiful. A machine fascinating in form before function. Your eye traces the iliac. Don’t you care to watch me move for you? Look at the many things I can do. Sweep here, dip there, tumble here, flip there. Listen to the beauty which comes from my mouth. Let these hands weave a dream for you. Obeisance sustains my knees. I bow before you. This does not please.

Perhaps the buyer is not right. Maybe he doesn’t understand what he wishes to have. His motives may be askew. Read his eyes. Why does he want you? What makes you desired? What draws him in? Could it really be your body which facilitates your loving but is no objet d’art? Does he not value fine physiques? Does he see something I cannot? It must not be.

Relax. You’ve overthought this. As if you are presenting yourself. As if you can undo your actions. There is no turning back. Your lot was cast when you entered. You’d like to think your body is a vessel and he wanted to meet your spirit which dwelled in your home. Come along to the sanctum sectorum, there’s room for two. And you, and you. Ah, you meant another room. Right this way. This is not valuable to you. And yet it is the largest room I have. It is the best I can do. The rest is easy. A vehicle. A tool. Would you like me to execute with you? I do, I do. Shall I play docile or dominant? Do I want to remember or forget? Who is doing what to whom? If I lie idly, am I as culpable as you? If I cede control, am I accountable too?

I’m tired of deciding. You’re weak. I can handle you. One more look and off you go. I lie now resigned to my decision. I wish I could revel in your want, your like of me. It’d make this easier. Let me try. I am yours. You want this. Let me dive for you. Watch this and this and this. You nod and I go on.

Now I see. I am the illusionist. You don’t care about what is true. What I have to give doesn’t matter to you. Disrobing is not soul baring. This was no symbol, merely an extension of the evening. Saying so would have ruined everything. Don’t worry — I see. Now let me see. We’ll start at the top. No, nothing further is required from you. We’ll close the inner vestibules. No one need grace those hallowed halls. Not tonight.