My Husband Hasn’t Seen Me Completely Naked in Decades

Despite these reassurances, my body insecurities remained. I’d read somewhere that dogs and cats only exposed their soft underbellies out of trust when they felt safe, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. On some unexplainable, subconscious level, I thought it was too risky to expose that part of my body in the light of day.

Even on our wedding night, my undergarments stayed on until the lights were out. By then, my husband was accustomed to exploring my body in the dark like a road map in braille, and it never dampened our sex life because, thankfully, he never took offense at my modesty.

Everything changed after I became pregnant. My husband accompanied me to ultrasound appointments and watched as the technician slathered gel across my growing belly for the scan. It never bothered me that he was there because knowing I was growing a tiny human being in my body made me proud to show off my ever-increasing waistline.

For the first time ever, I removed my clothing in front of my husband and stood naked before him in all my glowing pregnancy glory. He marveled at the touch of my taut stomach and the baby stirring inside.

Several months after my son was born, I was left with an ugly, horizontal C-section scar and purple stretch marks like a spider web reaching across my entire belly. The scars were enough to ignite the old insecurities about my body, so it was back to T-shirts and lights out in the boudoir.

But my husband never complained. Three more pregnancies, multiple C-sections, years of breastfeeding and a lengthy menopause wreaked havoc on my body. My breasts sagged, and my stomach resembled a thick, doughy apron tied around a dimpled waistline. My husband referred to my scars as the loving badges of motherhood, but that still wasn’t enough to make me feel comfortable about being in the buff.

So, I had to get creative. This involved wearing sexy lingerie that exposed only sections of my body, hiding the parts I viewed as “defective” after giving birth to four babies. I relied heavily on the tummy concealment of silk corsets and didn’t mind having sex in dim lighting as long as my midsection wasn’t bare.

But whenever I was feeling particularly bold, I would walk around without pants after a shower to entice my husband into the bedroom or flash him my breasts through the window while he was doing yard work. Needless to say, the gardening never got finished on those fun, impromptu days.

Fortunately, my adult children do not share my insecurities and have no issue with strutting around naked in front of their partners. They even joke about my belly and how I guard it closely like Fort Knox from curious eyes. They’ve scoured my old photo albums for a peek, but other than pregnancy snapshots, there’s not a single picture of me with an exposed stomach (despite growing up in an era of halter tops and hip-hugger jeans). 

I’m covered up in every picture by either a shirt, jacket or my hands protectively placed over my stomach. Old habits die hard, and now that I'm 65, the only person who gets a glimpse of my fully naked body is my dermatologist twice a year.

Although my husband and I set our appointments together, when the nurse asks if we’d like to share a room, she receives a resounding “no” from both of us.

I’ll never be comfortable with my nakedness, but I AM comfortable with my modesty, and I'm lucky to have a mate who respects the boundaries of my “no man’s land.” For this reason, our flame will always be ignited as long as we’re still groping each other in the dark. 

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.