If there was one thing Craig truly appreciated about being 43 years old and a suburban homeowner, it was his right – as a God-fearing, tax-paying, red-blooded American male – to stroll about his home, every morning before breakfast, entirely and utterly naked.

Yes, his wife gave him the same exaggerated eye roll whenever he waltzed into the kitchen before donning his white Hanes briefs.  Yes, both kids were now teenagers, and their joyous childhood proclamations of “Daddy naked!” were now replaced by melodramatic gagging noises and whining protestations of “gross, seriously Dad?”  Yes, it was possible that Mrs. Gorman next door had received an eyeful of Craig’s unmanicured undercarriage during the week they were reinstalling the window blinds.

But no matter.  It was Craig’s house, his domain, and if he determined to walk around in his natural state, then everyone else would just have to deal.  He’d been doing it for years, and wasn’t going to quit now.

And after nearly two decades of enjoying a morning routine uninhibited by clothing, it was only natural that Craig would eventually push the boundaries.

At first, Craig’s naked meanderings occurred exclusively between the master bedroom, the front hall, and the kitchen.  As years passed and Craig’s confidence grew, he slowly expanded the geographic boundaries of his nakedness. Waking his oversleeping preteens in their bedrooms while in his birthday suit seemed a perfectly reasonable paternal task.  The laundry room was also included, and who could complain about a naked man helping with the folding – after all, he couldn’t be expected to dress without clean clothes, right? Eventually, visits to the dining room and even grabbing the dog food from the other side of the garage were all accomplished without a stitch of clothing to inhibit Craig’s mood, or his modesty.

It took a few weeks for Craig to consciously work up the gumption to hike the forty-yard length of his driveway and grab the morning newspaper while swinging free for the whole world to see.  It wasn’t that Craig spent time at work dwelling on whether he really could walk around his front yard naked. On at least eight different occasions, however, Craig found himself with one hand on the front door and the other lightly scratching his fully-accessible left ass cheek, only to lose steam just before turning the latch and pushing his public immodesty to the very limits of his quarter-acre lot.

But eventually, Craig finally worked up the courage to walk to his mailbox, stark naked. He had to psych himself up more than he originally anticipated, but eventually, he stepped outside.

What pure, unadulterated exhilaration!  The sun was out; the morning dew glistened; the birds flew free; and so did Craig.  This! This was living!

As Craig stooped to collect the newspaper from his driveway, he heard his neighbor Ms. Gorman’s voice: “A bit cold out today, isn’t it Craig?”

“It is indeed, Ms. Gorman.  Chilly indeed,” said Craig, as he turned and sashayed back toward his front door.