We cycle out to the naturalist beach, descend the stairs down through the forest. I take off my clothes and pull out my sketch book. The sun on my back and breasts, my feet in warm sand. The soft pencil in my hand. It’s been far too long.

Here we are, naked and free. I draw my hand, then his shoulder and the curve of his neck.

We walk out to the ocean together and swim in the shockingly cold water, laughing so hard that my abdomen aches.

I love to see the other bodies around me. The men walking with long strides along the sand flats. The women laying on their sides, the curve of their full hips, their breasts swayed down. A slender woman dances on the sand with a bō, her hair falling in a sleek, black wave down her back like the skin of an orca.

We cycle home at sunset and retreat into the cool of his apartment. My skin is hot from the sun. I move on top of him.

“I love to watch you draw,” he says.

I kiss him.