I went to the capital with a very simple plan.
Exhibition, overnight stay, back home in the morning. Nothing dramatic, nothing exciting.

I learned a long time ago not to expect any movie scenes from life—and certainly not one starring a woman. The lonely years had somehow instilled that in me.

That’s why when I wrote a simple ad about looking for accommodation, I took it purely practically.

And then she wrote to me.

She wasn’t some twentysomething with a perfect figure from a magazine. She was older, with a nature that had something calm about it… and at the same time unexpectedly magnetic.

Her messages were kind, direct, open. But nothing that would have indicated to me that this evening would end completely differently than I had imagined. I would never have dreamed that a simple accommodation could become something… like this.

When I texted her after the show that I was leaving, she wrote back immediately.

“I’m looking forward to it, feel free to come early.”

Nice tone.
Innocent.
At least that’s what I thought.

When I got to the apartment building and texted her “I’m downstairs,”
the door opened almost immediately.

And there she was.

Honestly—
I was expecting a bathrobe, maybe sweatpants, maybe just regular house clothes.
Not this.

She stood before me in a short satin robe that fitted her not as a comfort of home, but as… a purpose.
Her hips were slightly defined, but not exaggerated.
Her movements were slow, confident.
Age didn’t add years to her—
it added character.

Her gaze passed me by so openly and fearlessly that I was momentarily speechless.

“Come on,” she smiled and led me down the hall, her robe billowing dangerously with each step. Not enough to be rude. But just enough to shatter my confidence.

She put the bathrobe away in the apartment.
Not theatrically.
Not curiously.
More like she had every right to do so.

Underneath, she was wearing only a soft top and short shorts.
Tight, playful, unintentionally provocative—
but with a natural, feminine confidence that was far more appealing than any “ideal measurements.”

“Do you want a shower?” she asked lightly, as if there wasn’t something electric hanging between us now.

I nodded.
After a long day, I really needed one.

But when I went outside…
I forgot my change of clothes.

So I came out in just a small towel.

Honestly—
I felt like the towel was covering my shyness more than my body.

And she saw me.

She stopped.
Her eyes slid over me slowly… shamelessly honest.

And then she said something that completely disarmed me:

“You don’t have to apologize at all… if it were up to me, I wouldn’t be wearing anything either.”

At that moment, I realized.
She wasn’t just nice.
She was free.
Honest.
A woman who didn’t play around.
Who allowed herself to be herself.

I took a deep breath.

“The truth is,” I admitted quietly, “that normally… when I’m at home or somewhere where it won’t upset anyone… I don’t wear much. Actually… almost nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow.
Excited.

Not shocked.

“Naturist?” she asked, a smile that revealed she’d just unlocked something she was genuinely interested in.

I nodded.

“So am I,” she added playfully.

“But I rarely have the courage to say it directly.”

She moved closer to me.
Much closer than the situation required.
And as she skirted my hips, her hand slid imperceptibly but noticeably down my back… lower…

And gently—
very gently—
she slapped my ass.

Just like that.
Playful, daring, provocative.

“I couldn’t resist,” she whispered in my ear.

Only then did I begin to understand that this woman was not ordinary.

She wasn’t trapped in the idea of ​​how a woman her age should appear.

She wasn’t plagued by complexes.

She wasn’t afraid.

She was free.
And that intrigued me more than anything else.

⸻

When I put on clean clothes and brought her a small gift, she smiled sincerely—
so sincerely that my stomach clenched.

She sat down on the couch… but not normally.
Comfortable at first.
Then she unbuttoned a button on her shorts—
“to make it fit better”—
and her top slipped off one shoulder.

Then off the other.

And then… a little lower.

The movie was playing, but she was looking at me in a way that had nothing to do with the plot.
Her hand touched my knee,
gently,
moving up in a slow, steady motion,
and her breath mingled with mine.

She moved so that her thigh pressed against mine.
And then an inch closer.
And then some more.

“You know,” she whispered,
“I didn’t expect to meet someone today… to whom I wanted to show myself for who I really am.”

Her hand slid to my neck.
My hair touched my cheek.
And as she moved even closer, her clothes shifted so naturally that I realized there was very little left of them.

I didn’t even know how—
and she was almost completely exposed.

Not vulgarly.
Not violently.
But beautifully, calmly, naturally.
Like someone who finally doesn’t have to hide.

“This is better,” she whispered, running her fingers over my chest.

And when her lips came close to mine, close, almost touching…
I knew this night would be like no other.

Her lips stopped just a few millimeters from mine.

I felt their warmth, I felt her breath, I felt her whole body—
almost completely exposed, almost completely free.
And most of all…
I felt how calm she was suddenly.

It wasn’t about showing off, or trying to impress.

It was about the fact that for the first time, she didn’t have to hide anything from me.
Not her body.
Not her years.
Not her desires.
Not her true, unfettered self.

As she sat closer, the fabric of her top slid down her shoulder…
then lower…
and finally completely.

She didn’t try to save it, hide it, or pretend it was an accident.

She did it slowly, with a smile that took my breath away.

And I didn’t know whether to admire her more for her courage…
or for how incredibly natural she looked completely naked.

She stood before me, without a single piece of clothing.

Not defiantly.

Not theatrically.

Just like a person who finally doesn’t have to hide an inch of her freedom.

“This is best for me,” she said quietly, looking at me with a calmness that was far more sensual than any pose.

And then she reached out to me.
Not to seduce me.
To invite me.

And I moved closer to her.

We no longer spoke with words.
Just touch—
her hand on my neck,
my fingers on her hip,
her forehead gently resting on mine.

The only light in the room was a small lamp, casting long, gentle shadows on her body.
Warm.
Fragile.
And yet… incredibly close.

I don’t remember the exact moment she pulled me to her.
Or when my clothes disappeared on the carpet.
Or when we lay down on the bed.

But I do remember how calmly she breathed as she lay next to me.
Completely naked.
Uninhibited.
Without fear.

Just the two of us.
Two bodies.
Two minds that didn’t end in words, but in touches.

I felt her press herself against me.
First just with her thigh.
Then with her chest.
Then with her whole body, which was soft, warm and real.

Her head ended up on my shoulder, her hand on my stomach.
And I hugged her so naturally, as if it wasn’t the first night…
but many.

I woke up early in the morning.

She was lying on her side, the blanket

lying on the floor, her body relaxed, breathing slowly and contently.
Her nakedness in the morning light was not provocative—
she was beautiful in the most human way.

Proof that a person can be beautiful without a mask.

Without posing.

Without perfection.

Just by being.

And when she opened her eyes, she smiled that gentle morning smile that held more truth in it than all the evening gestures put together.

“Good morning,” she said, pulling me close—
quite automatically, as if she had been doing it for years.

“I haven’t woken up like this in a long time,” she added quietly.

And I understood that neither had I.