The day that the world sow I got balls, but literally!
Many people asked me how I did became a CycloNudista; well, the first sign about this virtuous vocation appeared when I was just a little more than a child…
It happened in a small, countryside, village of southern Italy with roughly 5.000 inhabitants. The main disputes in this village are about how you are a better person if you come from one or another side of the village, there is a river that divides the two sides and many people feel proud to be from the “right side”.
This location in southern Italy is extremely conservative, old-fashion, and fascist: the best place to be a CycloNudista!
My home was two kilometers from the village, I had a bicycle and I was using it regularly to go to cafe´s or do groceries.
In this small village, when you are on a bicycle, people always look at you with superiority,—actually they do it also if you walk or are in a car that is worth less than 20.000euro—making you feel miserable, even if you are just a child. Just for that reason, I always loved to cycle: each move of my pedaling was for me a march against that sick society.
Another rebellious behavior I had, was to be a punk. I had eight piercings, a crest in my hair, broken pants, and colored nails; this made me look ´somewhat´ little different than anyone else around there.
It was for me quite usual to get attention from people, because of my bike and because of my look; actually maybe also because of many other things, but here let´s limit my unique weirdness to the bicycle and my appearance.
One day I went to a shop in the center, I was hurrying up so I didn´t even bother to put my underwear–I was a punk after all!–.
Strangely enough, I could immediately notice something different in the look of the locals, their look was full of superiority, as always, but this time there was also some kind of intense interest mixed with astonishment in their gaze.
As usual, I don´t take the trouble to care about them or react, I just do my stuff and get back home. While I was climbing the stairs, I was still thinking about these faces I crossed the look with: how could it be that every single person was having exactly the same expression?
When inside the house, I go straight to the kitchen, there is a large mirror at the entrance where I catch a glimpse of something pink above my legs. I walk rapidly back to the mirror and I finally understand the reason why I had so much attention today by the village people: my broken punk pants exposed my lovely precious parts!