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That night, after his parents went to sleep (in separate twin beds, wearing full-length flannel), Lukas crept outside. The moon was a bright, clean coin. The air was soft. He took off his shirt. Then his shorts. Then his underwear. He stood in the dewy grass, shivering, waiting for the lightning to strike him down.

Lukas sat at the water's edge, fully dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. Across the lake, he saw them. A real family. A dad tossing a toddler into the air. A mom floating on her back, her grey hair fanning out. A teenage boy, maybe sixteen, diving cleanly off a rock. All naked. All laughing. The sound carried over the water like the chiming of a distant church bell. fkk magazin

What he got was a rented cabin with blackout curtains. His mother wore a long-sleeved bathing suit. His father wore a t-shirt in the water, which clung to him like a ghost. They sat under a massive umbrella, applying SPF 50 every hour, reading separate paperbacks. That night, after his parents went to sleep

The next Thursday, he walked to the kiosk. He took off his shirt

To Lukas, raised in a house where the bathroom door had three locks and his father wore a swimsuit to wash the car, these images were less pornography and more a glimpse of a parallel universe.

He looked up at the stars. The stars did not care. He looked at the dark lake. The lake did not gasp. He looked down at his own pale, scrawny body. It was just a body. Like Dieter's. Like the volleyball-playing girl's. Like the grandmother with the potatoes.