The Railroad Scene

It's a shame exhibitionism has such a bad reputation (among the universe of sexual fetishes); I doubt I would get much credit for the creative ways I come up with to indulge this desire (at least in fantasy). For example, the hotel elevator roulette - hopping on an elevator naked and riding it to the top (or bottom) of the hotel and back, and banking on it not stopping to pick anybody else up in the interim. Or freehiking roulette - picking a nature trail to hike naked, and banking on not encountering any other hikers before you make it back to your clothes. I know, I'm terrible. And I just came up with another one.

You know how, in those old cartoons, the villain would capture the damsel in distress, and tie her to the railroad tracks? Well, I just spontaneously thought of an exhibitionist version of that scenario. Using ropes and bondage cuffs, you could tie a person up, naked and spread eagled in the garage, directly across the path of the garage door. (Note: please don't attach anything TO any part of the garage door mechanism, as that would be extremely dangerous). And then let that person wait anxiously for the inevitable moment when somebody opens the garage door, completely exposing them to the street and anybody walking by!

Well, it was a chore photographing this concept all by myself. (Bondage, as a rule, is hard to do alone). I had to scrounge around for items to attach the ropes to - I used a ladder and a wheeled clothing rack (not the most secure items, to be sure). And then there was no way I was going to be able to finagle myself into the cuffs, with ropes pulled relatively taut, in ten seconds while the self-timer counted down. I'd love to do the concept again, more cleanly, with better rope mounts, and perhaps a remote shutter release. But in the meantime, I just recorded a video of me playing with the apparatus. It's kinda long. But I had fun with it.

Oh, and no, I didn't open the garage door. That part's better left to fantasy. :-p

A Requiem For The Summer

As I write this, I'm still riding the high from this past weekend's nude volleyball tournament. A good mix of Type 1 and Type 2 fun. Sleeping in a tent, dodging the rain, dealing with crowded bathrooms, joining yet another misfit team - who this year didn't win a single game. These were not my favorite parts; and there were moments where I found myself wondering if I should have just stayed home. But by the closing ceremonies Sunday evening, I had been pulled into the magic of it all, and I didn't want it to end. I'll definitely be back next year, and maybe seek some other opportunities in the interim (pending financial and weather-related considerations, in addition to scheduling).

After all, it's not often that I get to practice naked on a real court, let alone in a team setting, with other naked people. People who genuinely seem to like me - some of whom I've known for well over a decade now, but only get to see in this context. And I always enjoy playing volleyball, even when we don't win. I was mostly just frustrated not to be able to play up to my full potential. I've been practicing a lot, for what little opportunities that I have, and my skills have improved greatly since I started playing some 15 years ago. I won a trophy all the way back in 2016, when I was still a relative novice; I want to win one in a higher skill bracket, to reflect my growth - before age starts catching up with me.

With sincere apologies to the gentleman who asked me to dance at the masquerade ball (I've inevitably disappointed many men over the years, but I can't help my programming), the highlight of the weekend was hitting the ball around with two of the younger, female referees in between games. It would have made for a striking image (I'm sorry, but I can't help thinking like a photographer) - the two of them dressed and me fully naked, although it didn't feel the least bit unusual in the moment.

If that's the reward (fleeting though it was) for putting in the work to improve my skills (and thereby build my confidence), then it was worth every minute of exertion I've endured - to be able to participate in a meaningful interaction with somebody attractive, and not just stand on the sidelines. It's enough to keep me motivated to continue improving. I hate to sound like a cliche, but these forces are very powerful by design, and even I am not immune to them. Honestly, I'm just relieved I can hold my own against actual, trained volleyball players. Like that one time I joined a team of college girls on the beaches of Lake Michigan...

How dull life seems to me now, when you avoid the risks that lead to adventure. I just wish I hadn't spent so many years letting my fears get in the way of that. There's a certain cruelty in having to trade the vitality and resilience of your youth for the experience that brings wisdom and confidence. Life is short enough already, for its peak to be such a narrow band of years when the two divergent forces meet in the middle. And by then, it's too late to start building a foundation for anything substantial.

I've had a taste of the social cachet that's conferred to jocks in our culture, and I'm hungry for more! (That's something I never I thought I'd hear myself say). Even as, sadly, we're winding down to the end of summer, and heading in to that long period of the year when I essentially enter hibernation. Soon I'll be sitting at my computer day in and day out, managing my vast (and growing) photo library, while waiting for the weather to turn warm again. It's essential work, and the safety of not poking my head out into the world constantly is comforting. But I have increasingly begun to feel like I thrive best when I spend a lot of time outside being active. Yet every time I get into that zone, and face the realization that it can't be sustained indefinitely, I worry about the cost of losing momentum.

All good things may come to an end, but I'm determined that there be more good things to come, waiting just beyond the next horizon. But I can't just sit around waiting for them to happen, or they never will. I must remain vigilant. For I am the architect of my own fortune. Nobody else is going to do it for me.

Mountainuding Adventures

I just went on an impromptu camping trip to take advantage of this late summer heat wave, and to make up for the earlier camping trip that was ruined by extreme flooding - but this time by myself, so I could focus on the activity I love more than just about anything in the world: outdoor nude recreation! Or, more specifically, nude wilderness exploration. And self-portrait photography, because the two go together like peanut butter and jelly. My self-portrait photography is enhanced by the wild locations and scenic vistas I seek out, and my wilderness exploration is indeed spurred on by my mad artistic pursuit of visual documentation of the wonder and sheer joy I feel being naked in the great outdoors. The only thing missing is a buddy who shares my level of passion, and has the stamina to keep up with me, climbing mountains and yet still having the energy to dash back and forth to wherever I set up my camera tripod.

Among other things packed into my busy, three day excursion, on this trip I conducted a staggering three hour photoshoot for a clone shot that involved multiple costume changes (oh, how I prefer the simplicity of nude modeling). The theme is a concept I came up with years ago, depicting a scene from the Garden of Eden. It's designed to send a message, emphasizing the contradiction between a spiritual view of nudity (and/or sexuality) and the false notion of modesty or purity that is passed off as "virtue" in organized religion. It's a concept that obviously hits home for me, and a message that I want to spread far and wide, so the level of expectation I had for this photoshoot was high. The location I picked couldn't be more perfect - it's a very old tree "hidden" (though not hard to find, if you know what to look for) in a protected wilderness area that's revered by locals in the know as a magic tree, often referred to as 'the tree of life'.

That said, the lighting was a nightmare to work with (hence the three hours I spent shooting). The weather constantly altered between sunny and cloudy, sometimes switching as quickly as during the ten seconds it took me to hit the shutter button on my camera and then run into place and strike a pose. At one point, as I was waiting (between costumes) for a cloud bank to pass, a group of tree hunters showed up (I lunged for my sarong) to get their pictures in front of the tree. They were friendly, and we engaged in some light conversation, as I patiently waited for them to move on so I could get back to figuring out how to wear a string of ivy as clothing. I have concerns about whether I pulled the whole thing off (in spite of the monumental effort I put into it - and considerable frustration I got out of it), but I won't know until I've had some time to work on the images in post-production.

But that wasn't even the highlight of my trip! On the previous day, I hiked up the back side of a mountain, to spend hours trawling the epic ridgeline along the top, exhausting myself with picture opportunities every few steps, as the breathtaking views (and eminently climbable rock formations) kept coming and coming, without letting up. And do you know what the best part was? I didn't encounter a single person, so I was able to spend the entire day completely nude, in one of the most picturesque locations I've ever been! In my heart I didn't want it to ever end, but my body was getting more and more tired with each shoot, the sun dropping as the hours passed (I eventually made it back to my car - at the bottom of the mountain - after a deep twilight had set in), with a nagging thought tugging at the back of my mind, that my memory card could only hold so many pictures and videos, and I still had that mammoth costume shoot to do the next day.

But that's not all! At the end of my trip, I still had a couple of hours left to kill, and I wasn't ready to put my clothes on and return to civilization just yet. I had already made the effort to reach this remote wilderness area, and I wanted to make the most of it. So I tried a new trail I'd never hiked before. No cars at the trailhead - and it dragging into late afternoon by that point - said to me that I would have the wilderness all to myself! So I hiked an hour round trip (double that, give or take, factoring in the inevitable picture stops), out into the wilderness and back, fully naked. The scenery was beautiful, and the terrain most pleasant - I didn't even have to wear shoes! The heat of the sun was perfectly balanced by an unrelenting wind roaring over the plains. I felt so alive!

I remember thinking in the moment how delightful it was, not only to be able to experience the natural beauty of this wild planet, beyond the boundaries of civilization and its artificial constructions, but to enjoy it completely unobstructed by the numbing barrier of textiles. When I vocalize it, even in my head - "to walk naked in nature" - it sounds a silly thing to take so seriously. (Or, for those who are threatened by the human body, a serious thing to take so lightly). But words don't do justice to what I felt out there (even pictures can't capture it completely), and how much more vividly I felt it because I wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. I wish I knew how to adequately communicate that feeling to people who haven't tried it, or don't have the disposition for it. They don't have to like it as much as I do - or even at all. I just want them to understand how much it means to me, and be willing to make reasonable - I said reasonable! - concessions, so that I may enjoy those feelings more in life.

[When asked by the aforementioned group of tree hunters what I was waiting around for, a part of me wanted to speak honestly and openly. But out of habit, itself borne out of the fear of social disapproval, I instinctively told a half-truth - that I was waiting for the light to change. Maybe next time I'll have the confidence to be more direct - to explain, in a friendly manner, that I was waiting for them to leave so I could take more pictures half-dressed (or less). (You'd think by the fact that I was uncommonly dressed in nary but a sarong, with my long hair flowing like some enchanted forest creature, they might have already suspected more than they, or I, let on). There's no law against saying such things, and communication contributes to awareness. You never know, you might even be met with delighted curiosity instead of the disgusted revulsion you'd expect.]

And what I'm left with now - besides the fond memories that will no doubt last a lifetime, and hopefully inspire similar adventures in the future - is a sagging camera roll that demands attention. I'm eager to pore through those pictures and videos and uncover all the pure moments of beauty I've captured, and even more excited to eventually share them with others who will be able to appreciate them for what they are. But tempering that excitement is the realization that I have a large and growing backlog of similar pictures and videos that I have as yet not had enough time to pore through. And these new ones, as good as they are, are not so much better as to eclipse those in importance. I feel like a dragon, sitting atop a horde of treasure. It's not that I want to keep the treasure to myself - I long to spread it around. I just can't solve the logistical problem of being drawn to collecting shiny things much faster than I can package them for distribution. So it gives me no pleasure to have to say it like this (and I do apologize sincerely, for I understand that time is guaranteed to no one, myself included), but I look forward to the joy I'll be able to extend several years in the future when I'm finally ready to share the wonderful art I've created over these past few days.

Naked Elation

Hot Take: Nudism isn't complete without exhibitionism.

Discussion: I feel like, if you're not at least a little bit of an exhibitionist, then you're not getting the full enjoyment of nudism. Prudists will say, "that's not nudism!" But it's not sex, either.

I'm not talking about deliberately swinging your dick in front of strangers. Transgressing the taboo on exposing your body, and taking delight (aesthetically, if not outright erotically) in the beauty of the human form is part of what makes nudism fun.

That is, essentially, exhibiting your body for pleasure. But 'exhibitionism' is such a loaded term, I'd prefer to call it 'gymnophoria' - which is a construction that combines the Greek word for nudity (gymnos) with euphoria. In other words, naked elation.

If we were truly clothes-blind (as in, nudism is genuinely no different from textilism, just with a lack of clothing), as prudists like to preach, then there'd be no point to the considerable effort of swimming against the tide that is being a nudist in a textile culture.

If that's all nudism can aspire to be, then I want no part of it. But, of course, it's not. Because although you can make rules for behavior in a social setting (as we should), you can't gatekeep what nudism means to people, or how it makes them feel.

Diplomacy

I was thinking about my last post (on the subject of wanting to take pictures of beautiful people), and something occurred to me. The problem with discussions on this topic (and similar topics - that, in a very broad sense, pit male sexuality against women's issues), is that it's just two sides yelling at each other.

On the one hand, you have this perception (because this is the argument being made by the complainants) that there are men blindly following their sexual compasses without concern for who gets "trampled underfoot". And on the other hand, you have women with legitimate concerns about their comfort, privacy, and sense of safety being violated.

The problem is the lack of a middle ground - a bridge between both shores. I sympathize with women's concerns - I truly do. But the argument is usually made in a way that casts men's very instincts (the same instincts that are partly responsible for the propagation of the species) as fundamentally bad.

Like, the fact that anybody would even want to have and to keep a visual representation of an attractive stranger they randomly encountered in public is not only unreasonable, but unthinkable to anyone but a degenerate worthy of utmost scorn. I don't feel that way.

I don't think that instinct is bad. I think that it's worthwhile to consider whether acting on that instinct is a good idea in any particular instance. At the end of the day, I would pursue a compromise between never doing it at all, and doing it always and without any consideration. But I still think the act of consideration is valid.

But at the same time, people shouldn't be made to feel guilty not just for their actions, but also for their unbidden desires and instincts, regardless of the conscious behaviors they ultimately choose to engage in (or prevent themselves from engaging in). That kind of animosity just grows the divide, rather than bridging it.

It creates resentment on both sides - men perceive women as reviling them (and their basest instincts), and therefore they revile women in return. This doesn't contribute to them giving women more consideration, but rather considerably less.

It sucks, and I know it doesn't feel like these kind of people deserve to be met halfway (consider also, though, all the people on the sidelines who are listening to what you're saying, and wondering - worrying - if it applies to them). But that's how diplomacy works.

You appeal to a person's better nature, working with them so they feel that you are on their side, in order to reach a compromise that everyone can live with. That's what's missing in this world today, that we are in dire need of, all across the board. Diplomacy. Not division.

Let's work together. We're all human, and our fates are intertwined.

Gorgeous

I know that beauty is subjective. But on a statistical level, there are certain measures of beauty that are objective. I am not the most beautiful person in the world. Not by a very long shot. And I know this. I don't pretend otherwise. But I do acknowledge that I possess some measure of beauty, and I think that's valuable.

Because I know people who are drop dead gorgeous. And they may know they are attractive, but they almost don't seem to appreciate it. Maybe being THAT attractive really is more of a liability than an advantage. I know that it has to be some of both. But it almost seems a waste to me.

I would KILL to be that beautiful - and I would know what to do with it. (Including a number of things society forbids me, on account of my sex). But I'm stuck with what I've got. I've put a lot of work into making the most of it. And I think I've done exceedingly well on that front. Much better than I ever would have thought possible at an earlier stage of my life.

But even with all that effort, the returns are but a pittance. And even the smallest change of being born female would make an astronomical difference. In fact, that accident of birth would count for far more than any amount of effort a human being could ever expend. And that hardly seems fair.

But even with my dedication and commitment, and the eye for beauty that I've honed over years of practicing my craft, I still feel like I'm unable to express my aesthetic feelings, and put my talents to work, because of a cultural sensitivity that's been developed around placing value on the way people look. For better and worse. Better for some, I'm sure. In my case, much worse.

"You're gorgeous. All I wanna do is take a picture to remember you by. Does that make me a villain?"

David Hamilton (an oft misunderstood artist who was, in the end, condemned to death for his passions) once wrote, "if you are on a beach and you notice a face, or a body, that stands out from the crowd, the sight of which makes your heart leap in your breast, then stop. If your feeling is honest and sincere, it will help you find the right words. Who knows what could then come from such a meeting." I hold that quotation as a guiding beacon (it has hung in the sidebar of one of my blogs for many years), not because I live by its wisdom. I am not so bold as that. But because it expresses a possibility - an alternative worldview - that I find pleasing, and very much preferable to the state of fear in which I live. When I am out on the street, and I see somebody who is absolutely gorgeous, all I wanna do is take a picture to remember them by. Nothing more intrusive than that. But I can't do that. I can't even let on that such is my desire. Because I feel like that would make me a villain in the eyes of others.

And that reminds me of another piece of art that has stuck with me over the years: a sci-fi movie from 2002 titled Equilibrium, starring Christian Bale. But forget about the flashy "gun-fu" action sequences. It's the intriguing premise - embodied in the tragic fate of Sean Bean's character - that really speaks to me. In a dystopian society, citizens are required to regulate their emotions through mandatory medication. The justification (and not without some merit) is the belief that intense emotions are the cause of much struggle and strife - both on an individual level, and on a society-wide scale. But this sense of security comes at the cost of sacrificing the highs and lows of human experience - arguably, what makes life worth living.

So, there are some who, at great risk, opt to surreptitiously forgo taking their state-mandated meds, in order to experience the full range of human emotions - and in the process, manage to accrue secret collections of contraband in the form of great works of art: paintings, symphonies, etc. Of course, these outlaws must learn to carefully regulate their emotions, so as not to out themselves to their peers and, more critically, the authoritarian police force whose task it is to hunt down such enemies of the state (the punishment for showing "feelings... of an almost human nature" - in the words of Pink Floyd - is no less than death).

Imagine, if you will, hearing a song and being so moved by it, but having to suppress your reaction to it - in effect, acting as though it doesn't affect you, for fear that someone will suspect it does. I feel that way every time I encounter a beautiful specimen of humanity. I still have those feelings, but I've learned (mostly) to suppress my outward reaction to them, and act like it doesn't affect me at all. But in doing so, something important is lost. I feel a traitor to myself, nurturing a wound that's grown into my very soul. Is my admiration so odious, so harmful a thing that I cannot be allowed to express it? To make it known? That we have eyes, and aesthetic tastes - though, yes, sometimes running only skin deep. Is it so damaging to a person's psyche to be an object of adoration? Or so damaging to others' not to be that object, that we dare not single anyone out?

I could be dead wrong, but I disagree. I believe we stand more to lose by refusing to acknowledge the effect beauty has on us, than we stand to gain by ignoring it. But I don't think the rest of the world feels that way. Which is why it's so valuable to me - having the self-awareness to acknowledge one's own beauty, and the generosity to be willing to share it freely, as through artistic pursuit. But such a thing is so rare - so rare that I feel I may suffocate, as though lacking enough oxygen to breathe.

Privacy Breach

Within the last year, the lunatic who lived at the end of my street started an ill-conceived construction project that involved cutting down some large trees on city property, and ultimately ended with him destroying the foundation of his own house - which is now condemned. In the short term, waking up to the sound of a backhoe tearing up earth in the pre-dawn twilight was pretty obnoxious, but even now, the entire appearance of the hillside remains irrevocably altered, without any input whatsoever from the rest of us living in the valley. Of particular concern to me is that there is now a clear view open from a house and short stretch of street up on the hilltop, straight to my backyard - where I'd previously enjoyed the privacy to work and play naked, [mostly] free from prying eyes. (Not that I care about being seen; I just like the peace of mind that comes from knowing that nobody is going to see anything that's going to create any problems - whether for themselves or for me).

Not that I've changed my lawncare or nude recreation routine, mind you. I moved into this house largely on the promise of its private backyard, and I'm not going to give that up over the unexpected actions of a renegade neighbor. I'm sophisticated enough to make an argument, should anyone challenge me, about my rights versus the concessions I make in deference to community standards. And anyway, the house on that hill is set at an angle, and you'd have to stop at just the right spot on the road, and look in just the right direction at just the right moment when I'm out in the yard to see anything - and even then, it would be at a considerable distance, far enough away to obscure the finer details of my naked glory.

But still - notwithstanding my ability to appreciate an exhibitionistic thrill (which, I know, is enough to condemn me in most people's eyes, but I contain multitudes) - it gives me one more source of anxiety when all I wanna do is enjoy the feeling of being unclothed outdoors, among the natural elements, without being harried by the artificial taboos of a gymnophobic society.