A great number of you who voted on the previous poll said that nudie pictures would enhance your reading experience of this blog.
Well, if it will make my weebles happy, count on me to deliver. Just as you asked, nudie pictures for my little arm-chair voyeurs.
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raccoon, au naturel
The Naked Mole Rat
Naked alien, posing.
Okay, okay, I’m teasing you a bit. Here’s the hardcore naked pictures you’ve been waiting for.
Naked Cock:
Naked Jugs:
Naked Pussy:
In an unusually honest and disgustingly accurate the House Republican Leader said
"Our Goal Is To Bring Down Approval Numbers For The Democrats."No real surprises there eh! The upper etalon of the once respectable Republican party absolutely no regard left for this wonderful country. They don’t even put on the pretense of acting in the best interest of the nation. Their ONLY interest is feeding their hatred, bigotry and greed.
Sometimes, when he just waited within the careless questions of his heart he couldn’t really hear himself. He wasn’t here. No being. Sometimes, when he wanted to talk to somebody, just expose himself in it utter most sensitivity, like a dead rose sinking in the flesh. The large metal clock TICKED, within the brass gold coated ring around its face. The train station was dead, despair was a constant character falling in love with his own hands, looking deadly and silently into them. He wandered past the metal enclosures of hotdog stands. The morning was never to come. He knew this cause he didn’t no one about it. He was so sure of his morning, but was it the morning of other people. Yet he hung around. His hoofs plastered and concealed into the ground with nowhere to go — but here and there. The favor was his coat, and it wasn’t about him naked and exposed in skin. More in the chastise of a strange convulsion.
The nuclear birds were singing black metal screeches that violated the tinge of humanity. There was a mystifying warning of a sort of decadent exposure of the nihilistic nature of the universe. It will, would have or should have sucked it all into a careless emptiness. The wisdom was shaken in him. Often contradicting himself. Nothing was new to him. All new appeared dead. And the dead even more so. Why is there still lust in a broken heart he thought. Staring lost into the magnificent concrete tiles of the train station. White and creamy tiles, seeping into its concrete base, where memories were never to come out again.
Why was there lust, and a dire craving for a crude sort of beastly passion that confided in him. Within the cage he himself was trapped in and battling his subtle consciousness. The tyranny of truth he thought, as he lifted his head up to the white lights, that glared onto him in an unbearable extent. Was the source of both condescending pillars of humanity. Exceeding that, life and all its equivalents in an unparalleled harshness. The ferns would feed you and yet prick you with its poison. And we shouldn’t pay any heed to this tyrannical exposure of the most blatant truth.
So there he was in the feathery texture of his wool peacoat seizing the opportunity of thought. And as he walked, disecting the universe in buddhist tradition, but with a Nietzsche facelessness. And all elements kept escaping him, transcending into further extortion of the sane, merging into either darkness or light. And asking more favors to rediscover what could possibly not, nor even ever will be.
Then he saw him. There he was, standing with a fine grey felt hat on his head, a polished alligator skinned suitcase in his right hand. And stark naked beyond the impenetrable.
“Men are so willing to respect anything that bores them.” ~ Marilyn Monroe
She is all there.
She has always been there….
She is as real as a cast iron pot.
Let’s face it, I have been momentary.
A luxury. A bright red sloop in the harbor.
My hair rising like smoke from the car window.
Littleneck clams out of season.
She is more than that.
This is not an experiment.
She sees to oars and oarlocks for the dinghy….
As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.
- excerpts from Anne Sexton’s “For My Lover, Returning to His Wife”
Nude Skydive is a very funny 2 1/2-min. commercial spot directed by Peter Harton for a Danish discount retail company. The topless women are plummeting faster than the prices at Danish web discount retailer Fleggaard in this humorously racy web film! While topless skydiving certainly sounds like interesting enough, I’ve actually posted this because I just love it when a golf or tennis match gets unexpectedly interrupted!
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Nude Skydive: Topless Women Plummeting Faster Than the Economy!Please Share This:
Maintenant que je bouquine pas mal, je peux enfin faire mon hardcore à anticiper les sorties plusieurs mois à l’avance. Par exemple, le dernier roman de Nick Hornby, je l’ai pré-commandé, reçu et lu en trois jours. L’auteur d’High Fidelity a passé la cinquantaine et se serra fait attendre trois ans avant de sortir un nouveau livre. Un retour aux sources avec des personnages hantés par leurs obsessions culturelles et leurs problèmes sexuello-amoureux. Après avoir été un poil déçu sur Slam, son précédent opus, j’espérais retrouver l’auteur qui m’avait scotché la tronche, celui auquel on m’a parfois comparé à la lecture de mes propres textes (« Y’a un peu de Hornby dans ce que t’écris, j’aime beaucoup »). Fuck, Nick, me déçoit pas sur ce coup là ! Dans tous les cas, la couverture est suffisamment jolie pour que je me refuse à ranger le livre plusieurs jours après la lecture. Puis le titre, la classe quand même.
Duncan est un quadra fan de Tucker Crowe, une star du rock qui a disparu du milieu musical depuis près de vingt ans sans explications. Depuis quinze ans, Duncan vit avec sa petite copine Annie, qui réalise de plus en plus que leur relation ne va nulle part. Elle voudrait que Duncan se préoccupe plus d’elle, qu’il lui fasse un enfant. Au lieu de ça il passe son temps à errer sur des forums musicaux pour disserter à l’infini sur son idole. Lorsque Crowe sort Juliet, Naked une version acoustique de son meilleur album Juliet, Annie est la première à l’écouter. Elle déteste l’album, Duncan l’adore. Annie réalise alors qu’à force de vivre avec Duncan, elle en a fini par être anesthésiée, ne plus avoir d’avis sur rien, laisser le temps passer. La critique virulente de Juliet, Naked, qu’elle rédige sur Internet fera office de déclaration de rupture. Ce qu’elle n’aurait pas pu prévoir, c’est que son texte poussera Crowe à sortir de son silence et nouer un début de relation avec elle.
Si d’après le synopsis vous pensez que ce roman est l’histoire d’Annie, vous avez perdu. Enfin, non, c’est bien l’histoire d’Annie. Le problème c’est qu’Hornby alterne les points de vue narratifs et passe trop de temps sur Duncan et Crowe, qui ne sont qu’accessoires. Si Juliet, Naked a bien est problème, c’est que trop de pages sont dévolus à des scènes ou des personnages qui n’en mériteraient pas tant. Je me suis retrouvé face à des phases de textes pénibles car à côté de la plaque, ou en tout cas à côté de ce qui m’aura au final beaucoup plus dans le livre. Hornby parle de musique comme personne et construit une réflexion sur la manière dont la culture peut cimenter un couple et lier les individus. Des pistes de réflexion très intéressantes, émaillées de passages vraiment bien sentis, touchants ou drôles. Autant j’avais trouvé Slam cohérent mais plat, autant je trouve Juliet, Naked inégal mais avec de bons morceaux parasités par des éléments plus creux.
En revenant à ses obsessions sur la musique et le couple, Nick Hornby se rapproche d’High Fidelity, dans lequel il avait malheureusement déjà tout dit. Juliet, Naked, sans être raté est trop hétérogène à mon goût pour s’élever au rang des meilleurs romans de l’auteur. Je n’ai plus qu’reprendre mon mal en patience. A dans trois ans !
Demain on parlera de gens qui sont morts.
STEAL THAT PITCH STAGE !!!
Le truc fun, c’est que j’avais bousculé tout le pitch d’un de mes futurs projets (Perfect Ten) parce que je trouvais l’intrigue de Juliet, Naked trop similaire. Il s’avère que non, mais que mon personnage féminin tente la même chose que le perso féminin d’Hornby. Funny.
He could poke someone's eye out with that thing!
OK, here’s the thing naked jogger man, wearing running shoes, sunglasses and a pouch around the waist is still pretty much classified as being starkers (any way you look at it!!!!). When Swiss police in Thugau stopped a 26 year old nude jogger and questioned him about his lack of attire he told them he was doing it “to allow his skin to absorb more oxygen”. Hmm, yeah in the good old days that might have seemed a logical explanation but police are a lot more smarter now, the “swinger” was given an indecent exposure warning and told to cover it up. Absorb that through your skin Mr!
Psst I hope it wasn’t cold!
Alex Reid, professional wrestler, has confront and defeated on Saturday Jackie Mason, called “Stone”. At the gala the model found it necessary to change clothes before the public, after the pronunciation of the victory.
When the audience began to shout the name Mason, Jordan felt obliged to respond with a healthy “F *** you”, said the witnesses.
Also, Jordan could not refrain to present all an engagement ring, although strongly denied that he will marry Alex Reid
The beautiful actress has some hot scenes in the play “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” which is currently playing at the Theater Royal Haymarket in London.
Anna appears fully naked in front of the audience, reading the newspaper and taking breakfast while talking to one of her scene partners.
The opening of the play will take place on September 29th – and we can guess from now it will be a success.
Cheryl Cole will never pose nude.
The ‘Fight For This Love’ singer thinks naked photo shoots are tacky, and can’t understand why so many pop stars choose to strip off for magazines.
She said: “There’s nothing tasteful about some fruit covering your bits! Sometimes a beautiful dress is much more sexy than underwear. Have some class.”
Cheryl, 25, has also revealed she isn’t anti-cosmetic surgery, but would probably not choose to go under the knife herself as she likes her imperfections.
The Girls Aloud star – who is married to England soccer player Ashley Cole – explained: “I’ve got nothing against it. If someone hasn’t got boobs and having them done is going to make them a happier, more confident person, then go for it.
“I wouldn’t deny it if I had plastic surgery. I wouldn’t just come out with bog boobs and say: ‘No, I haven’t had an operation!’ I think imperfections are sexy anyway, I honestly do. If everyone looked perfect with a perfect face and perfect boobs, it wouldn’t be sexy as it’s not real life.”
Source
The rented place that I’m staying at now has a weird security guard. I saw him loitering outside my apartment a few days back and he left in a haste when he saw me returning back home.
Suddenly, on this lazy Sunday afternoon that I’m letting my thoughts run wild, I’m getting worried.
What if he has an extra set of keys and he comes into my apartment when I’m outta house to fix a hidden camera?
That will be shit for me because most of the times that I’m in my house, I’m totally naked. That’s one additional perk for me ever since shifting out.
I walk around the house naked.
I cook while being naked.
I clean up the room while being naked.
I sleep naked.
And yes yes, I blog and reply to emails while being naked too.
It’s really comfortable to be in just my own skin, but I frowned at the kind of images that this dubious security guard will be receiving on his end. Sigh. Exactly how safe am I? Can I go on to practise this habit? Consequences? Is it worth it?
SIGH.
WTF.
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Truth betold, I’m getting wet at this thought too.
Maybe I have a screw that is loose in my brain.
Neandertal, who looked very human but was burly and stocky, developed a far less sophisticated culture than Cro-Magnon, the first modern humans in Europe, who emerged about 40,000 years ago. Cro-Magnon apparently existed alongside Neandertal, but no one knows whether they made contact or not, either culturally or sexually. After a 200,000-year run, Neandertal vanished.
No one can say for sure what distinguished Neandertals from modern humans, but Computational Physics and Engineering Division researcher Jerry Dobson has a theory. In an article soon to be published in the Geographical Review, he suggests that Neandertals may have been iodine deficient. A single genetic difference in the thyroid gland, which controls iodine extraction from food, could account for many other differences in bone structure and body shape.
The bones of Neandertal (the spelling scholars prefer over Neanderthal) were first unearthed in Germany but since have been found in inland areas throughout Europe and Western Asia. They reveal numerous similarities to modern humans who suffer from iodine deficiency disorder-in its most severe form, cretinism.
“Distinctive Neandertal traits-overall body proportions, heavy brows and muscles, dental development and wear and propensities for degenerative joint diseases-are identical to those of modern humans suffering from cretinism,” Dobson says. “Whether it was biological-a genetically restricted ability to process iodine-or pathological-a dietary deficiency-I can’t say.
“Neandertals lived in areas away from the coast that are iodine deficient even today. If you and I took up residence in those same sites without a supplemental source of iodine, we’d suffer from iodine deficiency. Our children would suffer even more, and our grandchildren would be physically deformed and mentally retarded, as many Alpine Europeans were in the late 1800s. I suspect Neandertals were even more susceptible than we are.”
Some 30 percent of the world’s current population is at risk from iodine deficiency disorder, and 750 million suffer from goiter, which is caused by lack of iodine in the diet.
“I’ve concluded that a single factor, iodine, can account for most differences between modern humans and Neandertal, and the mechanism of change may have been a single genetic modification that improved the efficiency of modern thyroid glands to extract iodine,” he says.
So how did Dobson, a geographer who specializes in geographic information systems, get onto Neandertal’s case?
“I started with geographic questions about sea-level rises associated with global warming. Typical projections run from a few centimeters to a meter or more, but geologists have firmly established that sea level has risen 125 meters since the last ice age,” Dobson says.
“I asked myself: If the ice age coast of 18,000 years ago is missing, what does that imply about the archaeological record? Is what archaeologists find on dry land today identical to what existed in coastal lowlands, now tens of meters beneath the sea? Is there, perhaps, some factor that would cause a systematic difference between coastal and interior populations?
“It was my brother, Jeff, who suggested iodine as a distinguishing factor between coastal and inland populations. Iodine comes almost entirely from three sources-saltwater fish, shellfish and seaweed-all coastal. People who didn’t know to take iodine with them when they moved inland would suffer goiter and cretinism. Jeff also learned that, even today, the most iodine-poor regions on earth are those that are mountainous or formerly glaciated. That, in turn, led me to ask, ‘Neandertals lived in mountainous, glaciated Europe. How did they get iodine?’ I compared the bones of Neandertals to the bones of modern-day cretins and found they matched.
“Most investigation of the ice ages focuses on glaciers. But what about tropical lowlands? During the ice ages, those would have been the most hospitable habitats on earth. As the glaciers retreated, sea level rose, inundating those habitats and forcing people inland. That would create tremendous population pressure and force coastal people to compete for resources. Those who moved inland would have suffered a terrible fate without sufficient iodine. Most Neandertal fossils correspond with periods when sea level was high, so they may have been refugees from that coastal competition.”
Much of the archaeological evidence of early humans probably lies undersea. Even today, Dobson points out, most people live near the sea, which provides ample iodine in the diet. If Neandertal did suffer an iodine deficiency, either through a dietary dearth or physiological inability to extract it, it would have spread through generations because iodine is very important to fetal development. Babies, although apparently normal at birth, soon develop the large head and bones, curved spine, mental and physical retardation, achy joints and other infirmities we know as cretinism.
Cro-Magnon, living in those same sites, may have been equipped with a more efficient thyroid gland and undoubtedly obtained iodine from some additional source, perhaps by trading with the iodine-rich coast. They were able to outcompete Neandertal and prosper, but they, too, suffered from cretinism.
Their sites contain carved squat “Venus” figurines that look precisely like mature women cretins. They apparently worshiped that particular form, Dobson says, but it’s impossible to say whether they knew those figurines looked like Neandertals.
In his November 1998 column in GeoWorld magazine, Dobson called for better data on iodine’s global distribution that could be achieved by geographic information system techniques.
The iodine theory evolved out of an Laboratory Directed R&D-funded project to explore the coastal-change aspects of global warming since the ice ages. The Geographical Review article has attracted a number of media requests.
Amber Rose is an American model, best known for her relationship with Kanye West. She posed naked in the latest issue of Complex magazine.
Amber was born on October 21, 1982 and is a known model in the U.S., former exotic dancer and lover of the nonconformist Kanye West.
She posed naked for Louis Vuitton campaign and his also famous for the sexy outfits she wears, but also for her hair.
Rose claims she’s bisexual, but not a group sex adept.
A couple who attracted the attention of police by having sex at a petrol station in a Northern Territory town have been arrested.
Police were called to the service station in Adelaide River, 110 kilometres south of Darwin, to move the couple on last night. But they soon discovered the car had been stolen from Jabiru earlier in the day.
Watch Commander Bob Harrison says police also found the driver was heavily intoxicated. “We received a call that two persons were having sexual intercourse in the passenger seat of a vehicle at the petrol bowser,” he said.
“We attended and we asked them to stop what they were doing and they didn’t seem to want to, but they finally did. They were intoxicated and we arrested the driver for breath analysis and they gave a reading of 0.179 per cent.”
bron: www.abc.net.au
So a book popped out on the shelf at the used bookstore the other day, “The Loving Dominant” by John and Libby Warren. Of course I bought it to share with Master and Mistress but I had to preview it myself to see if it was appropriate. There is a chapter written by Libby, the author’s wife and submissive that is truly beautiful. Here’s an excerpt:
My earliest fantasies, and they were when I was very young, always involved being somehow chosen and desired, I will borrow here from the image of the goddess who is a composite of virgin, maiden and crone to describe how these forces, desire, and need coalesce within me and reach expression through submission. The part of me that is virgin and wants to always be able to approach new things in an open-minded and curious way without giving a thought to my own security…The part of me that is maiden seeks to explore passion and creativity…The crone is the wisdom part of me that is self-assured enough to look at my dark desires.
Beautiful! About halfway through the book there is a chapter entitled “Making a scene sing.” The author proceeds to describe examples of some highly elaborate “scenes” involving things such as a maiden being raped by pirates or witch being burned at the stake. I understand everyone has their own tastes but it just seems really cheesy to me. Why isn’t it enough for me to be me and Him to be Him? It is enough, more than enough for me to be stripped to my core, to be Cassie, brought fully into my body and freed of all thoughts but for his pleasure. Surely we both play a role…we are living out a fantasy of sorts. But in a way I believe we are stripped of all the bullshit and games when we play, free to live out our darkest desires, more true to ourselves than we can be in the light of day.
I will say the book has some very interesting ideas, including a complete description of how to do waxing (dripping or splashing hot candle wax on the submissive) and fire on skin which consists of putting alcohol (he suggests 70% isporopyl from the drugstore) on the submissive and setting it aflame for a few seconds. Of course, ice cubes should be kept on hand for both these activities and extreme care used.
Susan Sontag, in her famous book ‘On Photography’, describes three forms of acquisition of a photograph, of which I want to discuss two here (the third perhaps another time):
…a photograph is not only like its subject, a homage to the subject. It is a part of, an extension of that subject; and a potent means of acquiring it, of gaining control over it.
Photography is acquisition in several forms. In its simplest form, we have in a photograph surrogate possession of a cherished person or thing, a possession which gives photographs some of the character of unique objects. Through photographs we also have a consumer’s relation to events, both to events which are part of our experience and to those which are not – a distinction between types of experience that such habit-forming consumership blurs. (Penguin edition, 1971, 1974, 1977, pp155-6)
This makes for quite some responsibility. Of course, the idea that by taking a photograph of someone a little something of them is taken is one that many people are familiar with (Sontag discusses this on p158ff). Indeed, my understanding is that in (parts of?) medieval Europe, the eyes were thought to function almost as projectors – they sent out an image for the other person to see. So by looking, you were literally taking something of the person or object you were looking at.
Sontag points to this in a different way. Of course, a photograph can communicate emotion. These two images of Stephanie clearly communicate something about her – and however one evaluates the technical aspects of the photographs themselves, it is clear that she is communicating different emotions in each of these images. We have here two different elements of the same model, or in Sontag’s terms: two different ’surrogate possession[s] of a cherished person or thing, … possession[s] which gives photographs some of the character of unique objects’. In looking at her, we take something unique and intimate of or from Stephanie, something that she has willingly shared with me, her photographer. Her willingness to share that element of herself obviously demands respect and responsibility from me, but also from you, the viewer – whether you like the images or not, your viewing of them involves you partaking of Stephanie’s willingness to (metaphorically) ‘undress’ herself to some extent, to open part of herself up to be viewed (or consumed, as Sontag might say). And so your ’surrogate possession of … [this] cherished person’ demands responsible viewing. Sometimes we say that someone – even if they are wearing clothes – becomes ‘naked’ for the camera, and being offered nakedness is something to be honoured. Perhaps the best example of this is Richard Avedon’s famous portrait of Marilyn Monroe: she is more vulnerable, more undressed – and more beautiful! – in this photograph than in any nude centrefold she ever did (it goes – almost – without saying that nudity doesn’t necessarily represent vulnerability: earlier this summer Avedon’s ‘Nastassia Kinski and the Serpent’ sold at auction – I think she communicates phenomenal serenity, control, and even power in this photograph, despite being completely naked… of course, placing a serpent on a naked woman is far from unproblematic – but I’ll not go into that now!).
Whilst the idea of taking ownership is not necessarily widely acknowledged, I think some sense of responsibility towards photographic subjects often is. But Sontag picks up on more than this: ‘Through photographs we also have a consumer’s relation to events, both to events which are part of our experience and to those which are not – a distinction between types of experience that such habit-forming consumership blurs.’ Interestingly, I think this applies as much to the making of photographs as to the photographs themselves. After all, every photographer is also a viewer – a consumer – of other people’s photographs. I read today that in western societies urban dwellers see approximately 3,000 (yes, three thousand) brand images or advertisements each day – we cannot but be influenced by other photographs! I took this particular photograph on Mull, on a jetty. Seeing these crates piled high on the jetty reminded me of other photographs (and even Rothko paintings!) I have seen that play with lines and colours – and that is how I ’saw’ this image before photographing it. Essentially, my visualisation of the photograph I was going to take was in part my own experience of being at that spot at that time – but it was also connected to events that were part of others’ experience and which I had consumed. As Sontag says, there was a link to consumership: the experience of things I had not experienced, if you like.
So if ‘acquisition’ is an integral part of the photographic process, we need to deal with this responsibly. It seems fairly obvious how to do that with photographs of people, as discussed above. But what about the second aspect Sontag mentions? Perhaps I, or even photographers in general, need to be clearer about our debts to the creators of other images. Yes, our photographs are communicating something unique and different in a person or a landscape – after all, this particular moment in time has never been captured on film before and can never be captured again – but our photographs almost always acknowledge the consumerist element of our being as well. In taking a photograph, therefore, we are also dealing (usually subconsciously) with the thousands of images we see every day and that lend themselves to being re-imag(in)ed in a new setting – as happened with my crates at Fionnphort. That is also part of the artistic process.
PS On a more frivolous note, I can’t resist sharing this Lego version of the Nastassia Kinski image… quite brilliant!
How did I end up naked in front of these people? It was like some horrifying nightmare where you’re giving a speech without any clothes on, only this is much worse – I was awake and this was really happening.
Erik, my husband, and I had gotten to know Gunther, Elsa, Stephen, and Tibalt last fall while my stepson, Henry, was enrolled in soccer, and Stephen and Henry were on the same team. Only being in America for two months, their German accents were thick and melodious, and we struggled along with them as Gunther, Elsa and Erik conversed about everything under the sun, and I shyly voiced my opinion here and there.
Our first get together came shortly prior to the end of soccer season; we gathered in their beautiful house that sat upon Lake Sawyer, and dined on a truly wonderful meal Elsa prepared for us. As we drank our strong coffee, she happily answered my million questions of Germany and their life, then brought out a few photo albums to show me the life the temporarily left behind. Breathtaking mountains, fields of flowers, and waterfalls with…naked people in front. Not just naked people, but Elsa, Gunther and baby Stephen naked. Oh my God! I’ve just seen everything! Elsa is a true blonde and it may have been a bit chilly that day.
Elsa sensing my discomfort, she turned to me and said matter of factly, ‘Everybody is naked, it is natural in Europe. But I do not wish to offend you.’ Trying desperately to regain my composure, I sputtered, ‘No, no, it’s fine. We’ve all got the same equipment, I was just caught by surprise,’ and smiled, trying hard not to stare at the photo still on my lap. What else can you say or do in that situation? Think I may have missed that part in etiquette class. Elsa smiled back at me, apparently pleased with my response, which was the truth, and continued to show me the majority of Europe through their eyes. On our way home, I gushed to Erik, ‘I saw them naked! In a photo! I saw everything! Thank God they’ve never seen me naked! Elsa is very athletic and I’m, well, not.”
Erik laughed and said, “You look great, you’re just too hard on yourself. So is she hot?” Typical guy response, but let’s face it, if women were honest, it’d also be a typical girl response.
As time continued on, we saw more and more of them and our friendship naturally deepened, yet I still remained shy. Then, with both of our schedules being as hectic as they are, we weren’t able to meet up for several weeks, until the weekend of the World Cup Finals. It was Germany vs. Spain in a battle for the championship and our friends invited us, as well as another family, over to help cheer the team to victory.
With dinner long past and the temperature still hovering around 90 degrees, Elsa suggested we all cool off in the lake. The other family, Erik, and I exchanged uncomfortable glances as Elsa said, “We have swimming gear for everyone. It will be nice,” then decidedly set out to retrieve said gear. Erik, dressed in dark shorts and t-shirt, opted to just swim in his clothes, reasoning that after a swim, he’ll remain nice and cool under the hot sun. Even though I was wearing my bikini top (a choice I was about to regret), I only had on a pair of white cotton shorts, white collard shirt, and undies. Not exactly suitable ‘swimming gear,’ unless you enjoy showing God and country everything you have to offer.
“Tara, which do you prefer?” Elsa asked me as she held out my last two options – a Speedo bottom that would surely only cover one of my ass cheeks, or a pair of khaki shorts that might fit. Both would expose my vast expanse of cellulite, but I had better coverage with the shorts. Without thought or hesitation, I snagged the shorts and thanked her.
Once changed, together we padded down to the dock and with effortless precision, Elsa dove in and surfaced with a beautiful smile, encouraging each of us to do the same. Her heart and kindness knows no bounds and her enthusiasm for life automatically encourages whoever is in her presence to join in the fun, despite their athletic ability. Looking more like a drunken sailor than an athlete, I ‘dove’ into the water and surfaced, sputtering and clearing my eyes. With a kind, yet sheepish laugh, Elsa swam near me, bringing my wayward bikini top along with her and offered to help me secure it back in place. Feeling little embarrassed, I again thanked her and questioned why I didn’t feel more than just a little embarrassed. I reasoned it was because of Elsa herself and her ability to make any faux paux seem like nothing at all. Pushing my humiliation from my mind, I joined the rest of the group and played in the water, all the while keeping a close eye on my top.
The men swam back to shore and Gunther asked us to stand on one of the floating docks, preparing to dive in while he took our photo. Happily, we all agreed and did as we were asked. For the life of me, though, I couldn’t figure out why Erik was gesturing like a mad man behind Gunther. Clearly he wanted to tell me something, but I had no idea what. I checked my top – all was secure and the girls were nicely hidden. What else could it be? I was wearing shorts and I could feel the cool fabric stick to my thighs, so they hadn’t gone A.W.O.L., as my top had earlier done. Before being able to check anything else, the time to say ‘dive!’ was here and we got our picture taken. Elsa then suggested we go back to the house to enjoy dessert, which was readily accepted by both the kids and adults.
Erik met me on the dock with towel in hand and I beamed at him, feeling sublimely happy from the swim, as well as the loving gesture my husband had made of doting over me. Just barely out of the water and in a movement quicker than Flash Gordon himself, Erik wrapped the towel around my waist and whispered in my ear, ‘Those shorts are see through. We can see everything; thought you should know.’ Suddenly sick to my stomach, my mind raced back to the first night with them and the naked photo. Near tears, I pulled myself together and walked with Erik back to the house and quickly changed. Planning on making a fast exit so I may rehash every moment spent with these people in private, we began to say our goodbyes when Gunther insisted we have dessert first. Rationalizing that we’re all adults, I set to mind putting my, yet another embarrassing moment, behind me for now and to simply enjoy dessert, then get the hell out of there.
Shortly after dessert, the other family left and ‘being raised right,’ I helped Elsa clean up while the men discussed ‘football.’ We walked out onto the deck and there lay my khaki shorts and towel that I had placed there, along with all the others. Picking it up, I decided to say something. “I didn’t realize khaki was see through when it was wet.”
“Mmm, yes it seems it is.” Elsa replied with little acknowledgement. Damn! They had seen everything!
“I feel rather embarrassed.” I said not looking at her.
“Why?” She stopped what she was doing, turning toward me as she asked this.
“I guess because in America, nudity is typically frowned upon and a person is judged not only by their physical appearance, but by their morals as well. Appearing naked in public is seriously frowned upon here.” I said looking her in the eye and with a hint of a smile.
“We’re German. Nudity is a part of life and is accepted. You said we all have the same equipment, you do not believe that now?”
“No, I still believe that, I am just embarrassed; I’m not in great shape like you are.” I said as I shrugged and smiled.
“There is nothing to be embarrassed about; we do not judge, we are your friends and we like you very much for who you are.” And it was with that statement that I let go of all of my failures and flaws and accepted myself for who I am, cellulite and all. After cleaning up the deck, we walked back inside and chatted with the men, me unabashedly speaking my mind, until the weekend became the weekday.
As we began to say our goodbyes for real this time, they both gave us an invitation to come by anytime and use their kayak, fishing poles, and dock as well as anything in their home; it was German for ‘You are family.’
Looking back at the events of that past weekend, I can’t help but shake my head and laugh at the fact that baring all helped me to strut my stuff; cellulite and all.
by Tara Aarness
* Questa mi era sfuggita: dopo “Luca era gay”, ora Povia sta scrivendo una canzone su Eluana Englaro da presentare a Sanremo 2010.
* La Nike contro la Padania, si rifiuta di scrivere “Padania Libera” sulle scarpe ordinate da un cliente… Grandi!!
* Eh beh, perché no? Domandare è lecito…
* Un modo come un altro per arrotondare… Il porno marketing!!
* Secondo voi chi sono questi qua?
Μ’ ένα καλέμι σμίλεψα,
τα πόδια σου το σώμα,
και κάτω σαν προχώρησα,
αναστενάζω ακόμα.
Ο μούσος (Κρα μου είμαι και μορφωμένος άνθρωπος) του ποιητού ονομάζεται Rafael Leite και σαν έργο του συνωνόματού του Ραφαήλ έχει και γαμώ τα σώματα. Απαιτώ να φύγει το μαγιώ άμεσα. Η τέχνη δεν έχει ανάγκη από σεμνοτυφίες και πισωγυρίσματα. Όλα στη φόρα τώρα. Όλα για την Τέχνη!
