I’m 55 years young; have 65 more to go, based on what an Ouija board told me in 1963, shortly after JFK’s untimely demise. I, like Craig, started running around naked, with a friend, in my pre-pubescent years. There was something adventurous and a little naughty about playing in Buffalo Creek, in the nude, on a hot summer day. I, unlike Craig, did not get caught in my wood-nymph state; rather, I was “caught” mimicking the photographic poses of nude females in the pseudo-privacy of my bedroom. I knew there was something sexy about those females, but I couldn’t quite figure it out. I thought that, if I tried to strike their model poses, I might get something out of it. And, I did. It felt good, to be sitting naked on the floor of my bedroom, my chest out, my shoulders back. When my mother discovered the girlie mag under the mattress of my bed, I was humiliated by my father, and was forbidden to share the company of the friend who had given me the porn. It so happened that it was the same friend who shared the idyllic afternoons with me, in the creek. It was the first time that I experienced a limitation on my expression of sensuality, and it left an impression.
At age 10, I could not figure out how I had hurt anyone by exploring my sexuality on the floor of my bedroom. I was caught somewhat by surprise by the ferocity and artificiality of it all. I complied with my father’s wishes and never shared moments in the sun with that friend. In fact, it was not until years later that I started exploring the sensuality of what is now referred to as “naturism.” (It’s all just plain nudity, to me). As the years went by, I started expanding my horizons. I would lie in the sun nude, run nude, drive my car nude, sit around the house nude, cook nude, ski nude, bike nude and…the best of all things…fuck nude! At age 35, I did my first nude modeling gig, with a photographer who invited several models for a frolic, out on an isolated Oregon beach. The experience was exhilarating. There I was, naked on a beach, exercising my artistic expression at the business end of a camera. I was hooked. I’ll admit, I’m a ham.
My exhibitionist tendencies reached a certain apex of manifestation when I became an art model, at age 40. By age 50, when I decided my degenerative left hip could no longer take the pain, I had modeled for nearly every art department and private studio in Portland. I was in a certain amount of demand, which was gratifying, seeing as how most artists would rather draw female bodies. Being naked, on a stage, in a room full of clothed artists, was a bit empowering. It made me question, even more, how sensual (as opposed to baldly sexual) expression could harm anyone. The more I was naked, the better I felt about myself. It was a win-win situation.
Writing about sex, with sensual elements thrown in to break up the monotony, is something I started trying out in the 80’s, after my first divorce. After all, there is only so much masturbation one can engage in. I had had some poetry and prose published, in the past, so I knew I could write something that someone might take interest in. I didn’t quite know how to go about writing smut, but I’d read some in Penthouse Forum, so I sort of had an idea. I knew porn when I saw it. It was a titillating experience, I must admit, sitting there dreaming up ridiculous sexual scenarios. Thinking about fantasies is one thing; writing them down on paper is another. I wrote and wrote, cataloguing fantasy after fantasy. Oddly, I only tried to get one story published. And it was! To my great surprise, Penthouse Forum purchased one of my stories. Wow! I was hooked. But, job, daughter, second marriage, health, yada yada yada, took me away from writing for a few years.
It was not until I met my soul mate, Gina (you all know her), that the fires were rekindled. Now, not only do I write, I run around naked and model and fuck in the weeds on hot summer days! I have a wealth of experience to write about that, from all current indications, will never end until my bony spent wilted body is burned up and scattered to the four winds. And, so… my story, and some photographic evidence to back up my rambling.