Nakedness uncovered

Nakedness uncovered. With photos by Harry Chaney

Home alone

After a particularly hot and humid day at work, my dungarees pasted to my skin, my scrotum like a Croatian sea sponge, I wanted nothing more than to quench my thirst with copious amounts of ale; or whatever passes for ale in France.  First however I needed to cool off, to wash the dirt from my pores, my crooks and my crannies with whatever means available.  With no time to return home before the pub opened and not wanting to eat into my allotted drinking time, which has been pre-determined since the nuptials and referred to in my house as the 40 minute rule – not to be confused with the ten minute rule which is another story altogether- I hotfooted over to the nearby lake.

 I found what appeared to be a secluded spot, off the beaten track, away from public gaze and, after one last look over my shoulder, stripped down to my birthday suit. The freedom of liberating oneself from the burden of normal attire, the sun on my waifish but muscular form, the delicious feeling of being a bit naughty; there’s nothing quite like it. Picture if you will the cool clear water lapping at my knees, my white, but perfectly formed bottom winking in the sunlight as I waded further out into the lake; further from the shore and the sanctuary of my underwear!

Transfixed briefly by all the little fishes milling about me, naked little fishes, no cares, no modesty, just as nature intended, oh to be a fish!  It was then that I heard several car doors slam behind me; I turned, as one does when startled by a sudden noise, and found that I was no longer alone because on the shore, a few metres away at most, there stood a man. Next to the man, either side of his lopsided, slightly pitying grin milled a ‘gaggle’ of teenage girls*. He, rather amusingly warned his companions of the ‘serpent’ in the water. I tried at first to act nonchalant, as I’m sure any self respecting Frenchman would, but alas I lacked the candour, the openness one acquires over a lifetime of not giving a shit. So my next move was to re-establish my relationship with my underpants, and so began the slow, painfully embarrassing wade back to shore and the comically ridiculous attempt to climb back up a very muddy, very slippery bank.

As a young man, many moons ago, I developed a liking for all things alcoholic be it Don Perignon, Veuve Clicquot or Pommery I wasn’t fussy. One of the many, many side effects of drinking too much, at least for me, was that at some point I would inevitably remove my clothes; publicly. I have de-bagged in pubs, restaurants and bars across the land, I’ve also ran naked up many a high street with at most a sock on my cock! Why? It just seemed like a good idea at the time! But some people don’t need alcohol to liberate themselves from their inhibitions, or their clothes for that matter. It’s a life style choice, like riding a penny farthing or joining a choir, they do it for several reasons, some more disturbing than others.

Naturism as a movement claims to defend private/public nudity, that, as one practitioner quipped’ ‘if God had wanted us to be naked he would have made us that way’. I can see a certain attraction to say, swimming in the nude, ‘sans Speedo’ or lying in the sun with my todger out. But as liberating as it may well be, do I want to flaunt it in front of others?

When searching the net on this subject – that’s my excuse anyway – I was a little disturbed to find web sites advertising ‘family nudism’ and ‘pictures’ of said family in the nude. To me the word ‘family’ suggest children and being a parent I’d feel pretty uncomfortable knowing my child’s naked image was up on the net for any Tom, Dick or Harry to scrutinize at his pleasure. A tad insidious and a little creepy, suffice to say I didn’t investigate these particular websites.

Other websites promoted nudist clubs from Bolton to Bognor showcasing their best specimens, mostly women of consensual age or so they claimed and a couple of well hung gents thrown in for good measure!  All the girls pictured are healthy sporty types shown playing tennis, sitting astride a motorcycle or rock climbing. If you think that rock climbing in the nude is a little dangerous then wait till you see what the well hung men are up to. I’ve never tried to cook naked or for that matter to carry a brick with my dick but these are just some of the many activities available to the budding nudist. The rationale behind this is that if you were considering joining a nudist club they don’t want to scare you off at the first hurdle with pictures of ten tonne Bessie in her all together or wee Willy the butcher’s son. Even though the mantra of many nudists is that once you are naked people can only judge you based on personality! In a sense no one’s looking at your knob, or your lardy thighs, no one’s sneering at your third nipple because the naked body becomes irrelevant allowing a personality to shine.  Hmm, if your personality is so dull that it’s ignored when you have your clothes on I can’t see how taking your kit off is going to make you any more interesting; you’re just a naked bore!

 A theme seems to emerge very quickly and it’s called sex. I’m afraid so, for all the good intent of many well meaning nudist, it really boils down to sex at the end of the day. If I’m sprawled naked on Mediterranean sands or playing volleyball in the nude I’m going to be aware of others evaluating my equipment, women sizing me up, men comparing notes, too much pressure. I in return will find it hard, err difficult not to letch, after all, hello naked chics!

I’m not offended by the naked form as such, there are some people I would much rather not see without their clothes on. As in one particular strip club in London I happened upon by accident several times, if an ugly person stripped the crowd would shout ‘get ‘em on’. Some people I’d be obviously more than happy to see in the all together, all the time, yes Kylie I’m talking to you.

Then there’s the militant nudist, getting naked to make a point like the world naked bike ride, designed to attract awareness to all matters environmental. Steve Gough who walked naked from lands end to john O’ Groats, though I’m not entirely sure why? But my personal favourite is a Dutch campaign to make public nudity legal on the condition that a towel is used when sitting on a public bench!  

I suppose as long as no one gets hurt there’s no real harm in nudity, it is natural after all and as long as it’s consensual then fair play. As for introducing your nakedness to third parties, well the odd – odd as in rare- streaker here and there can do no harm and very often elicits a hearty cheer. But I don’t really want it shoved in my face regularly. Breast feeding mothers should be allowed to get ‘em out as and when needed and I personally only look upon the nurturing mother’s breast as a gift.

Now I had no intention of showing my junk to anyone whilst attempting to dip skinny but I have found many a snake in the grass whilst walking around the same lake with my wife and son. Wife will stop and chat amiable with the gentleman skilfully avoiding the matter of his penis being on full view whilst I try not to make eye contact with his snake; don’t look, don’t look, shit I looked. Well you can’t blame the guy, I’d want to show to everyone too if it was the size and girth of a baby’s arm!

*A Gaggle is, I’ve decided, a good collective noun for young teenage girls.

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About CageWriter

Englishman Living in France with my French wife and bilingual son. I'm a struggling writer as in I struggle to write even though I feel it's my calling. I get easily side tracked, this blog being a case in point!
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