FIRST SUNBURN OF SPRING

Spring is here. A 72 degree day. All the women stripped down to tank tops, and bikinis and hung out along the waterfront and city parks. The air smelled so delicious. Magnolia trees in bloom. It was easy to stay outside all afternoon.

Only later, by dark, did we realize our pale winter skin was not so ready for sun.

GOOD NEIGHBOR POLICY

In the the poem "The Mending Wall," Robert Frost writes about his annual task of rebuilding a stone wall along his property. His neighbor, a local farmer, repeats the saying, "Good fences make good neighbors." The poet, though, says "Something there that doesn't love a wall," referring to the winter heaves of ice, gravity, and the nature of entropy to pull down the small things man makes to separate himself. Truly, there must be some wisdom here.

Even though her husband spent several thousand in savings and worked a whole month to put up the fence so he and his wife could enjoy their backyard in privacy, something has lead the effort, ultimately, to fail. The neighbor-man, seeing the wife in the yard, called her over. Casual conversations led to exciting, but dangerous possibility. She started sunbathing, topless, then nude, when she thought she heard him over the fence. He worked from a home office. He'd often take his coffee outside. She began to know his patterns, and made her trips to the backyard match.

More and more they'd chat. The sexual tension simmered to a boil. She knew if she went over to his house, or if she invited him across the fence, there would be no turning back. There would be no barrier to stop her from doing everything. Everything would destroy her marriage. She didn't want that, just, a touch, maybe. A little kiss.

The fence offered her the security. Even, the anonymity. It was like a glory hole, but not sketchy, dark, and dangerous. She barely knew her neighbor, and didn't need to know. Only that he would be outside with his coffee about 10am. And she would, too. Yes, it wasn't right, but that's what she liked. The thrill, the risk. And still, the fence, the safe line.

Yeah, she thought. "Good fences make good neighbors."

BEACH CAMERA

This is a cute shot, a sexy gal out in the sun. She turns her camera to shoot, as she, in turn, is captured by a camera.

HEY ECONOMY, STIMULATE THIS!

In these economic times, who says you need to spend a lot of money on sexy toys? Why not take the lead of this sexy sex lady, and use what you have around the house. Make it a game. This weekend, go on a sexy scavenger hunt, see how many everyday objects you can find and how many uses you can put them to. Let's call it repression-proof recreation.

WINDOW WATCHER

BOHEMIAN

I knew Krista between 1998 and 2000, when the economy was actually booming, but living costs were still pretty cheap. Somehow, she had enough money to buy a small piece of land, with an ramshackle house, a collapsing barn, and an old apple orchard. I'd never seen anywhere prettier.

She had a bohemian style that I found totally sexy. She'd often wear old white nightgowns or patchwork sundresses. Sometimes she'd wear only overalls and be naked underneath. She had large, natural breasts, that were lovely to look at, lovely to watch. And often, I'd notice that she'd go a week or two without shaving, and be sprouting stubble under her arms and shins. She had dark hair and chocolate eyes. She claimed to be part Mexican.

Krista and I never dated. I thought about it often, and knew she must be passionate in her love making as in her art. She made books that she printed herself, and even hand-bound. She made sculpture, and made jewelry. Everything was creative for her, and always a little crazy.

Still,I noticed each time she sat cross-legged and was so absorbed in her bead-work that she didn't realize I could see up her sundress to her patch of dark curls. She never wore underwear. Maybe she didn't even own a pair. Or maybe she didn't care. She was a free spirit. I always noticed each time she bent over to pick up a crate of apples, how her overalls would dip, allowing a glimpse of cleavage. I always wondered if she had large sand-dollar areolas, or small, pinched nipples.

Then, one day, she said she needed a photograph of herself, and asked if I'd help. Sure, I said. She rummaged around her pile of art supplies until she pulled out some paints. Setting them down, she unbuckled her overalls and let them drop to the floor. Within a second, she was standing beside me, stark naked, completely unselfconscious, and without saying a word. She took a brush and some paint and motioned for me to do the same. She wanted to make a birthday card for her friend, and she was going to be the card herself.

I felt totally nervous being so close to her nude body, but I loved it. I loved being able to look at it like an artist draws a life model. Every curve, every line.

When we were done, we walked outside. She handed me the camera. "What do you think?" she asked. She stood beside some flowers, the apple trees in the back.

"Beautiful," I said. I meant it.

HOUSE CALL

He was home sick form work. She sent him a self-snap to feel better. The text message read: Wanna play doctor?

PATIO PLAY

Here is another true life snapshot. At first glance we see a couple having sex--really going at it. He's on top of her, pumping for all he's worth. They've pulled the cushions off the patio chairs. To the upper left, the eye notes the large inflatable kid's pool. So, they must have kid's, or one of them has kids, or they are at someone's home who had kids. On the table appears to be a bag of chips, bag of buns, and glasses. Perhaps a summer backyard barbecue has been going on. Perhaps this couple had a little too much to drink?

Let's say all the guests left. The couple had the backyard to themselves. Too drunk or too turned on to go inside, they tossed down the cushions, stripped, and went to it. But they are not totally alone... to the right, a man sits on the chair, watching.

Is he a guest, staying later at this couple's request. Are they giving him a show? Or is the man in the chair actually with the woman? Does he watch as another man takes his wife? Perhaps it is their house. Say they made arrangements to have the kids at grandma's that week. Say the barbecue went well, and one of the guests was hitting on his wife, hard. Say it turned his wife on, to be given the attention. Say it turned him on to see here being the object of desire.

Maybe, as the guests drove off in couples, he approached the guy, a skinny kid, really, still in his 20s. "I see you think Sandra's pretty good looking," he said to the guest. The kid looked at him, uncertain if he was threatening or joking. "Wanna fuck her?" the husband asked, directly.

They had another beer and waited for the last of the guests. Then, when they were clear, he chucked the cushions on the ground. His wife took over. She went to the kid, and rubbed him through his shorts. He was hard instantly. As soon as she took him in her mouth, he stopped nervously glancing over at the husband, and relaxed. She sucked him good and strong, and guided his hands to her breasts and then between her legs. She stepped out of her bikini, and lay on her back, legs wide. The young man climbed on top, and with a little fumbling, pushed in. She moaned as he pumped. Through half open eyes, she saw her husband watching from the chair. He nodded as his hand slowly stroked his hard cock.

GREEN WITH ENVY

STRADDLING IN THE SOFT LIGHT

RED IN BED

LOST CAUSE

Ok, so first glance this picture is really hot. Two sexy girls are rolling around on a blanket on a mattress on the floor. There's clothes scattered. Looks like a dorm room, or a room rented in a big house with a bunch of college friends--when the only furnishings are the mattress on the floor, a used desk, maybe a chair and a mini-fridge. So, if you just think about these two college friends in their room, getting frisky, it's totally sexy.

Then look....up in the top left corner... who's that? Some dude in pajama bottoms and white socks at the desk? What the hell is he doing? Checking his email? Catching up on facebook? Surfing porn? Hello, note to idiot: the hottest action you'll ever get in your life is right behind you.....

Oh, sigh. Mark Twain was right. "Youth is wasted on the young."

APRIL FLOWERS

Well, it's April, and we hope we've had the last freeze of the year. That means time to get new flowers planted in the yard.

Today I drug my boyfriend to the local plant nursery. He was reluctant to give up his saturday following me around as I picked out plants. His attitude soon changed, though, as I stood by the door in a short, spring dress. I told him that the first warm day of spring had inspired me to forego panties. I wanted to feel the warm spring air tickle my freshly-shaven body under my dress. That got his attention.

We weren't able to do as much flashing as we'd hoped at the nursery. Being the first warm day of spring, and a saturday, the place was packed. But just walking down the rows of flowers, seeing all the new blooms, and knowing that I was totally bare under my skirt was a real turn-on. Knowing that my boyfriend also knew, increased the thrill. It was like our little secret.

When we got home, I was totally turned on. I took the plants out of the car. My boyfriend grabbed his camera.

As I planted, I gave him several peeks. I might have been seen by passerby's on the street. Several of our neighbors went on afternoon strolls and waved as they passed. I'd glance up from my planting and wave, too. Maybe they thought my flushed red appearance was from the digging. Little did they know my true reason for blushing.

STUDY BREAK

Cramming for a test is no fun. Late nights, so much info to pack in. Especially the math and sciences. Sometimes the only way to keep going is to take a short, intense study break. Clear the mind, reset, and release all the stress and anxiety.

SPRING SPRINKLERS!

O Spring, you are finally here. The first cough, sputter, and then roar of lawn mowers. The air smells of fresh turned earth as neighbors dig gardens, plant bulbs and vegetable starts.

A first finally warm weekend. A glimpse of summer, an hour in afternoon, just long enough to turn on the sprinkler, and run through it.

CAUGHT IN THE ACT

Usually she has an 8:30 am class, which allows me to roll out of bed, and have my shower, coffee, and computer time to myself. Living in a tiny dorm room, there's not a lot of privacy or "down" time. So it's really nice to roll into my day slowly, alone. Lot of times I'll just start off at the desk and check email, facebook, and such. As I wake up, I'll start feeling restless, and horny.

It's way too easy to click onto one of my favorite porn sites. I've been really getting into one where regular couples post their home made videos.

As I watch, sometimes I'll start playing with my boobs. I have pretty small ones, I have to say, but they are incredibly sensitive. Sometimes, I can practically get off playing with my nipples, pinching them hard. Sometimes I'll pull down my panties a little, and thrust my hand in. Sometimes it takes watching a few to find a really hot video, but when I do, my body is ready. Just sitting at my computer in the morning, dressed only in my panties, creates a Pavlovian response: my pussy instantly gets wet. It knows soon my fingers will carress it, rub my clit, growing more sensitive by the second. My nipples harden and await my pinches.

The other day, I found a seriously sexy online video. It was soooo hot. It showed a couple really going at it, really fucking each other--but not like porn stars--like actually real people in love. As the man lapped his lover's pussy, my juices began to flow. They traded positions and as she took him in her mouth, I pinched my nipples, sending bolts of passion thorugh my body. This couple really had me going. When the woman rode her man, all the slapping and grunting, and squishing noises drove me wild--I fingered myself furiously. My blue lace panties were soaked. The video was so intense, and I was so into it, that I just kicked off my panties, and continued.

My hips pushed further and further forward on the chair. I leaned farther back to keep watching. The action was getting hot. He had flipped her onto her knees and was doing her doggy. Propping one leg up over the chair arm, spread my legs further apart, and gave me a better angle to rub my clit.

I watched as he slipped his wet, glistening cock into his lover's ass. The woman moaned with such zest, that you knew she had been waiting to be filled there. She had a look of pure bliss as he pounded her. As the man pumped, I played with myself harder than I had in so long. I was totally into the moment. My head kicked back, close to the computer speakers. The sounds of the couple fucking filled my ears. The volume had gotten so loud, the slapping, pounding, grunting. "I'm gonna cum, baby," the man said.

"Yeah, cum baby," said the woman. "Give it to me."

Yeah, give it to me, I thought.

The man gave a few last hard pumps and then pulled out. With cock in hand, he positioned himself by the woman's face. He pounded his meat, getting ready. The look on the woman's face so so erotic. She was truly eager to feel his cum splash on her face. Anyone who says women don't like this, obviously hadn't seen this video. The woman was begging for his cum. He craddled her head with his hand for the best angle to shoot his load. She wanted it. I wanted it!

When he released, so did I. I had one of the most powerful, shaking, toe-curling orgasms I'd ever felt.

It took me several moments to regain my senses. I blinked, trying to recall exactly where I was, and what I was doing. I don't know what my brain processed first: whether I was naked in my desk chair, my legs still apart, and my pussy red, swollen, and wet--or the fact that my roommate had walked into or dorm room and was standing, frozen in her tracks, not more than 15 feet from me, her school bag still slung on one shoulder. Her class had been canceled that day.

I bolted upright and scrambled to find my panties, or a blanket, or anything to cover up with. I nearly toppled as I tried to stand, my knees still wobbly from the intense orgasm. I must have been blushing head to toe and on the verge of tears. She just laughed and said "I guess I'll have to knock next time."

BACK TO BASICS

White beach, blue sky, good book. What else could you want?

SEE THRU


Q: What is sexier than a woman dressed in only her bra and panties?

A: A woman dressed in only her bra and panties that are see-thru.

NICE FIT

MONTANA BACHELOR

Of all my fond Montana memories, one of the best was my pal Malcolm's bachelor party. College students, we didn't have much money, but we loaded up with groceries and beer and drove up the Blackfoot River and found a nice camp spot under the trees. It was Malcolm, Jim, Clark, and Ben Heinz, who we just called Heinz, and me. We piled in Clark's pickup truck--crazy Jim behind the wheel. Malcolm, Clark, Heinz and me hung on as Jim whipped the truck around the gravel curves. We all smiled like stupid kids, gulping the cold mountain air.

We gathered deadfall wood, and by night, we'd made a good campfire. We passed the whiskey bottle and talked of fly fishing and books we'd read and music we liked, and I was feeling full of life and real glad to have these guys as my buddies. Mostly, we talked about girls. Jim kept saying how sorry he was that they couldn't arrange a stripper, but this was Montana. Whadaya going to do?

We all agreed that five dudes in the woods with whiskey and no women just made us "lonesome, ornery and mean." That's a Waylon Jennings song, and we sung it top of our lungs over the campfire.

We were feeling no pain by the time a set of headlights rolled into camp. Stepping out of the jeep was Jim's girlfriend Amber and her roommate Taylor. "Hells bells," here you guys are," shouted Amber, walking into the circle of firelight.

"We can't have a bachelor party with girls," said Clark.

"We can't have a bachelor party without girls," said Jim. He handed Amber the whiskey bottle and she gulped down a swig. Jim and Amber are like the super good looking couple. Every group of friends seems to have the alpha couple--and for us, that was Jim and Amber. Amber was the girl we all secretly wanted, but understood by the unspoken rank, that she was off limits.

"Let's get this party started," shouted Amber. A cheer went up.

We drank and laughed, and took turns staggering out beyond the circle of firelight to fetch more wood and pee. Heinz was trying to talk Taylor into giving Malcolm a lap dance. "You couldn't pay me enough," Taylor teased.

"Come on," he begged, "I happen to have, in my pocket, at this very moment, if not whole dollars, then at least a handful of change....this could be yours!" He held out his hand of spare change and pocket lint.

Taylor laughed. She was catching up on the whiskey, but unconvinced.

"How could you turn down our pal Malcolm," he said, throwing his arm over Malcolm's shoulder. "Our friend is getting married...married....holy matrimony of wedlock." He was clearly drunk, and on a roll. We were all laughing. "Or pal Malcolm is a good guy...a GOOD guy."

"Yes he is," said Taylor, "but I'm not giving him a lap dance."

"Boobies, Taylor, boobies," said Heinz. "Our pal Malcolm is going to be a faithful husband...faithful, I say. And he's not going to ever see another pair of boobies besides his wife's." Heinz was slurring his words, his arm still around Malcolm.

"This is true," said Malcolm with a completely straight face. It came out so deadpan in its delivery, that we all doubled over in laughter.

"Boobies, hun?" said Taylor.

"And all this will be yours," said Hienz, holding out his hand.

"No lap dance," said Taylor.

Malcolm looked forlorn, like a kid told that he might not get a birthday present.

Taylor glanced at Malcolm and then at Amber. Amber raised the whiskey bottle in salute.

In a split second, Taylor peeled off her shirt, bra, and shorts. She ran a complete lap, buck naked, around the fire. We all cheered. Amber laughed and held her head, as if even she couldn't believe Taylor's bold move.


When Taylor completed her campfire streak, she whipped her clothes back on, took the bottle from Amber and took a stiff warming lip-smacking belt of whisky.

"There ya go, Mr. Bachelor," she said to Malcolm. "Boobies and my bare ass...that good enough for ya?"

Malcolm nodded, blushing, but clearly stoked. Everyone cheered.

Taylor turned to Heinz. "Keep the change," she said.

MORNING ROUTINE

Every morning stumble into the shower. Lather, rinse, repeat. Turn off the water, reach for the towel. How similar so many of our mornings start. Brushing teeth, drying hair.

As I stepped out of the shower this morning, hair wet, dripping down my back, I thought about how sexy we are when we are least aware.

GOAT ROCKS

My high school girlfriend had grown up hiking, and so, dating her, I decided to go hiking, too. I joined her family for a week during Spring Break. We traversed a rugged section of the Cascades known as Goat Rocks.

Hiking with her family was fine, though I had to share a tent with her younger brother. Under the watchful eyes of her parents, we had little time to slip away for hanky-pankey. Day after day, being only a thin tent wall away, and yet unable to even have 10 minutes alone grew, more and more unbearable.

One would think that days without showers, hiking in the mountains, would make someone sweaty, smelly, and unattractive. Actually, there must be some sort of built-in genetic coding that instantly kicks in, deep DNA memory of humans in generations past.

When her hair was uncombed and simply pulled back, when she wore no make up, when she smelled slightly musky of the earth, pine pitch, dirt, and the sky, she was sexy as anything I could have imagined. A deep, stirring attraction of primitive ancestors, wanting to copulate madly on the sod. We both felt it. The attraction was stronger than gravity itself.

On the trail was our only potential time alone. She never was a strong hiker and sometimes she'd hang back on the trail to catch her breath. Eventually, I realized, I could slip back, too, as her parents trudged ahead. (Packing 50 pounds on you back, you start looking down only at the trail; after a mile, you lose track of how far up ahead or behind the other hikers are.) I realized, we could have short moments if we hung back. Never long enough to release our pent up urges, but enough to stoke them more: A kiss. A grope. A flash of the moist, matted curls of her delta of venus.

AFTER WORK

PIE EATING CONTESTS

Pie-eating contests are a traditional event at fairs, but they’ve also been known to pop up at family reunions, company picnics, and even birthday parties. Here's a salute to those good old-fashioned pie-eating contests.

DEEP BLUE SEA

Ever wonder where the myth of mermaids came from?

The oldest mermaid myth is related to the Syrian goddess Atargatis. Nearly every culture, from Europe, to Asia, to the Americas contains myths about mermaids. Some mermaids were benevolent creatures, granting wishes to sailors who helped them. But to many seafarers seeing a mermaid meant bad luck, an omen of a storm or shipwreck. There are also tales of the mermaids' enchanting song enticing sailors onto rocks where their ships were smashed to pieces.

Mermaids are known for falling in love with handsome men. They would often pull the object of their affections beneath the water, causing the man to drown. In Hans Christian Andersen's The Little Mermaid it is said that they forget that humans cannot breathe underwater, while others say they drown men out of spite.

Representatives of unexplored worlds, mermaids have been sexual symbols with their classical characteristics of physical beauty and a sexy voice, personifying the obstacle of a dangerous temptation.

RIVER GAME

I have no idea what this group of friends are doing. The girl on the left appears to be handing a twig to the guy. A game of pass the twig? Who knows. The context has been lost to time. Yet, the image remains: a group of friends, young, good looking, nude at the river, sunlight streaming down through the trees. You can almost hear the burble of the creek sliding over the river rock, the smell of the river, thick like summer air. Sun warm on skin, feet tough from walking barefoot.

I wish I could have been one of those lucky folks in this image. Looking at it, I can at least imagine, try to transport myself to that idyllic moment when people are young and beautiful and silly and days are long, warm, and gentle.

BEACH BABE IN B-DAY SUIT

BFFs GET WEEKEND WITH ONE CONDITION: NO BOYS

Robyn and Heather were best friends in High School. They listened to the same music, traded clothes with each other, and took as many classes together as possible. They had both come from smaller towns, and when their respective families moved to the city and enrolled them at the Gambles Oaks Academy, they instantly connected and became inseparable allies.

Heather was one of the star athletes of the academy. WIth her long legs, and trim body, she was a fast runner, a strong swimmer, a high jumper. She seemed to excel at all sports, and her easy-going humble personality made her well-liked, although never one of the "popular" girls.

Robyn was the shy girl, publicly. She didn't go out for sports, but rather did music instead. Her afternoons were filled with voice and piano lessons, while Heather went to sports. Still, Robyn was the leader of the two. If she wore Converse tennis shoes, so did Heather. If she liked David Bowie when no one else in school had even heard of him, so did Heather. If Robyn boasted that she slept in the nude, Heather claimed that she did, too.

Neither had a boyfriend, and neither had much experience beyond "second base" but somehow Robyn had assumed the role of the experienced mentor. She talked with Heather as if the gossip she'd overheard and the articles she'd read were coming from her own wellspring of personal experience. Sometimes the girls most insecure are the ones who try to claim this position. When Robyn and Heather were hanging out at home, she not only bragged about a new purchase from Victoria's Secret, but modeled it for Heather. She spun around in her thong, as if she'd invented thongs. "You really have to get one," she said. "They're so sexy."

Heather agreed. She'd get one right away.

Physically. the girls were similar--from a distance they looked a lot like sisters. Heather was the taller one, by several inches. She was 5'11" and lean, with broad swimmer's shoulders, and small breasts. It was a body built perfectly for athletics, but not as appreciated by the guys her age. She had straight, dark brown hair. Robyn was also tall, about 5'8", but her body was softer, with more curves. Her breasts filled in a C cup while Heather's left room even in an A cup. She never rubbed it in, but she was never restrained about changing in front of Heather, or watching movies in their bra and panties or showing off her latest piece of lingerie. Her hair was lighter born, almost reddish, that curled naturally on rainy days.

Heather's parents were older, the classic stoic farm type, while Robyn's parents were classic liberal types--not former hippies, but the kind of parents who gave Robyn sex ed books at an early age, who listened to public radio, who voted liberal who read harpers, who composted their produce for the garden. When Robyn's family had gone on vacation to Mexico, they let her order margaritas at meals. So of course Robyn was now an expert in cocktails. When her parents went out of town one weekend, they let her and Heather have the house alone. "I guess you girls are old enough to look after yourselves," said her parents. "You'll be off to college in a year, and you better start learning to be adults."

"We can be adults," they promised.

"Ok," said her parents. "One rule: No boys."

"No boys," the girls agreed.

As soon as the parents were gone, the girls wasted no time heading to the kitchen and mixing margaritas. They laid out in the back yard while the sun was still warm. Robyn of course brought out the tanning lotion and stripped off her top. "Let's go European," she said. (She had never, actually, been to Europe.) But Heather agreed and both girls tanned topless for a while.

When they got good and sweaty and buzzed from the margaritas, they went inside. Still topless, Robyn walked straight to the bathroom, she turned around and nodded for Heather to follow. "Let's jump in," said Robyn. "We can squeeze." Robyn turned on the water and stepped in.

Heather felt she had no option but to follow Robyn's lead. It wasn't a big deal--she'd been on swim team, and showering in or out of suits was practically part of the daily swim season. But she had never been in a small, private shower with a girl. Never so close physically, or emotionally as she had with Robyn. There was not much room with both of them in the small shower and as they passed each other to take turns under the spray, the nipples of one girl would graze the back of the other. Elbows and knees bumped. After they rinsed, Robyn casually wiggled out of her bikini bottom, wrung it out under the spray, and squeezed past heather, naked, to hang her suit on the curtain rod to dry. So Heather slipped out of her bikini bottoms.

Robyn lathered herself with soap, then lathered Heather's back. They rinsed and toweled off. Stepping back into the master bedroom, it was now dark outside. Robyn suggested a movie and both girls climbed into bed, still nude. Afterwards, they lay in bed and gossiped. Talk soon turned to sex. Talk of sex was more about what they hadn't done than what they had. Robyn claimed she had tried oral sex and that her last boyfriend had performed it on her. She bragged about how incredible it felt. Heather admitted that she'd never felt the sensation before, but wanted to. "I can show you," Robyn offered, point blank.

Heather thought about it. She was uncomfortable, but curious. She didn't think she was a lesbian. She didn't think Robyn was a lesbian. She didn't think just feeling it once would make her a lesbian--and she REALLY wanted to feel. Ever since she'd discovered the joy of masturbation, she'd fantasized about feeling kisses between her legs. She trusted Robyn. She was already naked in bed, and they were best friends, so, she figured, if she was going to have a first, who better to share that with than Robyn?

Robyn moved down in the bed. Heather parted her legs. Robyn began to slowly, delicately touching Heather. She let her finger trace the lines of her lips. Heather quivered. She was becoming wet. Robyn moved her face closer, breathing warm air on Heather's moist skin. Heather shivered again. What Robyn wasn't saying was that this was a first for her, and she was nervous. But she moved as if she was experienced. She leaned forward, toungue extended, and tasted her first taste of female nectar. Heather moaned.

Soon, Robyn was caressing and exploring Heather's pussy with her tongue. Heather was reeling on the bed, moaning in response. Heather reached for Robyn, and her hand moved between Robyn's legs, and she began to caress her friend, trying to give some of the pleasure she was experiencing.

Both girls each experienced their first orgasms from another girl. Then they curled up and slept together and made breakfast. The entire weekend was one of exploration. They suntanned and showered and kissed each other in the shower and even tasted each other. Heather even surprised Robyn by going down on her in the shower. As Robyn stood, Heather had her prop a leg up on the shower soap shelf. She knelt before Robyn and licked her, and inserted a finger into her. She tongued and fingered Robyn to a shuttering orgasm. Naturally physically coordinated, she had caught up fast, and was now a skillful, aggressive lover.

All shyness had dissipated and the girls explored each other's bodies and their own, discovering unknown pleasures and sensations. It was unclear who was now more experienced, and who was following the lead. When Robyn's parent's returned, they found the house in perfect shape, the girls giddy, tanned, and beaming. "Did you have a nice weekend?" they asked.

The girls glanced at each other and tried to suppress their giggles. "We acted just like adults," said Robyn. Heather poked her in the ribs.

"I'm glad you girls had an adult weekend," said her mom. "It's good for you."

The girls nearly lost it, but maintained a straight face. If Robyn's parents had any idea how "adult" their weekend was.

"No boys, right?" asked her father, sternly.

"No boys," they promised.

SURFS UP!

On Captain James Cook's third expedition to the Pacific, his ships, HMS Discovery and Resolution, made the first recorded European visit to Hawai'i in 1778. When the Discovery anchored off Hawaii’s Kona coast, Cook, and his crew caught their first glimpse of naked Hawaiians riding the waves on smooth wooden boards.

When Cook’s crew arrived in Hawai'i, surfing ("he'enalu" in Hawaiian) was deeply rooted in many centuries of Hawaiian legend and culture. Place names had been bestowed because of legendary surfing incidents. The kahuna intoned special chants to christen new surfboards, to bring the surf up and to give courage to the men and women who challenged the big waves.

After the publication of the Cook expeditions journals, Hawai'i became the central Pacific destination of choice for captains, brigands, adventurers, missionaries and other opportunists. The haole brought new technologies, languages and Gods, along with vices and diseases that ravaged a society that had evolved over more than a millennium. Speaking the Hawaiian language, dancing the hula, chanting songs to and about the gods and goddesses of the islands, and wearing little or no clothes was deemed shameful and forbidden.

Brought to the brink of extinction, Hawaiian people, their customs, and the sport of surfing has survived. Too bad, the original Hawaiian preference for nude surfing hasn’t. Of all human beings on this planet who deserve to be naked—surely it is surfers. They have the leanest bodies, smooth and sculpted by water, toned, balanced, and tanned.

JAPANESE SENTO

Before the mid-1800s and an increase in Western influence, nude communal bathing for men, women, and children at the local unisex public bath, or sento was a daily fact of life. Some Japanese find social importance in going to public baths, out of the theory that physical proximity/intimacy brings emotional intimacy, which is termed skinship in Japanese.

AU NATURAL

NAKED AS THE DAY YOU WERE BORN

The internet era has ushered in a heightened concern for the sexual exploitation of minors. In criminal cases, deservedly so. An unfortunate back spin from this concern, however, is a heightened paranoia and censorship around the very most essential human experience: motherhood.

The sad result is a shunning for the very nature of motherhood, such as women who are criticized for breastfeeding anywhere outside the home. On facebook, for example, any images of breast feeding are deleted as being "obscene."

On a warm summer day, I was walking through a city park. In one section was a fountain where dozens of children shrieked and squealed and danced in the spray of water. A group of mothers watched from the sidelines, chatting casually, soaking in the sun and relaxing. As I passed, I thought of the parks I used to play in as a toddler with my sister--how we loved to dance in the sprinklers. I saw one naked toddler laughing and dancing among the other children and thought: "What a lovely, heartwarming scene; naked as a child, innocent, knowing only the sensation of cool water on a hot summer day." It was a lovely reminder of our own human origins, the innocence we are all born with, before bodily shame and concepts like racism. As I reveled in my good mood for humanity, a woman came running up, screaming bloody murder: "Put some clothes on that baby! Put some clothes on that poor child!"

In our conversations to define and regulate social behavior, something has gone horribly askew. On my new HDTV, I have seen images of women being brutally beaten, raped, psychologically tortured, and shot in the head at point blank. This was just prime time programing, flipping through stations. I didn't seek it out; I was bombarded with it.

I am subjected to thousands of images of violence toward women on a monthly basis, yet I am "protected" from images of a woman caring for, nurturing, and nursing her newborn.

America, I don't want your images of hate, of crimes, of killing, beating, stabbing. Someone, please, show me images of hugging, laughing, holding. What is more lovely than a mother, holding her baby on her belly, bouncing her child until she sees the sparkle in their eyes, the smile?

The nudity of mother or baby is not obscene, it is what makes us beautifully human.

SCHOOL STUDENTS SAFE FROM AMERICAN PHOTOGRAPHIC MASTERPIECE

In 1949, the photographer Harry Callahan took a photograph of his wife swimming. She appears to tread water, her head, shoulders above the rippling surface, her hair fanning out around her, and slightly visible under the rippled reflection of the water, her left breast.

Callahan (1912-1999) photographed his wife as one of his prime subjects. Eleanor was essential to his art from 1947 to 1960. He photographed her everywhere - at home, in the city streets, in the landscape, alone, with their daughter, in black and white and in color, nude and clothed.

By the time of his death in 1999, Callahan left behind 100,000 negatives and over 10,000 proof prints. He is widely regarded as one of the great innovators of modern American photography, and the photograph “Eleanor, Chicago, 1949” is considered one of his greatest masterpieces.

In 2007, the photo was part of an exhibit from University of Nebraska in Lincoln, called “Flow” with the theme is water. The exhibit traveled to eight Nebraska schools, but when it arrived in North Platte, it raised concerns.

The Callahan photo was deemed “too revealing to be shown to younger students,” said associate North Platte superintendent Dan Twarling at a meeting of the North Platte Board of Education.

The photograph was originally scheduled to be among 25 works of art displayed for 30 days at the McKinley Education Center. Students from public schools typically are bussed to the show and guided through the exhibit by trained docents.

The photograph in question might not have caused much concern if it wasn’t for another art incident three years prior. An oil painting called “Widow's Walk," by Nebraska painter James Cantrell was removed from the traveling Sheldon art show in North Platte. In a style evocative of Edward Hopper, the painting depicts the top story of an ornate Victorian house with the figure of a woman semi-visible through a window. She appears to be wearing a bra. Some parents protested that work of art; others complained when it was withdrawn from the show.

So three years later, when the University of Nebraska exhibit was slated to whistle-stop in North Platte, school officials sent a letter to parents at three elementary schools, explaining the situation. The school officials planned to send the letter to all of the other affected schools and have the matter discussed at the school board meeting, however, after receiving initial responses from parents, North Platte’s elementary principals decided to pull the photograph. Some parents who responded recommended stopping the entire show, said Twarling. Julie Jacobson of North Platte’s arts council countered that the show was reputable and carefully designed.

In the end, the Callahan classic was not seen by North Platte elementary school students.

BACKYARD WITH JESS AND G&Ts

Long summer afternoons, I love hanging out in my backyard with my best friend Jess. Jess and I are just platonic friends, but we're close enough to admit that we find each other attractive, even sexy.

Lazy summer afternoons we like to hang out in my backyard with mason jars filled with ice and gin-and-tonics. We wear skimpy clothes, shorts and sometimes our bikini tops, and Jess loves to wear the thin tank-tops sometimes called the unfortunate name of "wife beaters." When she does, I can always see her nipples poking through and sometimes the dark ring of her aureolas. She's the sexiest girl I know, and she sometimes hints that she likes girls as much as boys. We've never done anything, not even a kiss. BUt I find myself staring at her breasts, so perfectly shaped, and hugged by the thin fabric.


So also loves cut-off shorts. I wouldn't call her a "hippie" at all, but she has a "free-spirit" personality. She likes to make jewelry, and in the winters she knits, and in spring, she always comes over and we garden in my backyard. She loves growing vegetables, like zucchini, and grilling them as the slow summer day turns to dusk. When we garden, she always wears her "grubby" clothes, meaning cut-offs and tank tops. When she bends over, I sometimes catch a glimpse. She's often admitted that she rarely wears underwear. Gardening with her, I know it's true.

One day we were hanging and drinking and catching a good afternoon buzz. Earlier that afternoon, she'd found a huge retro sunhat at a yard sale. She'd been wearing her short cut-offs that showed off her long, sexy legs, and her tank top without a bra as we wandered the neighborhood yard sales. She got a lot of stares from all the men, some of the women. She seemed to waltz through the day without even noticing the looks. But I noticed, each time she bent over to pick something up, how the tank-top dipped down when she leaned forward, showing the scoop of her pale cleavage. When we returned, we mixed ourselves some g&ts in mason jars and kicked back.

I could see Jess's nipples poking through the thin fabric and so I picked up the camera to snap a photo, to always remember the mood and look of our classic summer days. "Here," she said. She lifted her tank top just over her boobs. "Go ahead." She smiled coyly, looking into the camera. Click.