I’ve woken. I’m lying in my bed in my night clothes and I
move towards to window to draw the curtains and let in the natural light,
however dull it may be. I return to bed to complete my morning meditations.
It’s a longer session than normal as I have many
conversations from the weekend spiraling round my mind which need to be
released before I start my work for the day.
My plastic friend is there to help me relax.
It’s time to get up. I move to the wardrobe and choose my
attire and then I stand still, questioning, thinking.
Should I close the curtains before I undress? Should I
protect the world from my body? Should I thrill the passer-by with my fairly
hefty and still relatively admirable boobs, even if the rest of my body is past
its sell-by date?
Should I give a toss or simply do what I feel comfortable
with? Do I really care if the old geezer over the road gets an eyeful of my
buxomness?
He crawls into his bathroom and looks towards the
neighbouring house that backs onto his garden. Through the veil of the blind,
he sees the outline of activity in the room opposite. A woman is sitting in the
window, brushing her hair, fully exposed as he watches the fullness of her
breasts when she raises her arm to do its work. Stroking and stroking, she
methodically pushes the brush through her locks, unknowingly in time with his
own rhythms as the voyeur rises to life.
Nudity. What’s not to like?
Why are we constantly ashamed of our bodies when we ought
to be celebrating their liveliness?
The moments in my life when I have felt total freedom,
total oneness with myself let alone with another person, have been when I’ve
been naked – naked in body, yes, but also naked of thought, naked in my mind,
naked and transparent in my soul.
These moments will always be the best moments, the
favoured moments.
They open the book. They careful fold the pages over.
A woman crouching, eyes down, facing the floor. One leg
extended out to the side of her torso. The other is holding her weight. Her
fuck-me shoes accentuate the length of those stunning pins. Her arms
effortlessly fall forward, either side of her pussy.
Her bodice is open and her breasts are partially exposed –
one corner of a nipple out, another outlined through the antique lace that
pulls her waist into an inviting clasp. Her vaginal hairs invitingly parted by
her positioning to show her labia, subtly juicing with a dribble of moisture on
the parquet floor.
Erotic art or pornography? Does it matter if the result
is arousing?
Close your eyes and imagine that scene – that woman, that
body, that floor, that sexuality. Do it slowly. Give yourself time to allow the
image to become embellished through your imagination, your memories, your
feelings.
Where would be without images on nudity?
Sometimes, some people need this beauty to inspire and to
arouse. Sometimes, some people simply want to look at the wonderment of the
female form to relax and appreciate the pleasures of life.
Sometimes, images such as these are far more enticing
than a formulated fuck on a pornography site.
So Mr Hefner and Mr Cory Jones - editor at Playboy – I think
you’re wrong. I think there will always be a place for nudity in your magazine
and others. Pornographic sites do something different. They can’t be held in
motionless admiration. They can’t be zoomed into. They don’t always leave space
for your own interpretation and imagination – your own creativity.
A still photo of sexuality can do all of this.
Helen Mirren – a beautiful woman. Nothing needs to be
said about her age. She’s just beautiful. Her sexuality radiates from her face
as much as her body but she’s decided that she really shouldn’t do nudity any
longer.
Naturally, that’s her choice but it concerns me that she
might be saying so because she feels it’s inappropriate.
It’s not.
Nudity isn’t age-appropriate. Nudity is in the moment, in
the mind of the voyeur, in the movement or stillness of the model.
The feminists scream of exploitation and rightly so when
so many women have been subjugated – against their will, to expose themselves
without thoroughly considering what they’re doing. But not all. Some women have
chosen to pose for photographs because it makes them feel empowered,
invigorated, free – just as I did when I was naked and accepted for my bodily
flaws and fascinations.
Other feminists applaud because we should be proud of our
form. We should celebrate, and if those amongst us who have seemingly flawless
bodies want to share their beauty with men and
women who choose to be aroused by their nudity, then so be it.
I embrace nudity and even as I am right now, with my far
from perfect body, I won’t close the curtains.
