This post is long overdue. It’s the follow up to the Naked Nurses Piece over a month ago. In my usual introspective fashion I’ve debated this one; however far more than most. I was going to write it from the photographer’s perspective. After all I can hide behind the camera and no one would have though less of it. In fact I do it a lot but just not with the type of pictures you see here (if you know happen to know my birth name I’ll be starting a 365 project on that site beginning with the new year). Funny for all the erotic things I do when it comes to taking pictures I prefer empty city streets, random hotel corridors, the passing view from a car or out a plane window. Broken down buildings, tattered entry ways, shadows and desolation in urban centers; there is a beauty in the decay, a wonder in the effects of time, and shifts in economic influences. Of course that would have been easy. A few weeks back they put more Men in Sinful Sunday Movement took shape and burned itself into my mind. Sliver Hubby’s photo stood out, his sentiment bold and brave along with others such as John D whose photos I often admire made me look deeper into my own view.
In a twist of irony Molly just put up her latest Sinful Sunday round up out while I was typing this. It’s a great example of the type of pictures I love. In fact I was at dinner with my family this past weekend when Penny put hers out (NSFW version is what I linked to here) in an Instagram friendly manner. So I showed it off and we talked about how fun it was over a family meal. I could drown in her eyes! A day later I debated with the Chesty Blonde whether Cammies’ Pic reminded me of a classic photographers work I couldn’t recall or simply a beautiful Film Noir type image. Stepping away from those example I see most of the images as art and admire the courage and beauty of the subjects. Note perfect is not what catches my eye, in fact something too perfect doesn’t usually work for me. I like honest, or playfully staged not a perfect romantic or erotic image like a romance cover. Rather a combination of reality and honesty. I envy Molly’s creativity.
Still none of that answers the question of why I hate to be in front of the camera, the subject of the picture. My body is not perfect, yet that doesn’t really bother me. Physically speaking I know what a freak show I am in terms of strength. For a while I lied to myself and said maybe if I was thinner, younger, had a porn star’s cock I want to be in more pictures. Then I looked back to when I was thinner and younger and could fuck for days without a break. The pictures were the same. It was me in a younger body doing exactly what I do now. I was composed, everyone else was in jeans and a T, I would be in dress pants or a suit, if on stage everyone was in jeans or spandex I would either be in leather or the brightest outfit of all making a spectacle of myself. Clothes are a representation of how I want to be perceived forever. For an ugly straight guy I think and know a lot about clothes a lot. I can tell you if you have a good tailor and can point out what I love in each of my favorite garments.
My body even at the height of my physical form years ago was a staged and crafted image. I can look at others and see the beauty, see the unrepressed sexuality, the wonderful freedom of their exposure. And what do they see of me? A peek of a shoe, a glimpse of my closet, the empty spaces I peer at when alone in public places, a few hopefully witty lines as I share some view of my world but never really an image of me. Sure a flash of an arm, a glimpse of my belly, my hand on someone’s ass. I could lie and say it’s because of anonymity, but I could show more and keep that; yet I choose to stay hidden.
Debates have been had over me doing the scavenger hunt. I’m sure they’ll continue but I struggle to see the merit. My contribution would be what? Me exposed? I love seeing others but can’t see myself in the same light.
I’m not shy, I’m not modest but despite that I’m also in my physical form simply not art. I admire all of those who can share yourselves that way. Perhaps one day I’ll join you until than have you seen my newest shoes?
I had been a model of sorts (and of no acclaim) years and years ago. Doing what one who knows me would expect…preppie catalog shoots (think J Crew on a budget) and industrial training films. Perhaps that’s what tainted me? Although that’s not true. Looking back I hate those pictures of myself, the ones I love are me outback of a dive bar before a show in tattered jeans surrounded by the Children of the Damned types. Me on the floor in a puddle of sweat, my long stringy hair as disheveled as my undernourished body and staving soul. Of me in a black double breasted suit, hair slicked back like a B movie gangster with a group of women too drunk and morally liberal to know better than to spend time with me. Even the ones of me walking into my wedding reception I wore a mask, elegant yes but a facade none the less, of course it went perfectly with my Tux.