NAKED MIDDLE AGED WHITE MAN

The reaction to the title of this blogpost might well be “ew, I did not need to see that!”
Which could very well be a valid critique of the white dude in question, but it probably does not need to be said either.
Reason being that given the circumstances under which you would normally see a naked middle aged white man, questions might be asked regarding so critical a reaction.
What were you doing there in the direct line of sight?
Did you plan on getting an eyeful?

My guess is that you probably don't see many naked white men.
Probably just one, and that only in the mirror.
Unless you're a doctor.

Of course, you might be married to one, or sleeping with one.
Or both of those idiosyncratic eventualities.
I shall not question your choices.
In fact, I rather approve.


A NAKED WHITE MAN

It should come as no surprise to you that I am sometimes a naked middle aged white man. Especially when the light is right.
Not at all times, but if the occasion calls for it.

Once my roommate has left on Saturdays or Sundays, I magically transform from dashing sleepy dude in pajamas clutching a cup of coffee to NAKED MIDDLE AGED WHITE MAN.
A superhero. Saviour of the universe. Bather extraordinaire.

A naked wet white man.
I see myself in the hallway mirror as I head toward the bathroom with my cup of coffee and something to smoke. One cannot actually smoke a pipe while taking a bath, but small cigarillos are just about perfect. If accidentally dropped into the water, it is no major loss.

The mirror tells me I'm decent looking. No beergut, no droopy wattles, no overly fatty bits. Trim and erect.
Except for the fact that the reflected masculine apparition is gloriously naked, it might be a distinguished looking gentleman out for a stroll, holding a coffee cup.
Even in profile, not bad.
A very likable nude.
Mm. Foxy fellow.
Silvery tips.

Admittedly, I would NOT want to see such a thing wandering around the apartment if it weren't me.
I'm not really into the glowing naked male gestalt.
That's more of a women's thing, I imagine.

If I had my druthers, there would be a naked woman in my hallway.
Also lacking beergut, droopy wattles, & overly fatty bits.
Such damsels are hard to find nowadays.
Even among the younger crowd.

If it were a SMALL woman, both of us could take a bath together; the tub isn't large enough to handle two large people. Two normal folks, yes.
Personally I like to soak for an hour or more. Relaxing in hot water is good for the soul. A small woman might want to spend more time in the tub, or less. Either way, there's room for flexibility, personal adaptation, and warm hospitality.
And lots of soft fluffy towels.

After the bath I usually go out for snackipoos in Chinatown. But if there were any call for it, those snackipoos could be delivered, or picked up well before the nice long bath.
Even served during the bath. Along with fresh hot coffee or tea.
The possibilities for juggling hot soapy water, caffeinated beverages, and dim sum type items, is virtually unlimited. Please imagine warm custard from one of the scrumptious egg-tarts made by the Golden Gate Bakery on Grant avenue dribbling down your chest, or flakes from a delicious pastry floating on the surface of the water, circling a hip or a nipple.

Buttered toast?
Some more coffee?
How about a chicken bun?

At present, there is no small woman in my life, and my bathing is quite solitary. Consequently there is no dim sum in the house, and I keep myself occupied during tub-time by reading mystery novels or news magazines.

Putting on clothes is probably the most important follow-up to a long stay in the tub, so I make sure that I am fully dressed by the time I get to Chinatown.
Few people there actually wish to see a naked middle aged white man.
Even if he is clean and fragrant from a long hot soak.


No, there is NO resemblance to a boiled lobster.


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