MAYBE YOU'VE WON THE JACKPOT

One search brings people here with depressing regularity. No, it has almost nothing to do with naughtiness, the feminine attributes, or deviant practices. There may be a small element of that, but the main reason why people type this criterium into their browsers is to find something that they have never seen. An almost mythical curiosity.

They've heard about it, and its peculiarities have been explained. For some reason they think it a legendary achievement to see, a fabulous beast to behold.

NAKED MIDDLE AGED MAN!

This is something that even wives of the subjects in question don't know the appearance of, or what on earth it looks like. Let alone civilians, recent college graduates, or grammar school children.
The mature male nude is quite reclusive.
No-one ever sees such a thing.
It just isn't done.

"What", the little boy wonders, "will I look like when I am impossibly old and knackered, as my father is right now?"

It's a good question. In the past, one could rely on college professors to demonstrate the beast, as so many of them had little shame and happily attempted to seduce nearly anything twenty years younger than them skipping across the campus. British politicians also couldn't resist letting you know exactly what to expect, and both vicars and Roman priests disrobed at the drop of a hat.

One word, sonny boy: SPOTS!

It's sad that the educational aspect of perversion has had to suffer because of our new-found modesty.


Inquisitive people come here looking for a naked middle aged man. Sometimes it's a naked middle aged WHITE man. Even rarer!

They leave disappointed. I have nothing to offer them.
It is not easy to see a naked middle aged man.
We are shy, as well as fully clothed.


They came for this:

What they got was this:

As I type this, I am NOT naked. Anything but, in fact. It's summer in San Francisco, darn cold, and nudity is not part of the programme. It would be silly.

If the right person asked, I could be induced into a temporary state of deshabille, provided it was mutual, and cups of a warm beverage were involved as well as a warm blanket.

Sadly, that's extremely unlikely.


I think people tend to worry that the warm beverages will get spilled, possibly due to shaking and shivering. Combined with tachycardia, and other symptoms of severe chill, it's almost like the subject is having an epileptic seizure, and no one is willing to risk a soggy blanket.
Or a rug. It could happen on a rug.
Two warm beverages.
Big mess.


But the warm beverages are essential. No one in their right mind strips in San Francisco unless a warm beverage is involved.


Do you really think you're ready for this?
I'm pretty sure you aren't.


In the same way that school-age children and adults are desperately searching the internet for the naked middle aged man, I should like to find a person of suitable age and gender who is willing to risk her carpet getting hot coffee or tea spilled on it. Or even cocoa.
Her profound curiosity might get rewarded.
The rest of you are out of luck.
I'm staying warm.

Just look in your mirror, and construe.



ICELANDIC HONEY

I am presently wearing longjohns, skintight leggings, and corduroy pants, plus a woolen shirt and a thick Irish fisherman's sweater, underneath my fur coat. Plus earmuffs, a fuzzy scarf, and a hat.

At night it feels like the frigid North Atlantic.
It's so crikey cold and dark, oh strewth!

Only insane people are naked.

Note: All illustrations in this essay are by Edward Gorey and Mrs. Regera Dowdy, who both understood the fully clothed, partially clothed, largely unclothed, or completely starkers, middle aged man paradigm as no other. The two of them pretty much invented it. Which is why the third picture is a perfect portrait of me. Note the stylish tennies.





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