NAKED AND ALONE

Sometimes I am certain that strange people in Russia find my blog by searching the internet for naked men. Not, please understand, that you would ever find pictures of that here. I rather disapprove of selfies, OR quick snaps of friends and family in the buff. And I can assure you that since I was a few weeks old, no one has photographed me in unclothed. Two-month old infants look rather like goobers, no matter how cute the little fellah and his winkie in the bath. At least I think that's me. It's an old family photo. Whoever that child is, he is wide-eyed and very much like a rutabaga.


The reason why I believe that Russians look for naked internet men is because my blog stats show an inordinate number of visitors from that part of the world, and for the past two weeks a post I wrote over three years ago about myself floating around the apartment stark naked except for a smoke and a coffee cup has pulled in numerous readers.
How dreamy to be naked and alive!
And coffee sounds perfect!
Nice pipe, dude.
Briar.


When the weather is decent, and I am the only one at home, there is little reason to be clothed after or right before a bath.


I do not expect company or visitors at that hour.


Middle-aged trim young gentlemen such as myself are seldom bothered by convention; it does not impose itself in the morning in any case. When I am out in public, I remain clothed. Between the first cup of coffee and the cleansing ritual, not so. It's clean nude living personified.
There is no one here to critique my physique.
No one objects, or loudly squawks.
A peanut gallery is absent.
Ah, stillness.


In any case, dear Russian deviants, there are no photos, there is no live-cam, nor any charcoal sketches or pencil drawings, nor even any visual representation of me and my glowing stark-naked splendour at all.
I shall not describe what it looks like, or how it might make YOU feel. Whether my dermis is pearlescent or dull looking, overly hirsute or smooth as an egg, crepe-like or unbelievably youthful satin silky springy, and other matters of my glorious naked middle-aged manliness, shall not be elucidated.

Save for this:

Height: five foot eight and a half or eight and three quarters inches. Hair: brown, mousy-hued, with salt and pepper, soft and thick, cut short.
Profile: sporty because of the jaunty pipe.
Fingers: strong and sensitive.
Coffee: bitter.


Recently the tobacco of choice has been a selection of Virginia blends. Such things have a soft fragrance, rather than the woodsiness of Latakia mixtures. I whisp of something hay-like, almost floral but still on the barely sweet side. The type of smell which re-awakens memories.
Slanting morning light, direct brightness.
Darkened corners, still bedewed.
Crispness to the early air.
Clinking porcelain.
Fresh coffee.
Spring.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================