Category Archives: Body Acceptance

Jeans … A Short Story by Martin Brant

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Perhaps you have a secret that you’ve never shared with anyone, and never will. You think about it from time to time, or maybe quite often. Sometimes the secret sleeps peacefully in the remote corners of your mind. Sometimes it rages in your mind like a bull that has caught the scent of a heifer in heat. That’s when it likely your eyes are resting on a man in a pair of well-fitting jeans.

              Maybe he is a passerby in the street. Maybe he’s a guy you know at work. Maybe he is your best friend, which happens to be what the following short story is about. Give it a look. See if you identify with the guy who is telling it.                

Jeans

He is sprawled out on the sofa, dead to the world, dead drunk.

We had spent the evening at my favorite sports pub, a rowdy bunch of guys watching a baseball game, drinking, smoking cigars, served drinks by busty girls with all but nonexistent tank tops. Two or three beers in one evening is about all I can handle; Craig, in the mood to cut loose, had way more than that. When the bar closed I brought him to my house and plopped him on the sofa. Now I’m sitting on the coffee table beside him, staring at him, certain he’s out for the night.

We’ve known each other maybe a year. I meet him three days after he transferred here from Atlanta, offered to show him around Houston. Our wives became friends shortly after that when the four of us went out to dinner. They’re on vacation in New York for a week, attending a bridge tournament.

Like me, he’s an average guy. He always has a five-o’clock shadow, good strong jaw, wavy black hair. Some might say his nose is a bit too large and his eyes are set too close together, others would consider him good looking. Anyone would say he has a great body. Me, I find his body distracting, especially when he’s wearing those jeans.

That’s my little secret. I’ve never shared it with anyone, not my wife, especially not Craig, even though we’ve become such good friends. It would devastate me should something ruin our friendship. He’ll never know I find him so irresistible.

I’ve wondered if his wife takes his body for granted, if seeing him naked is inconsequential, if feeling his body against hers is nothing more than a nightly routine. That’s the way of it around here, after fifteen years of marriage. I can step out of the shower and my wife doesn’t even notice I’m naked, but then my body isn’t as dramatic as Craig’s. I don’t have his broad shoulders, his dark complexion, or his dark patterns of hair landscaping my chest and arms and legs. How many times have I struggled not to stare at him when we’re showering at the gym?

I scoot closer to the edge of the coffee table, lean closer to him. He’s on his back, one knee up against the sofa, an arm splayed back over his head, the other arm and leg hanging off  the cushions. His hair is fussy and uncombed. His shirt is crumpled, half way unbuttoned, partially hanging out of his jeans. I had managed to get his shoes off, but left his socks sagging down around his ankles.

He has a glorious bulge pressed against his upper leg, just next to his fly, indistinguishable as far as the fleshy shapes causing it are concerned. For some the bulge might trigger the imagination, or set off flights of fantasy. For me it calls up images of his dark brooding penis in the locker room shower as water cascades down his chest and runs off the end, which makes it look like he’s peeing.

Should I feel guilty about staring at him this way, taking advantage of his condition by exploring his body with my eyes? Should I feel guilty about wanting to touch him there, to at long last satisfy the curiosities that sometimes keeps me awake at night; not that I’m constantly obsessed with his body, but something is different tonight. Something has made the temptation more beguiling. Maybe it’s being here in this quiet empty house. Maybe it’s because our wives are hundreds of miles away. Maybe his state of oblivion is tempting me to take liberties that he would never know happened.

As I stare a the all to obvious bulge, certain feelings give rise in my hands. I rub them together, clasp them, entwine my fingers and press my palms together. The urge is in them. There may never be another opportunity like the one that has presented itself tonight.

A nervousness comes over me. I look at his face, can’t remember seeing such a dead cold expression. I couldn’t wake him up if I tried. Letting out a sigh, I run my hand down the back of my head. I feel a stirring between my legs, confined by denim and snug fitting briefs. I stand and walk over to the bookcase, stare absently a row of books. What am I thinking? Why are these errant feelings so strong tonight?

Maybe I should put him to bed, get a movie on TV, get my mind on something else, maybe masturbate. I shake my head. Am I the only guy that has feelings like these? And why me? Why do I have to be the one who is plagued by such notions, the guy that gets these crazy ideas? Why, as I get older, do they seem to come on so tenaciously?

I turn and look at the back of the sofa. All I see of Craig is his knee and his arm draping over his head. Stepping back around, looking at him, I let out a breath. Time is passing by. Another opportunity like this may never happen again. Back on the coffee table, watching his face, I reach out and rub my hand down his leg to see if he has a reaction. He doesn’t stir. No sign of awareness of any kind. I’ll have to live with myself, but just now the temptation has consumed me.

My hand inches closer to his crotch, switches to the lower leg. The body heat between his thighs penetrates his jeans as my hand moves closer to the bulge, which makes what I’m doing seem even more intimate, more invasive, more daring than anything I’ve ever done. I hesitate when my hand is close enough to nudge against the fleshy bulge. After a deep breath to steel my resolve, a lightheaded surrender, I lift my hand and rest it on top of the bulge.

His jeans feel warmer here, damp on my palm, heightening my awareness of the hidden presence that feels fleshy and malleable. I let out a long breath, then check his face. No sign of life, no reaction of any kind. He will never know I did this tonight. Only I will. Just me, the guy that, for some unexplainable reason, is willing to secretly exploit his best friend’s unconscious condition.

I pause to catch up with my emotions. My hand has never come in contact with another man’s genitals before. I’m nervous and thrilled at the same time. A sense of gratification has diluted my sense of guilt. I have no idea why I would do something that would humiliate me, but just now that doesn’t matter. Maybe this fleeting moment of intimacy is what I need to get it out of my system, satisfy my curiosity about men, resolve once and for all those misguided and unfulfilled urges I get in my hands. If I can experience it just once, feel the dewy male shapes with my fingers, maybe the urges will become a forgettable part of my past.

My hand closes on the bulge with a light squeeze, a subtle gesture but thrilling. I push at the bulge with my fingertips, exploring the hidden shapes, glancing at his face from time to time. I feel the distinct oval shapes of his testicles, firm and meaty, much too confined in the snug fitting denim. Along side his balls, I can make out the shape of his penis, softer and spongier than his testicles.  It’s all compressed in an irregular, unnatural way—odd we torture ourselves wearing such tight jeans, which just now happens to be the only thing preventing me from lifting his genitals and closing my fingers around them.

I look at his eyes. He’s off in another world, not likely to come back anytime soon. Though it’s nothing more than a figment of my imagination, this surreptitious intimacy seems to change my relationship with him, like we are closer, sharing a secret, finding a new way to enjoy our manhood. As I massage his genitals, aroused by how damp they feel through his jeans, my eyes shift to the buttons along his fly. It occurs to me I could unfasten them without waking him up.

The thought makes my heart race faster. It’s like I’m caught up in an illicit act that multiples temptation, compelling me to further satisfy my curiosity, causing a heedless indifference to the possible consequences. I stare at the buttons for a moment. If I unfasten them I could get my hand inside his jeans. I could wrap my fingers around his penis and at long last know what it’s like to have in my hand another man’s penis. I could cup his balls and squeeze them, even fantasize his unconscious participation is consensual. I would know. The question would no longer haunt me.

The buttons are somewhat stubborn. The nervousness in my hands intensifies as each button opens. Finally all four undone. I gently pull open the fly, lean back and make sure he hasn’t been disturbed. My eyes comb back down to his fly. It’s gaping open. I see his pubic hair, coal black and silky. An anxious feeling settles over me. As compared to what I’ve already done, the risks of what I’m contemplating are increased a dozen times.

I first noticed my errant thoughts as far back as middle school. Oh, I was plenty interested in girls—I desperately wanted to see one naked, to have a girlfriend, to feel her with my hands, to feel my lips pressed against hers. Yet there were times similar curiosities arose about boys, curiosities that defined themselves when I signed on to the basketball team in high school. That was the first time I found myself among other naked guys, dressing out in the locker Continue reading →

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A Man From Peru

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EdgarThere are men from all around the world that seem to think with one mind, men that are at home in their own bodies, men that acknowledge an appreciation of the male form and are receptive to the diversity of male sexuality. They are men that recognize the essential elements of life. Edgar is one of them. He is a 53 year old naturist from Peru.

I asked Edgar what motivates him to take nude pictures of himself.

I have been a naturist since early youth.  I go by the motto “Experience the grace of living beyond indoctrination and prejudice, acting upon your own good natured conscience ”, “Say YES to yourself and the wholesome beautiful body God gave you” Naturists have a sensory appreciation for the world around them. Peru obviously offers up an amazing world of wonder. Naturists have discovered that such a world is best enjoyed unencumbered by clothes. They know the refreshing feel of warm air and sunshine on their skin. In a social setting, they can enjoy the visual gifts of Mother Nature and also each other.

For Edgar it includes an appreciation for the male form, actually the human form in general.

“I believe the human form is neither immoral nor inappropriate and endorse the culture of positive body acceptance.  All parts of the body are just natural and should not be treated as anything that should be hidden.”

Though Edgar is essentially straight, he also feels an attraction to men. He has had one or two intimate encounters with other men during his lifetime. With a man or a woman, he wouldn’t want to be involved just for sex, preferring both an emotional and physical connection. His fantasies include group sex, having two sex partners and being given oral sex by a passionate transgender female. He currently has two girlfriends/lovers.

Naturally Edgar enjoys nude beaches. He is also a member of a nudist resort. Nudism is not meant to be a sexual endeavor, but it is a sensual one. As such, Edgar likes to look at nude men and women, and be looked at by them, which are sentiments most nudist have. And why not? Interacting with others is one of life’s great enjoyments; why not expand the parameters by doing so naked?

In Edgar’s book penis size doesn’t matter. He says a guy’s size usually fits the bearer. As for his Continue reading →

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The Girl in Greenwich Village

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I’m currently working on a collection of erotic short stories, one called The Girl in Greenwich Village, which I have posted the first draft here. It’s about a man that falls desperately in love from afar with the girl next door, a girl who is self-conscious about her protruding labia that he has become obsessed with and watches every night through her window. The story is for anyone who enjoys erotic stories, but it’s especially for young women that feel abnormal because of their labia size.

protruding labiaThe Girl in Greenwich Village

 Her apartment is directly across the alley from mine, fourth floor. Hers is a tiny one room flat: a bathroom, a fold-down bed, a corner kitchette with a small stove near the window I’m looking through. Mine, somewhat bigger, has three rooms. I’m in my living room, sitting where I sit every night, falling in love all over again.

Her blinds are never closed. It must not occur to her that someone may be staring in her window, like she is living in her own private world free to enjoy being home alone without wearing clothes. I have watched her every night from the first night I moved in, captivated, enchanted, building a world in my mind where she and I fall in love. I have thought of little else since. When it’s dark outside, with my lights off, I can see everything she does in her room. The first night I saw her, she was walking out of her bathroom, still wet from taking a shower.

protruding labiaForgetting the boxes I still had to unpack, I pulled a chair close to the window and stared as she patted her body dry with a towel. Time ceased to exist. Everything else in my mind evaporated. It must have been that very night that I fell in love with her, became obsessed, began creating fanciful scenarios of the two of us together, both of us naked, perhaps talking about our day, or maybe watching a movie, just the two of us being comfortable together without the inhibitions of the everyday world.

She is of Asian descent. Her olive color body has possessed me from the first moment I saw her, the color of her skin, her stature and mannerisms, her long willowy legs, her soft feminine curves. Just by looking at her I know she and I are one, like counterparts though we’ve never met, walking the same path with the same hopes and dreams, as if destiny has already written our future.

protruding labiaSlightly above average height, her olive color skin perfectly matches her short dark brown hair. Her delicate shoulders compliment her narrow waist, flat belly and long willowy legs. Her protruding pelvic bones give her a sculptured look. The dramatic flare of her hips draws attention to her fleshy round buttocks. As I watch her each night, I feel her soft smooth skin on the palms of my hands, supple, warm and receptive. We take walks together in Central park. We take cross-country drives. We walk hand-in-hand along desert beaches.

Her female features are unlike any I have ever seem, irresistible female embellishments, uncommon, unique, tantalizing beyond any I have ever imagined. Her large brown nipples are upturned and appear to be perpetually swollen, like dark amplified peaks that crown the summits of her small breasts. I see myself sucking them, pinching and pulling them, watching her squirm and listening to her squeals.

protruding labiaBetween her legs she has the most uncommon, yet captivating female characteristics I’ve ever seen. Rather than the puffy, nondescript slit one expects to see hidden in a triangle of hair, her pussy is a prominent mound, smooth shaven, enhanced by protruding inner labia that hang between her legs like a succulent pair of dark fleshy butterfly wings. I long to taste them and make them swell. I long to part them with my fingers and reveal the female mysteries that promise to take me to the center of the Universe. I long to feel their wrinkly texture with my tongue as I suck them and pull them with my teeth, and make her writhe with ecstasy. I long to feel them sliding along the shaft of my penis as I penetrate her.

protruding labiaI have lost myself in her. My days are spent contemplating my return to the chair in front of my window, where I watch her until she turns out her light. She is the magic in my erections, the object of my climaxes and my dreams, the source of my destiny. I imagine the smell her skin after a day’s work, the girlish sweat of her underarms, the tart odors between the fleshy rounds of her buttocks, the musk of womanhood between her legs, damp and fragrant.

I’m married to her. I’m with her every night. I think about her at work, on the train home, lying in bed at night, when I masturbate during my morning shower. She’s in my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. I have followed her to work, watched her look at dresses at Macy’s, watched her eat a sandwich at the deli down the street. I’ve watched her prepare her dinner, make her bed, read a book in the square across the street. I’ve watched her rub her pussy when she takes off her panties, like a man does to adjust his genitals when he takes off his underwear, but she is doing it so that her beautiful labia hang freely.

protruding labiaForemost in my daydreams is the day we meet.  When? How? How will I go about introducing myself? What will I say? Will she know I’m in love with her the moment our eyes connect? Has she ever noticed me watching her from my window? Will she be glad we have finally met? Will recognize her destiny with me as I have found my destiny with her. Or will she think I’m strange, the man she has seen in the shadows, a hopelessly sad voyeur?

It’s Saturday morning. I awaken to the city noises on the street, detect the faint smell of semen that I have left on the sheets. The girl was in my thoughts as I fell asleep, as I masturbated, breathing the scent of her exposed secrets, secrets only she and I share. I twist my legs off the bed and head for the window, my erection bobbing before me.

protruding labiaStanding in the shadows of my living room, I see her having breakfast at the table, same chair where she always sits, a bowl of cereal it seems. I watch how she brings the spoon to her mouth, leaning forward a bit to skim the pages of an open magazine just beyond the bowl. How beautiful she is in the morning light, her naked body like caramel cream in the soft light, her legs slightly parted under the table, her small breasts with their glorious nipples dropping slightly as she leans forward to turn another page. Continue reading →

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Male Body Hair … Seven

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MALE BODY HAIR

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A Woman’s Argument Against Involuntary Circumcision

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Involuntary circumcision is a controversial procedure that has all but died out everywhere in the world but the United States. Here many of us still want our baby boys to look like their fathers. Here many of our women still think male foreskins are gross, that they look odd and collect unpleasant odors. Here performing the procedure is still an extra few bucks for doctors and hospitals. All of that is slowly going by the wayside, as is the old misguided female perspective. Women in the U.S., like women all over the world, are beginning to appreciate the male body in it’s natural state. foreskinsDue to our indoctrinations, there are still many men that believe penises look better circumcised. In fact they are glad they themselves are, and they intend to have the procedure performed on their newborn sons. I don’t mean to disparage these men, everyone is entitled to their own point-of-view. But consider this: if circumcision wasn’t a common practice, if all the guys in the locker room had foreskins, if women didn’t believe foreskins are gross, you would be glad you had one too. But if I’m wrong, it still would have been better if you had been given a choice. Rest assured that many of our sons are going to regret our decision to have them cut.

This article represents a woman’s point-of-view. Her name is Susan and she has contributed her thoughts to Enlightened Male. Susan is among the growing numbers of American women that have positive attitude toward foreskins. The videos are by ladies that echo Susan’s views.

By Susan … A Woman’s Positive View on the Male Foreskin

I want to begin my homage to foreskins with a disclaimer: I am only speaking of my own experience, others’ experiences, and studies that have been done on the subject of circumcision. Of course circumcised men experience lust, are desirable, and can be fantastic lovers. I am not trying to belittle anyone or make him feel less of a whole man. But it is wonderful that we are finally beginning to speak about sex in an adult manner, that people are studying sex in a serious way, and perhaps consequently we will stop mutilating our baby boys’ penises.

My husband and I have been partners for most of 43 years, and I have never tired of his beautiful body. I have serious health issues which have sometimes caused my sex drive to waver, but just looking at my husband’s muscular forearms and their silky hair can turn me on. I love the stubble on his cheeks, the sweep of his eyelashes, his strong arms and legs, his penis, the tip of which peaks out at me from its hood of purple-pink skin.

I am a woman who consistently experiences orgasm during heterosexual intercourse. I never thought much about this, I just accepted it as normal, figuring it might have something to do with my husband’s and my long-term relationship. Until I got a vibrator, the only way I experienced full-blown orgasms was while fucking. About a year ago I began reading about sex on the internet, discovered dodsonandross.com, and realized that my experience was not that common. I don’t agree with Betty Dodson that it’s extremely uncommon, but I think she has a point that often women do not get stimulation from intercourse and that a lot of women fake orgasms during intercourse.

It’s great for women to learn to pleasure themselves and to teach their partners what gives them pleasure, and frankness about sexuality will go a long way toward liberating women’s and men’s sexuality. What is surprising is that circumcision itself may interfere in the intimacy between a man and a woman. There are young women speaking frankly on YouTube about sex, and their experiences have led me to believe that foreskins not only enhance men’s sexual pleasure but also the pleasure of their female partners.

My husband’s intact penis has made intercourse not only pleasurable but ultimately extremely satisfying. And all along I thought it was just his wonderful technique!

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circumcision

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Fun Getting Naked

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getting nakedIf getting naked is not a weird thing to do, or sexual or pornographic; if it’s not just for the young, or the old, or just the attractive or the cosmetically challenged; if it’s not just for the rich or poor, the non-believers or the religious souls, who is it for? The answer is simple: Getting naked and having fun is for everyone. Getting naked is for anyone that wants to be rid of those old inhibitions that somehow make rainbows less colorful. Getting naked is a sense of elation and freedom experienced no other way. It’s an escape from the daily grind and an uptight, divided world. It’s an adventure shared by people you likely don’t know, but join with in a basic appreciation for life. It’s an equalizer of all walks of life that exposes our flaws which make us human. It’s the sensual treat of seeing and being seen, of treasuring the endless shapes, sizes and colors of the human form. It’s nothing more complicated than great fun.

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Yoga in the Nude

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Thinking about trying yoga in the nude?

Many of us wouldn’t consider taking off our clothes in a public setting. A few are even hesitant in the locker room after a workout; they will wrap a towel around their waist before taking off their underwear to avoid exposing themselves. But many men (and women) sense they are missing something by not trying new adventures such as a nude beach. The boldest among us may find themselves curious about such daring endeavors as yoga in the nude.

yoga in the nudeAll of the photos in this post are screenshots from Aaron Star’s DVD Hot Nude Yoga

Yoga in the nude is quite different than getting naked on a crowded, impersonal nude beach. You find yourself in a much more intimate setting. You have a connection with the other guys and/or gals that are on mats two or three feet away from you. Depending on your physical condition or your level of yoga skills, you may at first feel self-conscious or intimidated. After all you’re naked and about to have a challenging workout.

yoga in the nudeYoga in the nude is different from nude beaches or locker room showers in other ways as well. In close proximity to others, your body will be getting into positions that are uniquely revealing. The most intimate areas of your body will frequently be exposed. You’ll often be on your hands and knees. You’ll be sticking your ass up in the air. You’ll be spreading your legs in myriad body positions. This may serve to discourage you, but don’t let it. The others, except for perhaps your instructor, will be too occupied with their own workouts to have the time or inclination to check you out.

yoga in the nudeThe following article from qnotes.com is about the writer’s first time in a nude yoga class, an experience much like the one I had, and what growing numbers of other men are having around the world. It’s truly remarkable, after all the apprehension one feels by making the commitment, how quickly you forget about your own and others’ nudity, and focus solely on the workout. I can tell you from personal experience that that is the case, plus it gives you an enlightening sense of freedom and exhilaration.

From goqnotes.com

by David Stout | Associate Editor

Yoga instructor Joey Barnes enters the room where his class is set to begin in just a few minutes. He drops his bag and opens his folded notes, making a last mental record of the movement and balance poses he has planned for this afternoon’s session.

yoga in the nudeAfter a quick scan he puts the paper in his pocket and removes his jacket, shoes and socks. He is left wearing a tank top and track pants. An agreeable uniform for the practice of yoga — in most instances anyway.

In a moment these items are also peeled off and Barnes is nude. He turns his attention to the similarly unclothed assemblage of men resting cross-legged before him. I sit nervously among them. Following a genial exchange of hellos and how have you beens, Charlotte’s first and only naked yoga class for men gets underway.

I take a deep breath and try to relax. “Why in the world do people want to do this,” I wonder silently.

In no time my muscles are burning and my mind is solely focused on the practice. The earlier awkward awareness of my own nakedness is completely wiped away. Time passes quickly and when the class is over, like most, I mill around the snack table making smalltalk.

If not for the fact that we are all undressed, this could be any mixer I’ve ever been to. It occurs to me how comfortable I have become with my own naked body in such a short period of Continue reading →

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