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Some 70 per cent of Irish women under the age of 30 are happy to go topless while on holidays, a new survey has shown.
According to the the results of recent research carried out by Club 18-30, there is a marked contrast between racy 18-30-year-old holidaymakers and the more reserved over 30s.
According to the online survey of several hundred Irish holidaymakers, 70 per cent of 18-30 year old females are happy to sunbathe topless, but more than 50 per cent of over 30s rule this out completely.
Similarly, about 50 per cent of men under 30 don’t have a problem visiting a nude beach, while almost 60 per cent of their older counterparts would be uncomfortable doing so.
Meanwhile, close to 68 per cent of males are happy to have their other halves sunbathe topless.
“The youth market which we are serving clearly like to let loose,” says Sharon Harney of tour operator Club 18-30. “‘They want a relaxed, fun-loving time from their holidays, and are obviously a good deal more daring than the previous generation.”
Skin
Men claim to be much more comfortable in their own skin than women, with 35 per cent believing they have the ideal beach body, compared to only 7 per cent of women.
Oddly, the study found a number of men willing to answer a question on what male has the most idyllic body and 42 per cent voted for Matthew McConaughey.
Amongst women, Kim Kardashian has the most desirable bikini body, closely followed by curvy British contender Kelly Brook.
I’ve been asked why a serious writer has a blog about naked men. Well, first and foremost I write about men, their challenges, their emotions, their sexuality, not to mention the female characters who are always influential in every man’s life. Secondly, the blog is a diversion from sitting hunched over a keyboard day after day. That, coupled with a bike ride now and then, a good book or a good movie rounds out my weeks quite nicely.
As for the blog, I want to celebrate the male and female form, without all the misguided social mores. There is nothing immoral, shameful or sinful about any part of the human body. On the contrary, the human body is nature’s finest work, a thing of magic and mystery, a thing of beauty. I quite agree clothes are a practical necessity, but on a beach? Or sunning in the park. I find it distasteful that we indoctrinate our children to be ashamed of their bodies, that there is something dirty about certain body parts. They grow up, like so many of us have, to deny themselves the natural joy of their own body, and the sensual sharing of it with others.
I want to celebrate human sexuality, no matter what form it takes shape , stripped of the demagoguery handed down through the ages. Pay attention to your mind. Get down under the countless negative layers imposed on you from the day you were born, and your mind will guide you through the maze of right and wrong. Follow the natural edicts ingrained in human reasoning and it will lead you without the autocratic preachings of history’s self-righteous. You aren’t by nature sexual heathens run amuck. You will want someone to love, someone to share your body with, someone to share your life; and by following the compass you were born with, you will accomplish this without all the useless baggage. Thinly disguised and concurrent with the plot, just as it is here on this blog, you’ll find this is the same theme in my novels.
Now and then I find myself contemplating the incredible differences between the male and female form. How did these magnificent creations come about? Both subtle and dramatic, the differences enchant us, mystify us and have the power to affect our body chemistry. Could it really have all started with Adam and Eve, implausible as so many tales in the Bible seem? If that’s the case, would God have made us as irresistible as we are to each other, only to condemn us for acting on it just because it may be with someone of the same sex or because we’re not married?
Or was it evolution? More believable perhaps, but really, how did our bodies get so amazingly perfect? How did these differences get into our subconscious and conscious minds and take up so much space? Whether you’re gay, straight or in between, you have to be fascinated by the flaws and perfections of the human body.
I suppose there are those who simply take the human body for granted, and just blow off the countless nuances of being a male or a female. And of course there are those would would never permit themselves to ponder it, believing the human body is something to be ashamed of and keep covered. But they’ll never Google this blog in the first place. So this is a moment for the rest of us to ponder the marvels, the mystery, and the magic of the human body.
From Behind
Basically the same for men and women, but only basically. Both have shoulders and ribs and a number of vertebrae down the middle. The similarities end there. You know with a glance you’re looking at a female if it happens to be a woman. Conversely, you know it’s a man. And here our attractions to each other continue. Hers … smaller, delicate, softer, features that add to an overall picture which instinctively compels most men with an instinct to protect.
Our Legs
There is nothing quite like falling asleep with your leg wedged between your companion’s. It keeps you warn on a cold night, provides a sense of security and it confirms a bond with your lover that is both endearing and sensual. No invitation is quite so enticing than a pair of legs parting before your eyes, drawing your gaze down the long graceful lines to to warmer more intimate flesh. No message can be clearer than having a pair of legs wrapped around you or resting on your shoulders. No single act can draw your eyes or your hands more decidedly than when a pair of legs come apart for your benefit. And of course they’re even more affective when they straddle you.
Our Hands
We take them for granted, but along with our eyes, they play a major role in everything we do. I’m using mine right now to write this article. I’ll use them for other reasons all day long. Tonight, just before I fall asleep, one of them will inevitably end up between my wife’s long beautiful legs. Making love, our hands are clearly the most important part of our body. What we do with them determines whether or not our partners find it a wonderful experience. Our genitals are simply the grand finale.
Like the other parts of our bodies, by looking at a pair of hands you know you’re looking at a man or woman.
Our Feet
More bones are found in our feet than other parts of the human body. There are those so enamored by them, they develop foot fetishes. Woman’s, like so many of the other parts of her body, are smaller, narrower and softer to the touch. Man’s, more prone to stronger odors, have a subtle, distinctly male appearance. Yet male and female feet are more similar in appearance than any other part of our body.
Our Backs and Shoulders
Ever see a young woman handle a baby, a sack of groceries, a set of keys and a cell phone at one time? Her shoulders and back may look small and fragile, but pound-for-pound a woman deals with her tasks far more efficiently than a man does. When it comes to physical challenges, man has the advantage by virtue of shear bulk. A heave or a push, the task is complete; then he’s likely to ask his partner to massage his sore back muscles.
Our Chests
Perhaps more so than the other non-sexual parts of our bodies, male and female chests are profoundly different. Functional in both men and women, the chest also serves to provoke us sexually. Even clothed, the human chest delivers the first few preliminary messages to potential mates. The woman’s small and dominated by her breasts, which symbolizes her instinct to nurture. Clothed or otherwise, the curve of her hips and her breasts are the parts of her body that invariably draw her potential partner’s attention, whereas a woman might define her partner’s eyes as the most sexually appealing. The man’s chest is broad and layered with provocatively shaped muscle, which symbolizes his virility. His muscle enables him to lift and tote more, and it provides him the strength to back up his instinct to protect.
Our Buttocks
Here’s where it gets interesting. To spice this conversation up, let’s call it an ass. The human ass will cause more pairs of eyes to drop than a hundred dollar bill lying on the ground. Distracting as it is, the human ass has the power to take whatever you are thinking and toss it out the window. It’s a source of humor and countless jokes. It provides our bodies with mystery. Though it may disgust some, it sexually excites many others. Shuttered tight most of the time, it produces our body’s most distinct and powerful odors. One intimate whiff, even in a pitch dark room, even without the benefit of touch, can set your mind sailing. You would recognize what you couldn’t see, be captivated by it, and instinctively know exactly what you wanted to do with it.
Compare the pictures. Given the choice, you might think any man would find the female far more desirable than the male. Perhaps most men would. A bisexual man would undoubtedly see the female as irresistible, but he’d also find the male appealing, or perhaps even more appealing. Hairier, sweatier, devoid the beguiling curves and inviting crevices–it doesn’t matter. One look at an image like this and his imagination goes into high gear. A number of compelling scenarios comes into his mind. Positioned like the man above, gay and bisexual men see the male ass as nirvana.
Granted, most of us only wish our rear ends looked like the ones pictured above. Luckily for most of us, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Our Genitals
The way I see it, if the story of Adam and Eve is true, considering our genitals, God had a couple of glasses of wine and decided to have some real fun. The rest of the body, fine work so far, but nothing unusual, nothing really exciting or daring. He sat staring at His blueprint of a man. Everything was there, the head, the arms and legs. the feet and hands. Perfect symmetry, nothing really visually striking, nothing that captured the imagination. Oh, He had been quite pleased with Himself when he got the idea to put the crack in the man’s ass, which led to a similar one in the woman’s; but somehow making the asshole more mysterious by hiding it between two fleshy mounds and surrounding it with all kinds of sensitive nerve endings wasn’t enough. Now all that remained was the reproductive system.
He called upon his quirkiest assistant for the job, instructing him to come up with something dramatic, something beyond simply practical. He wanted this part of the body to be fascinating, something that would draw one’s attention, something that would make man and woman a little more intriguing. And for variety’s sake, He told his assistant to design genes that would be dispersed among the population like pollen on the wind.
Penises: “Let’s have an assortment of sizes and shapes,” He told His assistant. “Different colors and hues, lengths and circumferences. And put some glans on the end–think of the shape of a walnut. Make ‘um large and small and everything in between, and make ‘um ultra sensitive.” Then God rubbed his chin in thought before adding: “Cover ‘um with loose skin, we’ll call it a foreskin.” (He was unaware at the time mankind would be cutting them off.) “And let’s have some variety here, too. Make some tight around the glans and make others droop off the end. Give some small peek-holes and give others gaping hoods. After you get the whole thing designed, we’ll call it a penis just to make people try to figure out where it got that name. And to add a little character, run a vein or two across the top. Make some curve upward, some to the right or left. Then connect it all to the brain, not with some narrow farm to market road, but with a wide eight-lane freeway.”
But all of that wasn’t enough. “There must be more we can add,” He muttered, eying His attentive assistant. “Of course! We’ll give him balls!” He announced with His commanding voice. “Call ‘um testicles, whatever. Two, not just one, shaped like small eggs. And don’t just cram ‘um in with all his other glans and organs; hang ‘um between his legs in a stretchy sac. Fill ‘um with prickly, tingling sensations when someone plays with ‘um or squeezes ‘um.” Then God looked at His assistant with a mischievous grin. “Make ‘um itch from time to time.” Now quite pleased with His scheme, God thought of one final edict. “One more thing. Make him smell like a man when he sweats,” an afterthought maybe, but not trifling in the scheme of things.
For vaginas, He said, “Here we’ll be a little more subtle, but not too much so. Let’s put something between her legs that’ll give a man, or another woman for that matter, something to think about, something they’ll obsess over. We’ll call it a vagina, and just the mere sight of one will stiffen a man’s penis and rob his brain of the ability to think about anything else. Give her some hair down there, like the man–it’ll draw attention to that part of her body”. (He didn’t consider the fact that, given the appeal of a woman’s overall smooth body, the effects of a razor would one day become common)
“And don’t give me just a hole between her legs,” God said to his assistant. “Let’s start with a plump mound of flesh and divide it down the middle. Put the hole somewhere in there, but don’t make it too easy to find. Line the outer folds with thinner ones inside, and get creative with them. Experiment with the size and shape. Make some of ‘um stick out, like butterfly wings; and hide some so they just barely stick out. And don’t forget to add a little color. Pink, I think, and use some reds and browns, and even a little black. We don’t want any two of them to look the same. And just to make it sound a little naughty, we’ll also call it a pussy.”
Tapping His finger on the table, He decided on a few finishing touches. “Put some glands in there, so when the need arises it get nice and slippery. And I want it to smell like a pussy, nothing offensive, mind you, but distinct. Then connect it all to her brain.” Here God paused in thought. The notion of connecting it to her brain troubled him a little. “You might use a farm to market road here; we don’t want the world to overpopulate, now do we?”
The assistant stood checking his notes. He had it all down. Then he looked up and asked, “Should we make it itch from time to time, too?”
God smiled and said, “Why not?”
From Digital Journal.com
The beaches of St Tropez and other French resorts are witnessing the decline of what was once a common sight – ladies in topless swimsuits.
Topless swimsuits and bathing made their first appearance on French beaches in 1964 near St Tropez on the Riviera, and they have been there ever since, as well as on all the other beaches in France, on which topless attire is permitted. But the halcyon days of topless culture may well be threatened.
In a sure sign that the winds of change are beginning to blow, Eres, a top French name in chic and trendy swimsuits, has announced that they are selling more one-piece full swimsuits than topless versions for the first time.
A survey asked women why they now prefer to cover up.
Psychologist Jean-Claude Kaufmann carried out a study on the reasons why women liked going topless back in the mid-90’s, a time when the practice was extremely popular.
He looks back today on that period and comments the changes in attitudes that have been revealed by an updated survey carried out by independent French online news site RUE89. He sums up those changes by saying that “Cultural reference points have completely changed in the last fifteen years. What was once fashionable has now become old-fashioned, and young women in particular no longer think twice about stigmatizing in a very emphatic manner the “old women of 50” who dare to take off their bikini tops.”
So, in a country where seventies cliché styles such as bell-bottomed trousers and mustaches are making a comeback, why are women saying no to nipples on beaches?
Here are the 10 most quoted reasons that the survey found.
One. “Because I don’t see any benefit to be gained from having suntanned breasts.”
Among the reasons given for that opinion were an amusing “Because I don’t want my breasts to look like crumpled brown toilet gloves” as well as a more down-to-earth “I need to look after them if I want them to remain firm as long as possible.”
Kaufmann found in 1995 however that white breasts on a suntanned body were not even considered to be a fashionable, never mind desirable, asset.
Two. “In order not to show everything at once. I prefer to be coaxed into that.”
One 29-year-old who prefers not to go topless explained why. “Understatement is much better. I prefer to sharpen appetites rather than deliver everything on a plate. It may seem ridiculous, but I prefer to respect myself and my body. That’s who I am.”
For Sandrine Renault-Pannetier, who works for a well-known French fashion consulting firm, “We are now living in a game of peek-a-boo. The seduction game has become more subtle, more elaborate.”
Apparently going topless is a revelation. It shouldn’t be. Why we’re so freaky about the human body in America is a puzzle to me. Maybe it’s because so many of us have given our bodies over to Twinkies and donuts. People like being naked because it feels good. They like the sense of freedom, the feel of sunlight and fresh air on their skin. They like the joy and magic of being human. There should be more breaches, walking trails and swimming holes, etc. for adults who understand this sensual sense of freedom. The following article about women who are bold enough to protest our archaic nudity laws reflects a step in this direction.
From The Daily News, New York
By Joe Jackson
Some were shocked. Others disgusted. But for some, it was the breast day ever!

Dozens of semi-nude women gave the city a Double-D eyeful Sunday when they bared their boobs in Central Park and then marched through the streets.
The daring display was part of “National Go-Topless Day” – indeed, there is such a thing – and stunned jaded New Yorkers and wide-eyed tourists alike.
“This is unbelievable – and super,” said Dalvin Jan, 21, who rents bicycles for a living on Central Park South. “I’m going to tell my wife to join in.”
With Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman” blaring from speakers and chants of “free your breasts, free your mind,” the troupe of bare-breasted women – and their enthusiastic male supporters – paraded their way along Central Park South.
“We’re all here for the same reason – to allow women to be free in the park like men,” organizer Sylvie Chabot, 54, of Montreal, told the crowd at a midday rally at Columbus Circle.
Motorists honked their horns in support while bemused tourists took photos from passing tour buses.
Ah, so this is the story, the reason so many Americans are ashamed of their bodies, the reason we are so confused and uptight about nudity in America. We can blame it on all those Irish ancestors who influenced our national gene pool shortly after the Puritans finished their self-righteous handiwork. Their blood still courses through our veins.
I suspect our shame is rooted in centuries of religious doctrine, and that we have inherited it and adopted it as our own. Seems I remember something about God creating Adam and Eve in His own image, nude, that they lived blissfully naked in the Garden of Eden until Eve surrendered to temptation and ate from the tree of knowledge. The key words here are “in His own image” and “blissfully nude”. Seems more of us would be adding this up and drawing the right conclusions. Why every beach in America is not clothing optional is beyond me.
Well, back to the Irish. This delightful article published in a Dublin paper may explain some of our hyper modesty.
The bare truth of why we all like to look at naked women

By Kevin Myers, the Independent,ie, Dublin, June 16 2009
‘Irish Women and Public Nudity’, not so long ago, would have ranked with ‘Nuclear Fission; the Eskimo Contribution’ as the title of the world shortest book.
Along with ‘Zulus and Supersonic Flight’. Or ‘Lesbian Camogie in Saudi Arabia’. Or ’101 uses for Pigs’ Foreskins’, by Mahmoud Ahmadinejad.
Simply, Irish women didn’t do public nudity. To be sure, Irishmen weren’t all that great at it, but Irish women were as likely to appear naked in front of strangers as Mother Teresa was to do a pole dance in front of the Pope.
I know three Irishwomen who once went to a naturist beach in France, but wore bikinis throughout. And they actually boasted about this on their return, declaring how “weird” the nudists were. No, girls, we know who the weird ones were. The actress Olivia Treacy once proudly declared that she was so principled that she had performed Lady Chatterley on the stage, fully clothed. Which is rather like mounting a production of ‘Hamlet of Sunnybrook Farm’. And Irish fashion models would refuse to do underwear shows. Girls had to be brought over from pagan England — the whores! the sluts! — to perform in Dublin’s annual commercial lingerie parade.
And far from this infantile prudery being a matter for embarrassment and shame, it was actually one of national pride. Irish women — it was said — didn’t demean themselves by taking off their clothes in public.

While male nudity on the stage became a commonplace in Dublin theatre, female nudity was almost unknown. English actresses such as Diana Rigg and Helen Mirren bared all on the London stage, and in film, and no one thought the worse of them: but their Irish she-peers still donned swaddling clothes in public. A priggish and grisly she-neurosis masqueraded as a Hibernian virtue. It took the American photographer Spencer Tunick to prove that the days of Irish reticence about public nudity were largely over.
By my estimation, any female that looks like this can say or do no wrong.

Evidently Donald Trump agrees, stating her old partially nude photos are “lovely”. Few, if any, of us agree with her point of view on gay marriage, but she has a right to her own opinion. Besides, it’s what she does as opposed to what she says that reveals her true persona. She was trying to win a beauty contest, for crying-out-loud.

Exposing the inner-self of a good Christian.