learnings from naked

This author yesterday went with his Finnish sauna buddies to Gunnison beach in Sandy Hook, New Jersey. While there, he saw many interesting sights and a few beautiful women. One of them, a buxom brunette who spent most of the day sunning herself a few spots down from their vintage tent, had a majestic bust, a thigh-gap, and a fully shaved, delicately-formed whispering eye; she once smiled at whorphan as they had passed each other at the gate, and made eye contact with him again upon his return from visiting the restrooms, but he never approached her, for reasons unknown. Another young lady, this one at the beach with her boyfriend, was a most attractively skinny lady whose perfectly-shaped breasts were at least size DD. Dark of hair, wide of mouth, and sparkling of eye, this skinny maiden at first went swimming with her privates covered but then came back with her crotch revealed, widely set hips showcasing a seductive gap into which one could easily slide an 2-inch-wide, hardback book.

Among the more interesting sights were the various types of penises, some adorned with rings and bands and holders and piercings, others so small and shrunken into the pelvic floor as to resemble little more than nubby, pink traffic cones. In evidence on both sexes present were all types of landscaping, from cleanly shorn to full 80's bush, from landing-strip to pubic tuft, from month-old patch of natty pubes to the broad expanse of waxed and shiny dick-skin. The single men were wont to parade from one end of the naked beach to the​ other, looking hungrily into the eyes of any other man who might glance their way, but for the most pat the homosexuals respected this author's sexual preference and left him in peace.

It has been too long since this author had swam naked. Oh, the speed and ease of it! Much speedier and much easier than trying to swim in a pair of baggy nylon trunks, he was able to shoot through the cooling Atlantic waters in the manner of a newborn seal pup, flashing about in the briny surf with a few strong pulls of his arms, moving a dozen feet or more with each foaming stroke. And then he was back up and out of Poseidon's grasp, a dozen sets of eyes tracking his every move back to the tent, lingering and watchful glances appraising and judging. Would he go back to this place? If given the opportunity to, yes, he would, but next time with a pair of sunglasses and enough courage to approach the wily dames.

mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥

on abandoning cars

Another Bucephalus has fallen victim to neglect, spendthrift, and procrastination. The car, a red Subaru Forester, the author's stout and loyal steed for the past 4 years, died in northern New Jersey on Saturday evening, something within it giving way with a sickening series of uncharacteristic crunching and groaning, screeching and banging. “At least $800 to repair what we think is wrong with it,” the woman at the repair shop told him once the mechanics had had a look at it on Monday morning. “But it could also be the water pump, or something else – we won't really know the total cost until we open it up and take a look inside.”

And so he consigned to the junk heap his faithful Sleipnir of night and fog, brave mount of a dark and fallen prince, choosing to wash his hands of it rather than invest more than the roughly $7000 already in. Bought out of necessity and a luxurious bauble stuck in the otherwise coarse and simple cloak of his life, his old friend will soon be torn apart, raided for parts, chopped, shopped, or simply put outside and left to rot. If he'd have had an extra $2000 lying around he might have had the recent ruptures repaired and a new serpentine belt installed; sacrifices must be made and expectations must be altered to reflect new realities, however, and, so, he'd signed the back of the car's title and put it in with the rest of Tuesday's mail. Requiescat in pacem, dear friend – you shall be missed.

His new mount, a gray and blue landshark-style bicycle that had sat under the front porch for nearly a decade, is once again working well: he has been riding it regularly for the past year. With new tires and brake pads fore and aft, fresh shifter cables, and rear spokes properly tuned, the velocipede allows him to go everywhere he needs to go around town and haul everything he might need to haul silently and without producing more exhaust than his own breath, more waste than that already gurgling in his guts. If he had but sold the car before it exploded, he might have recouped some of its value, but at least no one was injured when the automobile system failed, and he now has one less albatross dangling from his neck. At the end of the day, none can know what the Universe intends, and, so, the author accepts his new reality with a silent word of thanks to the shifting winds of Fortune for forcing him to make a difficult decision.

mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥