Nude With Pencil


I wish to categorically deny that I have ever starred in a pornographic film.

I am however a proud nudist and always have been. I may – and it’s never been proved – have had a small part in a nudist film in the 1950s. By ‘small part’ I am referring to my status in the billing. If I had been in such a film. Which I may have been. Or not.

Look… It was a lovely summer & I was spending a lot of time at ‘Sans Pantaloons’ a nudist colony just outside Rustington. I would write my latest novel ‘Hell Sailor’ during the night, then join some lovely ladies with unfettered knockers for a round of badminton.

One lunch the Pimms had been flowing rather freely. We’d been joined that day by a – with hindsight – frankly seedy chap with a film camera. He claimed he was making a serious documentary about nudism & how it would benefit mankind if we all doffed clobber & frolicked au naturel. I was young, naive, idealistic, & rather liked the idea of ubiquitous naked lassies. Well, except for hideous ones of course.

So, full to the brim of Pimms – all right, pissed out of my head – I agreed to partaking in some scenes for his meisterwerk. Trouserless!

There my yarn rather stumbles to a halt. Foolishly I continued to glug back the booze & the rest of the ‘shoot’ is absent from the brain. So what happened? Did I partake? What was my contribution? More badminton? Al fresco Calisthenics? Beachball? Or worse…?

And who was that sordid auteur & his wretched Bolex?  Michael Winner? No, he’s too much of a gent to exploit a pissed novelist in the altogether. And what became of the wretched footage? For years I have watched every nudist film I could get my hands on to see if my red-cheeked shame was on display. I’ve even imported nudist films from abroad eg Sweden, Denmark, Finland to see if the filthy sods had got their hands on my youthful folly,

And, yes, I am still a proud nudist. Although I’m not as proud as I used to be. After all, the summers aren’t as warm as they used to be. These days I find I prefer to get starkers with my fellow chaps. Young women of today can be so cruel. And there is something deeply spiritual about swimming nude with one’s fellow men, our unrestrained testes bobbing with the current. Towelling each other down afterwards, the wet sheen on our masculine skins reflecting the afternoon sun. Yes, that makes me very proud.

 

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