Name tags

Any of us who use Second Life will be aware that all avatars will have a name tag above their head. Here I am (below), with a screen cap taken to show those who don’t use SL how it works. (Yeah, sorry for yet another new hairstyle! 🙂 )

pookes name tag

It certainly helps to identify people, and you can begin a conversation in a friendly manner with a cheery ‘Hello Pookes’ rather than making formal introductions -and then not remember half the names in a crowd anyway. Yes, you can choose to turn it off when in world, but exceptionally few avatars do. But this subject of adding a name tag, particularly in naturist circles, in nothing new!

names
We can clearly read that the lady on the right is called Phyllis, and the lady with the flowers has a name beginning with ‘G’. Gwen? This photo comes from White Oaks Lodge naturist club in America, taken sometime in the 1960s, I’m informed. It apparently served two purposes. One, being able to walk up to someone, such as the lady identified above, and say ‘Hello, Phyllis, how are you today?’ An informal, friendly approach.

I did some research and was able to discover that it had a secondary purpose. The Nudist Clubhouse website tells me that, in relation to the thorny question of whether people wished to be photographed at naturist clubs, Everybody would have their colour-coded first names written on their upper arms at the time of registration: GREEN or BLACK indicated unrestricted photography with signed release on file; YELLOW meant “okay on a picture-by-picture basis and release had to be obtained;” and RED for absolutely no pictures allowed.

I’ve seen such photos before and always assumed identification was the sole purpose, but it seems we can all learn something new about naturist history every day.

 

Pookes

Jean-Paul Gautier

I make no apologies for stealing the idea for this blog post from the Second Life Freebies and More blog.

There, Nessaja perceptively points out that a breastplate/piece of jewellery available from the Zibska jewellery store owes a little of Jean-Paul Gautier to its design.

Gautier, of course, has never been afraid to incorporate elements of nudity into his work. There’s a famous, bare-breasted Madonna corset, of course, as well as other designs which incorporate a bit of skin (as well as other conventional, unconventional styles).

0f2621ff808dc169_large Frida-at-Jean-Paul-Gaultier Jean-Paul-Gaultier-3

 

You can see what Nessaja has in mind when she makes the comparison.

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Available in mens and women’s versions, with a colour change hud and resize options, all for L$0!

Not ‘naturist’, but looks well on our posed models.

 

Pookes

My Nude debut : ….happened! ‘Eventually’, says Karen (part 2)

Karen has awoken to the sound of waves somewhere in the distance, having been surrounded by the naturist lifestyle for less than 24 hours. Today is the day she finally goes nude in a public setting. Or is it? Karen continues to tell us about her first experience of naturism.

Aaron, my boyfriend, had immersed himself into naturism immediately, and was happily standing naked while speaking to the (French) residents of the neighbouring chalet and soaking up the experience, and their experience of St.Maarten, while I drank some coffee inside. The sense of wine-driven bravura from the previous night had dissipated, and it was back to the bikini being on, and the sarong over that.

‘Lovely people’, Aaron enthused as he returned and excitedly told me about all the things we could do and see nude. Did he really need to add that final word? I was still very much of a mind that I could probably get through the two weeks without ever being naked, except in the privacy of our own chalet. So I was rather delighted when it transpired that we could go shopping and wear clothes. Shorts on, tank top on, sun tan oil on, hat on, sunglasses on. Great!

We headed off to the island’s main shopping area, picked up some provisions, had coffee, and I thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of sitting there in a whirl of foreign languages. Not that that’s a unique experience to anyone who lives in or visits New York, but this seemed somehow much more exciting than Sheridan Square to Wall Street on the subway.

Aaron had maybe picked up on my sense of unease. He’s a guy, so how much he picks up on feelings is maybe moot, but he seemed to have laid off the enthusiasm a bit, as it had certainly been making me uncomfortable. We had lunch, and headed back to the resort. Aaron said he was going to the beach and would maybe swim, but there was nothing of ‘are you coming or not?’ about it. I said I might join him in a bit, as I was nearing the end of a novel on my Kindle, and decided to finish it before exploring by daylight.pasted image 449x299

I finished the final chapter and put my bikini on again, my sarong on again, and with towel in hand, I headed to the beach where I was shocked, surprised and thrilled to see that it wasn’t busy. Just a few resort residents scattered around. I spotted Aaron’s towel and dumped my bag of things on top of it, then wandered to the water’s edge to speak to Aaron who was splashing around in the water like an overgrown schoolboy, a look of delight on his face.orient-beach

‘It’s fantastic…we need to snorkel….the water is crystal clear…’, the words tumbled out of his mouth in excitement.

Returning to our chosen beach beds, I was emboldened by the fact that the beach was relatively quiet. Sure, there were others swimming, or sunbathing, but not so close that I felt I was under scrutiny, being eyed up and down in a sordid or seedy way, nor being judged for still being ‘clothed’. Suitably emboldened, and not so desperately close to anyone else that I felt directly under their gaze, I removed my sarong and bikini top to sunbathe, face down, on the sun bed. I’d never gone without a top before, and it felt strange, yet deliciously nice, under the Caribbean sun.

There comes a point where it is necessary to roll over, and I was desperately self-conscious when I did so, not that anyone was looking or, by this point in time, near enough to see anyway. There! My breasts. My very small breasts. Bared in public.

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Throughout the afternoon Aaron, nude, and I, still with my bikini briefs on, would wander back and forwards from the sea to cool down, then resume our sunbathing place. As the afternoon wore on, there were fewer and fewer people on the beach, and lying around in wet bikini panties isn’t particularly comfortable. At some point it just seemed the sensible thing to do to lose the panties. Ultimately, there was no big build up, no heart beating fast, no sense of shame or embarrassment, just a sensible decision made.

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Even so, it felt simultaneously strange and wonderful. You aren’t prepared in life for the moment where your most intimate parts are naked, outdoors, under the sun, in ‘public’, even though the public weren’t really anywhere in evidence. It felt good, is all I can say, rather than embarrassing. The lack of crowds helped with the moment, I would say. A glance left and right, no one around, and a quick dash down the beach and into the clear, warm waters for my first ever skinny dip. Wow! Who knew swimming could feel so good, that swimming could feel so free.

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Yes, the sarong went back on for the walk back to our chalet, but it was a sort of breakthrough. As the days went on there was more and more a sense of ‘who cares?’ The terrace at the bar would provide entertainment, and naturists seem to be a naturally outgoing, vivacious lot. I never did go for the topless dancing with Aaron, as other females did, but we socialised and made new friends. Within two or three days I would say that I was probably contentedly sitting there  with the sarong tied at my waist, my breasts bare. It doesn’t take long to realise that you aren’t that ‘special’ in that regard, and men, regardless of size , aren’t that special either. We’ve all got the same basic bits. It’s never quite a case of ‘you’ve seen one and you’ve seen them all’, but 72 hours surrounded by naked people does mean you don’t think there’s anything unique. Yes, of course I was peeking. I was peeking for the first day or so and if I’m honest I did think ‘he’s bigger than Aaron’ or ‘Aaron’s bigger than him’. That stopped at the point, maybe on about our third day, where my confidence had grown to the point where I was wandering around the chalet and had forgotten I was naked, and that I didn’t even notice Aaron was naked either, that I was now waving at out French neighbours and not particularly aware if they were dressed or not.

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Eventually, yes, I was making it to from our chalet to the sea without bothering to cover up, and wasn’t ashamed, embarrassed or, as I say, even aware of the fact.

I could tell you chapter and verse about every little event over the next two weeks, the ‘firsts’ for each naturist event. I could write a couple of entries for SLN based on the experience of naked snorkelling alone. Ultimately, though, my experience was that, with no pressure to disrobe immediately, it all came rather naturally and uneventfully because we were in the proper context for it happening. I started out the holiday a reluctant non-nudist. I returned a convert. Which makes me think…if people like me are given a proper, unpressurised entry into the naturist lifestyle is there anyone on the face of the earth who couldn’t, in those same circumstances, embrace naturism? My personal opinion now is that if the circumstances are right, all of us have an inner naturist.

The only down side is that next January seems so damned far away before I can do it all again.

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Karen, growing in body confidence over the first few days of her vacation.

Karen

Freebies for men

There seems to be a little bit of a bonanza for male avatars this weekend. First, 7 Deadly Skins have reduced their group membership fee to L$0.

And Bade have a nice, free hair out right now.

Which is exactly what Markus had been doing when I ran into him at the ‘Naked’ sim earlier. I can never pass a terrific looking avatar (male or female) without remarking on them looking terrific.

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Markus before his mini-makeover

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…and after.

What are you waiting for fellas? This mini-makeover is free and you’ll look hot!

Pookes

 

 

50 shades of objectionable nonsense (3)

A real life dominatrix lays into the movie in Rolling Stone.

Cheyenne Picardo doesn’t hold back in her critique (and I suppose a dominatrix holding back would be something of a contradiction in terms. Well, not quite, but you get the idea).

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A
pologies for the language included in the photo, but it’s exactly how this book would be described where I live.

 

What would concern me is that, by the end of the weekend, there’s thousands who are so sheep-like in their behaviour that they’ll want to try this sort of nonsense out, and for some the total control over a female may be a core part of it. I’m not against people experimenting, but I’d be against people getting the idea that this apparently errant approach to the theme is the ‘right’ way to do it.

Ella

 

Fifty shades of objectionable nonsense (1)

 

So, ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ is out in the cinema and by all accounts the critics appear to be agreed it’s a lousy film based on a lousy book.

I’ve not read it: this sort of literature, even well written, wouldn’t be my first choice of reading material, and the excerpts I’ve read from various online sources would suggest that it is really pedestrian, unimaginative but unintentionally hilarious purple prose.

“You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince”

Surely someone didn’t actually write that and have it published?

“I gasp, and I’m Eve in the Garden of Eden, and he’s the serpent, and I cannot resist.”

Stop it! I know there’s a BDSM theme going on in it, but those words cause me immense pain me as an example of ‘literature’.

“He’s naked except for those soft ripped jeans, top button casually undone. Jeez, he looks so freaking hot. My subconscious is frantically fanning herself, and my inner goddess is swaying and writhing to some primal carnal rhythm.”

If a man had written this book there would have been uproar from feminists about him inflicting all sorts of things upon her, but because the writer is female, it seems to have negated much of the justifiable criticism of it as an excuse for domestic violence (if we define domestic violence in the broadest sense).

“Laters, baby”

I agree with those criticisms. And those criticisms. And those criticisms. And dozens of other criticisms.

Choosing to release it on St Valentine’s Day is also a crass move. The film is not about romance, it’s about control; not the basis for any healthy relationship.

I think I shall prefer to spend the evening with a nice bottle of wine, my beloved, some candlelight, and some soft music instead. Should one thing lead to another, it will be a gentle, mutually loving experience, not this objectionable ’50 shades’ nonsense.

Ella