For twelve years my husband, Dave, gave me a special, personal gift at Christmas: a calendar of nude and semi-nude photos of him in places and poses often appropriate to the month of the page upon which it appeared. They were absolutely priceless, and I looked forward each year to see what special or unique location or props he had posed in or with. Some of the locations were spectacular, like on a sailboat, on beaches, playing golf on a very public course, in a private pool, at any number of parks, and even on horseback like a male adaptation of "Lady Godiva."
Without a doubt, I knew he'd had help each year from someone to procure the places and props, and to do the photography. He didn't volunteer the names of those helping, and I didn't ask. However, I did recognize some locations, like the sailboat, since its owner was a good friend of mine. Her serving as one of Dave's photographers didn't surprise me, nor did it upset me one bit. Because of the array of special locations, I assumed he had engaged a number of people to do the photography. Knowing men's phobias about seeing other men nude, I was pretty sure all the photographers were women. The thought of maybe 12 women having seen and photographed my husband nude was an unexpected source of excitement for me. This also evoked a little jealousy, but not for those women having seen him, but rather an envy for his enjoyment of posing for a dozen women. I was wanting that same experience for me too with twelve men of my choosing.
Recently my two sisters were visiting me for our annual birthdays' celebration. We got into the wine one night when Dave was out, and someone playfully asked what the was best birthday or Christmas gift that our husbands ever gave us. I told them about my special calendars and of course they both wanted to see them immediately. While I hadn't shown them to any other women, it wasn't for any territorial or possessiveness issues. I'd simply never been in any similar conversations with other women where offering up my calendars would have seemed timely and appropriate.
I found myself getting more than a little aroused at the thought of my sisters seeing Dave's nude photos. This feeling provided some unexpected validation to how Dave can be so excited when other men have seen me in stages of undress. He'd never asked me not to share the calendars and knowing the not-so-recessive exhibitionist gene in him, I took that as a tacit invitation to share them with Jane and Stacy now.
I brought all twelve of my special gifts down from my nightstand and refilled our wine glasses. Seeing 144 photos could take a little time and likely more than a little cabernet too. Neither of my sisters had received anything like these from her husband, nor did either man ever want his wife to even photograph him nude. This heightened their curiosity to both see the calendars, and to see Dave naked as well. As we looked through the months, I pointed out the photos in each calendar that I'd taken, many at our lake condo; on our boat; at our condo in South Carolina; and in St. Martin and St. Thomas in the Caribbean. We took our time savoring both the scenic locations, and Dave's poise and courage in displaying his naked body to be seen by any number of women photographers, unexpected bystanders in the area, his wife, and now by his sisters-in-law.
We were really getting into our voyeur mode when unexpectedly Dave came home early and caught us in the act of ogling his photos. After the initial surprise wore off, I made some lame excuses for my sharing the calendars, while Stacy quizzed him on the details of producing them. He ended up admitting he'd used 12 different women to do the photos, which impressed Stacy, offended Jane as being an offense just short of adultery and gave me a very challenging and incredibly sexually provocative idea.
Not wanting to admit some of Dave's and my acts of sexual playfulness, I couldn't effectively argue with Jane about her overly judgmental assessment of Dave's behavior. I have left dressing room curtains open many times to give men a peek at my nude or semi-nude body, often without Dave's presence. And I've done other more overt exhibitionistic performances, so Dave's posing for a dozen women to make sexy calendars for me was really quite a turn-on vs. any kind of marital faux pas.
Stacy loved Dave's calendars enough to ask him to make one of her she could give to her husband, John for Christmas. I was amazed how much she loved posing nude for Dave and pushed for far more intimate poses than he would have felt comfortable suggesting. I helped with all aspects of the project and found myself surprisingly smitten with the unvarnished, overt sexual fun in the production side vs. the more subtle sensuousness of the recipient side of the calendar gift equation.
I secretly decided that I wanted to do a calendar of photos of me for Dave's enjoyment, but honestly, I needed to do it for me even more. After thinking about Dave's twelve women photographers, I coveted my dozen men photographing me and posing me intimately while admiring my nude body and I wasn't going to take 12 years to find them. I could sense that this surrender to the passions and risks of making my calendar marked an evolution up the continuum of exhibitionist behavior. So far, my accidental and "accidentally on purpose" exposures were passive; plausibly casting me as an unaware or unwilling victim of male voyeurism. Now, my intentionally seeking out a dozen men and overtly and deliberately posing nude for them cast me as the one with a sexual itch needing scratching.
Stacy's calendar turned out great and John loved it. Since he wasn't as open-minded about sharing Stacy's nudity, our company line was that I shot all the photos while Dave was at work.
I soon started making my mental list of possible photographers. These would be men I thought would enjoy seeing me naked, knew something about photography, and had access to fun locations and property. While I assumed they'd be attracted to me, I needed to be sure they wouldn't have any expectation that my nudity and their photo work would lead to us having sex. I decided not to base my photos on any traditional themes connected to the month for which it would appear. I just wanted sensuous poses in beautiful and unique scenes.
For January I wanted to get the proverbial train rolling, and most appropriately I had a neighbor who was a railroad engineer for the BNSF line. He and his wife had told us about their vacation time at the nude beach at Orient Bay in St. Martin, so he had an open mind to nudity. He had a good marriage, so I didn't worry about him wanting sex from me. I caught him in his front yard and cautiously told him about my gift idea for Dave. His first reaction was to say, "I sure wish Marcy would do something like that for me." I asked if he had a way to get us access to do photos with a locomotive.
"Maybe not one that's operational, but I know where one is deadheaded waiting for maintenance that we could use for photos," he said with exactly the level of enthusiasm I'd hoped for. His schedule had days off during the week, while both our spouses were working. I had enough unused time-off to make this work. We were set to do this in a couple of days.
The bright orange and black train engine was in a rural area on a maintenance spur near a county road without too much traffic. I wore a knee-length fall coat with nothing underneath for easy undressing and a pair of black canvas shoes to safely walk from the car and through the gravel around the tracks. Chuck told me to pick the poses I wanted and tell him where to shoot from. I shed my coat and immediately registered the captivated expression on his face as he saw my naked body for the first time. I was having parallel feelings of excitement knowing I was exposing myself to a man other than my husband.
I first posed on the front stairs with a great view of most of the locomotive behind me. The rough and rugged rail car juxtaposed with my soft, nude feminine form made a great photo.
I found myself being aroused by this setting, and I decided to take off my shoes since I felt they took away from the stark contrast of my being completely nude surrounded by the heavy machinery. I posed on the top of the front stairs, on the side walkway, and from my waist up leaning out of the window of the cab with my aroused breasts prominently exposed. Chuck suggested a few shots of me walking carefully down one of the tracks toward him barefoot with my arms extended for balance. Then we did some showing my backside walking away. I knew I had January nailed.
The excitement I was feeling from being naked outdoors, posing for Chuck's admiration, and thinking about which photo I wanted in my calendar again confirmed my suspicion that creating the calendar exuded a sexual energy more raw, brazen, and intense than the more subtle sensuous nature of giving and receiving the final product.
