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I couldn't see a blog focusing on skin; so I made one.
I have a skin hunger that keeps skin in my thoughts constantly. It is basic and sensual: I love to see skin, from the beach to the bedroom; love to touch in every way; I expect I'd love to hear it too, if anyone has squeaky, creaky, or crackly skin; love the ever-changing natural scents, love to taste a partner fully, tongue testing and lips everywhere. But skin is the ultimate divide, and on the other side of the divide, I love to show my skin (and so give pleasure to people), I love to be licked and sucked and nibbled, I seek to be naturally instead of chemically scented, I even like to make skin noises like armpit and anus farts. It is a bit juvenile. But it is fundamental to our nature.
The sub-theme of this blog is nudity. "Air wear" is full skin exposure to the natural world; Senior Sizzle provides, perhaps, the pleasure and excitement of voyeurs. I love to be nude, especially outside, where I seek the kiss of the sun. I relocated north towards the Tropic for more tan time, which should lead to more opportunities to post. Any Queenslanders with comments are particularly welcome.
Administrivia: we are age, colour, size, location, gender, orientation, friendly here. Join in to talk about skin, our own and others', where it goes, what's displayed, how it's sensed. Bitches, whingers, trolls, wowsers are not welcome.
And, we are on Senior Sizzle, all adults here (more or less). Thinking and writing about skin gets me hot. Thinking and writing about skin-powered nudists (just me, so far) gets me hot. I'm writing on the understanding that these get you hot too. You're welcome to say so. The skin is... uncovered!
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Night out in the Valley
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Posted:Apr 21, 2006 11:06 am
Last Updated:May 7, 2024 12:40 am
1165 Views
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I had business with a local pawnbroker, that led me to an afternoon ride to one of Brisbane's nightlife hubs, Fortitude Valley. Entering the Valley down Ann St with hundreds of other vehicles, I did a couple of rounds of assorted one-way streets, eventually managing a park right outside my destination.
After my business in the pawnbroker, I crossed the road to the irresistably-named Elephant and Wheelbarrow pub, where I had an opportunity to refresh myself after my hectic ride and struggles with the traffic, and to feed my skin hunger through my eyes.
I was delighted to see so many miniskirts, thought to be a component of an evening's entertainment by so many women young and old, short and tall, slim and solid, their bare legs glowing in the afternoon sun and, later, twinkling in the irregular artificial light of the mall. Yes, I also like mini dresses, frocks, even suits, anything along those lines, but miniskirts have the horny edge; they encourage any amount of bare midriff, and they promise so much.
Many of the mall minis were party fare, shorter, frillier, brighter, softer and thinner than the established frayed and faded denim, of which there were plenty of course. I love the denim too; it spells "down-to-earth", honest and bold women who would rather dress down, even down to their skin, than dress up.
I spent a lot of time admiring chests as well, impossible to resist when so many choice frontages are on display. I'm not so into breasts that I abhor their coverage, and a bare chest is almost a promise, a guarantee that more delight awaits. Often these bright, forward chests were in concert with bare shoulders and backs, armoured with stiff strapless bras that seemed to be all the rage.
I was lucky anough for my attention to fall on several women bra-free, scattered through the night. These proud, free, charming women wore a variety of tight tops to make the most of their attributes, slim to skinny carrying breasts small to none, including one stunning babe with tight round tits and pierced nipples, far and away the nicest pair I've ever not quite seen.
Strolling around, and over another beer in another pub, it became clear that back-free tops, combined with those strap-free bras, are the fashion statement du jour of our Valley girls feeling free to display the skin of their backs, shoulders and chests. Seeing bare backs lined up at the bar reminded me of the ranks of rowers who powered the world's ancient navies; the massed skin glowing in all directions was well and truly the highlight of my indoors that night.
Surprisingly, I didn't see much skin affection, inside or out: little arms about, snogging, even holding hands, except for a few young couples weaving their way through the intimacy maze, and a few young women, clearly not partners, arm-in-arm. I saw only one female couple holding hands, and no men. Even the Valley's Brunswick St. Mall, cosmopolitan hub of Brisbane, remains haunted by the ghost of the redneck wowser hero Joh, not quite ready for gays to be out in the street.
Somewhere down the mall I saw a chunky hard-faced woman with lovely dusky skin perched on a curved bench, writhing and twitching and ready to spring off, wearing a miniskirt with her bare deep-olive legs enticingly part-spread. I was unable to see what else, if anything, she was wearing, as her fleshy, languid thighs met and closed off the view. I winked at her in my passing; she scowled back at me.
The biggest surprise of the night was the plainclothes cops who sat at the next cafe table to me for their dinner. They would be two of the three blokes in the mall wearing neckties, and their production-line haircuts made them even more obvious, but the handcuffs and handguns exposed on their hips really set them apart. I've grown used to uniformed cops carrying guns in the ACT and NSW over the last 10 years; clearly my education has another step to go.
Like most entertainment precincts, much of it was crowded and noisy, riddled with clip joints and, to this point, barely half-drunken yobbos, but until I stumble over an alternative, the ever-changing pleasure and the rich, fresh nourishment of Valley skin will draw me again and again.
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Meet the locals
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Posted:Apr 9, 2006 7:02 pm
Last Updated:May 7, 2024 12:40 am
1122 Views
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So, I'm in Queensland. Yes, it's warm, around the time of the equinox, on Brisbane's coastal plain. Not a lot of sun though, due to cloud; it rains in SEQ more heavily, and more often, than I'm used to, and the remnants of a tropical cyclone 1200km to our north have yet to pass. While I don't presently have much opportunity to undress, I do get out to public places from time to time, and I see Queenslanders!
And they are well undressed, by the standards of Canberra's inland-mountain climate. Bare legs the norm, often bare feet as well. Sleveless dresses and tops abound, even very sheer lace and synthetics showing off choice bras and the glimpse of skin. I like those dresses and skirts with the buttons down the front; there is always a challenge to the chest and inner thighs, how many dare you leave undone? Many young men get around topfree; I suspect some women, a few, would like the same privilege.
I saw my first brafree Queensland woman in the supermarket: mum, shopping with , wearing a tight, sleveless, plain royal purple knitted top, small boobs keeping her nipples pointing at her admirers as she kneeled at the vege coolers.
Shorts are everywhere, good for displaying lavish legs and burgeoning bums, and I see a rough correlation between the age of the wearer and the shortness and tightness of the shorts. Trousers are out, skirts and frocks are in. Long peasant dresses are nice, they are thin and hint at the skin beneath, especially with a low sun. Stockings, and those abominable pantyhose, are not favoured, which is reassuring to know each woman's thighs are touching, skin kisses across the abyss.
And mini skirts. Mini skirts mean freedom to bare the legs; this is the most skin one would typically see on a woman away from the beach. Mini skirts mean dirty dreaming. How I love to fantasise about the little they cover, the skin of the legs and the thighs and the femalia. That may be destined to remain dreams, at least for the last, as I'm not expecting to see any Queensland women underbare, as there probably aren't any. Please post your contrary experiences!
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Home sweet homeless
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Posted:Apr 3, 2006 10:34 am
Last Updated:Apr 4, 2006 6:46 am
1204 Views
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Done! I'm in Queensland. Working on job applications and interviews, for vacancies as far afield as Maryborough, Bundaberg, Rockhampton. Not Barcaldine though; I have nothing against the place, but the chances of finding any sort of partner there are within sight of zero. Anywhere I'm appreciated by the Right Woman, a Good Woman, or even a Nasty Bitch, will be fine with me; that could still be anywhere between about Coffs Harbour and Darwin.
For the moment I'm staying with friends in Brisbane, three adults who come and go quite a lot. I don't feel relaxed naked in these circumstances, with the continuous possibility of being sprung by unappreciative people (good friends but not nudists and not sympathetic), and there's been little sunshine since my arrival (a fair bit of rain though). As soon as I get a job, I can find my own place, and be more alone than just about any time in the last 25 years. But that's OK, as my reward is more skin time, possibly more than ever before! My record is five days completely and continuously naked (one Easter in the tropics), and one of my best unemployment fantasies is to surpass that, dramatically and regularly. Annoyingly, there are no legal, public, nude beaches in Queensland.
Lack of skin time is sad, but transitional. I'm researching places to live, but I'm not impressed so far; pokey little brick boxes and tatty little houses with not a plant (or a fence, or a garage) in sight except for the "lawn". I'm not interested in sharing, as outlined above; I must be the only nudist skin lover in Queensland. I may have to settle somewhere further away than I'd planned from wherever I find work, and/or pay more than I'd budgeted, for any quite ordinary dwelling with the private outdoor space that my skin craves. But all of that is one job away so far.
About the only times I'm bare are in the shower and in bed (unfortunately, and erroneously, bundling me with almost everyone else). My bed has cream sheets, and it's a rich contrast with my lightly sun-gilded body. My entire lean, glowing body (that is fading a little absent the sun). My face isn't that tanned as I usually wear a hat, ruddy rather than golden brown. My neck, shoulders, chest and back are of course the most tanned parts of my skin, my midriff has a few curious pale patches common to people working rather than relaxing outside, my feet and legs and hips and arse are uniformly tanned from the sun kissing me all over, even my cock is a fetching latte hue with chocolate inclusions, the minute remnants of my foreskin. Except for my scrotum, resolutely, relentlessly, red.
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Passing undersnippage
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Posted:Mar 31, 2006 12:59 am
Last Updated:Aug 12, 2006 10:15 pm
1190 Views
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Another seriously hot day. I've been outside, time for a break. My housemate is away again, leaving me practically unlimited air-time; that is, fully nude but for my standard summer wear, a ghastly green giggle hat, flip-up sunnies on my glasses, and aging rubber thongs. My skin is turning a rich and healthy golden brown.
All this nude time is making me horny, and I often break to feel the steel, often outside, where the sun surrounds my cock. I was sitting on the back step, cutting up some packaging with the kitchen scissors, my legs spread and the noontime Australian summer sun lashed my inner thighs and genitals. They're wonderful things and I like to have them cared for, but in the absence of a carer, I moved on from stroking and squeezing to snipping, and gave myself a light trim with the scissors down the underside of my dick, all over my scrote, and down the base towards my arsehole as far as I could see. No nicks!
I couldn't be bothered doing the top, on my abdomen above my cock. I do like partial or full removal, and I have used creams and rotating and manual shavers plenty of times. Such bare genitals make me feel more nude, and more horny, and they truly display the choice, exciting skin of these parts. One can give or get a serious tonguing without the barrier of hair. And nothing quite as slick as juiced up naked skin on naked skin! I do like all natural as well, with the scent and fluid trap, and all the styles and characteristics and diversity of pubic pelts, and heaven knows, I enjoy the occasional pubic sculpture as a work of art or as a statement!
But because there's no one here to take part, or to appreciate my rough trim, after a few minutes' careful snippage, I moved on, tingling from the handling, my balls slightly sticky and deliciously exposed with the curtain of curlies excised. A more detailed effort awaits a girlie's attention, so who will slash my splash while, in fairness, I will shave your cave, as we slide to the heights of pleasure?
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My night out at Filthy's
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Posted:Mar 29, 2006 6:43 pm
Last Updated:Mar 29, 2006 6:44 pm
1191 Views
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My travels this evening in search of a beer led me to Green Square in Kingston, the home of Filthy McFadden's, a faux Irish pub. The decor is a bit too breathlessly 19th century, and full of smokers, but I love the name; and they have a great array of beer.
They also have a pleasant alcove outdoors in Green Square, where I took my beer and found a table, next to a noisy and boisterous group of late teens and twenties, farewelling one of their number. Still hot at 10pm, I was delighted to be so close to so many lightly-dressed women, showing plenty of skin of their necks, shoulders, arms and chests. I fancy those tube tops, they display the entire upper body. Below decks, there was plenty of skin as well, with plenty of bare feet, ankles, calves, knees, and thighs. I don't mind shorts in this context, at least they display the legs. There was even a few very short and very desirable mini skirts, which perhaps didn't suit their wearers, as they kept leaping to their feet to stretch them. Why do women (mostly young women, that I've seen) do that? They wear a short skirt to show off their thighs, then constantly pull it down to hide them? Nooooooo nonono, ladies, the idea is to display as much as possible, for comfort, pleasure, and excitement. If you're not happy with that, please stick with jeans!
But notwithstanding the skin pleasures of this group, there wasn't much comfort, pleasure or excitement, as far as I could tell, not a single one of them was underbare, that is, free of underwear. And I looked very carefully. Here is part of my desire to leave Canberra: the most conservative dressers I've come across. I can go months, from summer to summer, without seeing a woman bra-free. Compare with my previous home in Darwin, where it was commonplace (not just in the large tourist community) to wear little more than a bra (bikini top), sarong wrap, or T-shirt. There's a lot of skin to look forward to in Queensland!
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Driveway protocol
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Posted:Mar 28, 2006 9:04 am
Last Updated:Aug 12, 2006 10:15 pm
1148 Views
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I'm doing some outside work which requires me to go in and out the front door and along the driveway, many times over. The driveway is a loop across the block, with two entrances to the street. About half of it is private, hidden by plants and masonry garden beds. There's about 12 steps from the front door to the sheltered parts.
I would like to be naked in my work, but it's too annoying to don and doff shorts, swimmers, or knickers over and over, for my 12-step passage. I prefer "dirty skirties" anyway (a "dirty skirtie" is anything a wowser thinks is too short, too tight, too thin), to let the breezes flow and the sunshine in.
So I'm wearing a wraparound, a sarong from my days in Darwin, halved, turned exactly twice around my midsection and held with one knot to the side; it comes halfway down my thighs. Much the same as my profile photo (the same sarong actually).
Once I pass the 12 steps visible to the busy street and whinging neighbours, I slip the wrap up over my hips and arse cheeks, baring everything but a small section of midriff. It's nice to spread my legs and sit in the driveway near naked, with the hot brickwork burning the skin of my arse, and the ripe, intoxicating scents of sweaty genitals and stinky shitter wafting over me.
On my last trip to the driveway last night, after sunset but not quite dark, I leaned on the garden bed and wanked to the thrill of almost exposing myself; when I was hard I walked up the driveway anyway to the street, led by my swollen cock and protruding balls. A car came, so I scurried inside and continued working my pieces in the backyard until the mosquitoes found me.
My "dirty skirtie" is OK for this 12-step purpose. I don't like the sealed-off constriction of swimmers or undies. A towel is too bulky and fiddly (maybe the right tea-towel would do, being too short and too thin). Probably, real girlie skirts aren't up to driveway work. Any other suggestions?
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Towel time
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Posted:Mar 27, 2006 6:54 pm
Last Updated:May 7, 2024 12:40 am
1145 Views
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A beach towel in the private garden of my backyard. On the grass, that is where the sun is shining, or on brick paving. I'll take the grass thanks. Mind out for ants.
The site slopes, I turned the towel around to leave my head away from the sun and my legs spread into it. I spread my arse open to the sky. I point my arsehole at the sun as I want it to be golden brown, rich and appealing, instead of cack brown, dark and distant. I stretched my cock along the towel towards the sun, making sure that the underside of my cock and balls and the whole swathe of my genitals from the sparkling, juicy tip to the furthest twitching sphincter muscle was exposed to the sweet kisses from the sky.
Then a spider leapt on me. Then an ant snapped at my scrotum. I thought that was enough for a while 
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Peak of summer
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Posted:Mar 26, 2006 5:17 pm
Last Updated:Aug 12, 2006 10:15 pm
1307 Views
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It is high summer in Australia, that means hot! I enjoy the extra skin time, and with my housemate away, I'm making much of tan time as well. I've had two towel lays today (with turquoise towel fluff through my pubes), a couple of hours. I love to wank outdoors, my jewels kissed by the sun (mind it doesn't bite), thinking of all the sluts, nudists, rudists, and greedy fuck toys I'm about to meet in Queensland.
Despite the heat, I did go out. I dressed in a white Green Day T-shirt, black denim jeans, fluffy socks, tall leather boots, and my ragged old leather jacket, for my motorbike ride.
Home a bit later, I had to inch my jacket off my soaking arms (no wonder it is ragged), and peel my wringing-wet T-shirt off as best I could. My dual-layer socks were stuck to my feet, but my heavy jeans, laden in the pockets, fell away, releasing a burst of rich, natural warm, sweaty crotch scent, as I don't wear undies (and haven't for decades, but that's a topic for another post).
I rushed outside into the barrage of sunlight and the fickle breeze, and quickly dried off, leaving a spicy salt and oil residue for, well, anyone. That XXXX never tasted so good!
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