Innocence Of A Photographer Of Nature

"What is so rare as a day in June?" The poet wrote and added, "then if ever come perfect days." How consummate, how polished, the remembrance brought back the words of the poet as well as other days in June. Those were when the weather suggested that I spend the day in search of beautiful natural scenes to photograph, to capture in pictures that would come close to matching the captivating words of John Keats. If the incentive back home lacked any persuasive element, a return to nature close to its original creation would. A beautiful and sunny day, and the temperature perfect for getting outdoors and naked, but not in the neighborhood where I lived. Why not go back to the area in the foothills of those ever luring mountains?

When it is an issue for one more concentrated effort to pick up where my previous trip had landed me, there was little standing in my way. The trip required a little less than a couple of hours, but by the time I was within a few miles of my destination, there was no comparison to general weather, the temperature and the scent of fresh air, to state a few. Choosing a deserted area, I pulled off the rural road and parked near an old and worn picnic area. Rotting tables with matching benches, perhaps this was a choice space for setting up the tripod and press-type camera for that ideal scene! Having noted some male items of clothing on a nearby, what used to be a fence post, the following scene was less shocking than was it photogenic, to sate the impression within moderation.

Not clearly in view with all the beautiful trees hiding its natural nakedness, it was easy to know the stream was there from the gurgling sounds as it passed over and around the large granite stones. Any professional photographer is always keenly aware of all the beauty surrounding him, and that holds true even more when it's in its natural and naked, defenseless state.

A gray male squirrel scampered past, that most evident as was his evident long survival. As he continued his journey up a tree near the old table, the two large appendages beneath his bushy tail definitely confirmed both his masculinity and his age. Over observant, someone outside my field of expertise might consider, but perhaps the following scene would capture any other observer's undivided attention.

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"Sorry," he said in his foreign accent as he came from the wooded area to retrieve his pants and shirt. "And do pardon my nakedness," he added.

"This place is so close to matching where my family and I used to live, guess I forgot where I am."

"Don't let me stand in your way, young man." I searched for words that would not suggest my thoughts.

"If I thought I could get by with it, I would be doing the same."

"I see you are a photographer," this living god of natural beauty added, having a slight problem with pronouncing the word. After this pleasant surprise, what the hell did I care about the way he attempted to pronounce words in English any more than his being naked met any objections from me.

"You are right there, young man, and the things I enjoy capturing most in film is natural beauty. Not much of that now, I feel you are aware. So, that's what brought be back to this area."

"I can understand why any photographer would choose scenes in this area. Any question as to why my grandparents, and later my own dad chose to relocate here after migrating found its own answer. The first time I ventured from the house to explore and to find a place to swim in the nude, I learned the reasoning. This choice stops comes very close to matching the place we used to call home."

"I realize that you and I have only met minutes ago and before you started to put back on your clothes. And, by the way, my name is James Weaver. I want to ask you a favor, but what modesty that still exists as a part of my personality makes me hesitate to do that."

"My pronunciation of some American words needs additional perfecting," he replied and added.

"My name is Pepik Mishkin. Almost let that slip," he said, letting me know he had already picked up on some purely American expressions.

"Very pleased to meet you Mister Mishkin," I answered, taking a small piece of candy from a camera bag as a means for getting my immediate focus on more than his naked body. "Pardon me," I added.

"Haven't had sex in so long that I try a piece of chocolate to alter my trend of thoughts."

"You are too much!" Pepik reacted to that faulty reasoning and demonstrating again his ability to pick up on American mannerisms and idioms. "That's what my X-wife used to say, but she was referring to my butt as I came from the shower to the bedroom, to get dressed. Hell! Were she still around, there's no telling about her opinion of this weight I have gained since retiring!" Pepik thought that was funny, too, but he still did not know the real reasons I hesitated to pop the question. Not exactly naive or stupid, I weighed further, noting the change in size and position of the feature that identified him as most definitely a man.

To hell with the natural squirrel that announced his identity when he scampered up the nearest tree. This specimen of pure, unadulterated, mature adult male masculinity was no match for the testicles that automatically identified the rodent! That's what demanded being captured by my camera, but focusing only on that feature might defeat my success in asking this natural phenomenon to pose for me. It would be all or nothing at all, I could imagine him saying to me. And it was what I hoped would be a follow up to match this response anticipated from Pepik Mishkin.

I wanted a taste of everything I observed as we stood there gazing and one another, and that goes beyond the request for posing for my camera! I should have learned more about human psychology in all these years I had been a shutterbug. There had always been more devotion to that hobby than to the job that supported me before I retired and went into photography full time. Pepik agreed before I finished the request. Words, excuses, delaying what's already on a man's mind cannot fool any man who is a man. Body language and facial expressions say enough and begin to reflect in both men's physical reaction long before any direct communication with words seems essential.

My bigger problem was that large protrusion that diverted my attention, causing me to focus on that than through the lens of the camera. Hell! Every time I adjusted the lens for a close-up shot, this young 'come and suck my nice cock' man knew it was not for a full-body view. That automatically sensed reality brought his cock to attention before his body shifted this way or the other, as I instructed with each pose. Now, two things stood in the way of my capturing on film the full body view of this loyal to nature natural living and breathing, and anxious to get it on as was my subject. Retired, older, but far from impotent or dead, I was anxious and ready to fall for his suggestion before he hinted at a break. I fell as if I had stumbled on some of the debris from the tree that shaded the worn picnic table. That's why some of the prints show Pepik's penis redder than others.

My deprivation and demanding hunger for a taste of the real thing brought a vacuuming draining as if there would be no more for later! Sometimes, a little touchup here and there in the darkroom can bring miracles to the final proof for a client to view and make his selections. But, every time I tried to get the red out of the final prints of his penis, failure became accepted as intentional. Many years after the fact, I continued to agree that was a wise decision. Every time I look at one of these prints that are in colorful 8 by 12 format in my treasured portfolio, my cock springs to life very much as did things on the beautiful spring day.

That was at the foot of both the mountain and the immigrant who did more for me than pose for some shots in the nude! Just looking keeps me alive. If another opportunity comes along for a repeat of that scene with the unintended model, I will be convinced more than ever that the poet was closer to the truth than I ever realized until I experienced it. Not only, "what is so rare as a day in June," the poet said: "a thing of beauty is a joy forever!" I will never be able to rid my memory of that last pose as he planted his firm and well shaped buttocks on the edge of that deserted picnic table.

In the event I might ever come close, I will always have that special portfolio as a constant reminder. When I finally got ready to pack up and head back to the polluted city, I offered to pay Pepik for his services. "It has more like your services to me," was his answer to my suggestion, "and I am a big tipper!" He emphasized his command of that common usage of American English jargon. But he proved also that he had acquired the effective application of metaphor, or more closely, the pun. Sure, it began as a tip of his tongue on my now naked penis.

Removing my clothing at his suggestion to be like him and truly being a part of nature that he stated earlier, now it resurfaced with another reason he had in his mind. The performance that followed this ecstatic introduction exceeds my ability to describe it. My writing is as precise as is it brief to depict the natural scenes my camera captures. Why go beyond that limitation now, when I need no other memory. If a simple kiss can keep alive the affection of a friend who is leaving or moving away, there are no words to capture the climactic final farewell we both shared those last few minutes together!

And, too, this was closer than we had been up to this moment of association. This time, and although Pepik was assuming the position I had exercised thus far, it was that special climax that begs either for chapter two or a full-length novel. Perhaps one day, this makeshift of a photographer will return to the scene. Not like that of a criminal and risking getting caught, but hoping to retrace joys and tribulations that can never be repeated!

Pepik declared that he would always wear the small gold necklace I placed about his next before the final farewell. It was a token of a closeness that only can one man experience with another man, he said as I placed it there. His token to me for this special closeness had of necessity to remain with him. But, memory is more than an item hanging around my neck. Add to that a real-to-life photograph, and memories fade into dreams. And I have enough of those to dream about forever!

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