Extract from a blog – The Honey Hunter
I could not believe that he had written straight back to me! It seemed too good to be true. Oh. My. Goodness. I went into in a flurry of excitement, anticipation, anxiety. Naked Pilot had actually written back to me. ME!
His un-opened email was sitting there in front of me daring me to open it, to undress it indeed. Was he writing to tell me thanks, but no thanks, it’s me not you, you seem nice, but not for me?
No! He wrote that he would love to meet up with me! Yikes. What was I going to wear? Where would we go? Then, to my dismay – just when I thought I’d bagged myself a hot date – he went on to ask me how I felt about naturism…which gave me the answers to those first two questions: ‘nothing’ and ‘a field’.
In my email I hadn’t mentioned his mention of naturism, as I was pretty sure he was referring to hanging around in the nude whenever possible, rather than enjoying spotting birds and naming flowers in Latin, and figured if he liked me it would simply be a bonus if I was also into naked cocktail parties. We can all have our own interests after all. Surely?
Nervously I replied, trying to be as open-minded about the whole thing as possible without promising to tear my clothes off and run around laughing wildly with abandon. I was at risk of losing the only sniff of a date I have had since becoming single.
And lose it I did. Why? Why? I wanted to fall to my knees and reach to the heavens wailing. He did not reply. He has not replied. Naked Pilot has gone out of my life as quickly as he came in. Maybe I shouldn’t have joked about having to do lots of sit-ups…
Even though I was trying to be open-minded I cannot actually imagine myself being a naturist, standing around having a nice chat about the political situation in the Middle East with a fat naked stranger, called Derek, with two beards.
Are you allowed a handbag as a naturist? And if not where do you keep your keys? Can you wear shoes? Do they have to be flat sandals with Velcro straps or are three-inch stilettos allowed? Now this is where you enter an entirely different world: naked and wearing nothing but three-inch stilettos. It would have to be flat sandals with Velcro straps. With my ankles?!
On reflection, I have had a lucky escape. I like clothes. I like white bits after sunbathing. I like the naughtiness of stripping off when the man you are with is in the same room and ready for action. The thought of Naked Pilot striding along (all six foot of him), hung like an ox (no doubt), with his schlong slapping against his thigh and me (a foot shorter) trying to keep up with him with my ass cheeks clapping. No. No. No.
Why hasn’t Hot Guy read my email yet? He wears clothes.