nude pics, photos of nude woman and models

I hope you're having a good summer. Depending of course where you are on the planet, this is likely to be the time to enjoy "bird watching" as the Brits call it ("birds" is slang for girls), and maybe photographing them in the long evening or early summer light.

It's certainly a good summer for Domai. I've been priviledged to present many of our best models yet (new models from the past month are Stena, Mary, Nalla, Aleku, Tanka, Bea, and Marya), and I have acquired many wonderful sets for later too.

Eolake Stobblehouse

Letters To DOMAI


Let's say her name was Alisha. She was just a little bit taller than I was, which was just fine with me. And she was a little bit older than I was too, which I found incredibly exciting. I knew her for three summers when I was fifteen, sixteen and seventeen. Whenever I saw her, I was complete. She was kind and wise. Her eyes were soft and intelligent, like our Domai model Hellena. Her voice was always gentle and mature. I could tell that she liked me and enjoyed my company, and it gave me just enough confidence to be myself when I was with her. Simultaneous to anything that ever happened when we were together, I was entirely aware that I was supremely fortunate to have even met her, and most fortunate of all to be able to kiss her and walk her home after the bonfires we shared down at the water's edge with all the other teenagers who summered near the great bay where our family cottages were. We shared conversations about literature and the Bible and faith and the universe, and all the questions young people discuss with their most cherished friends everywhere on this earth under a sky full of stars.

And when my family and other summer friends realized that I was favored by her, I was treated with respect by all my peers. Grudging respect from the guys my own age and older who vied unsuccessfully to take my place. Special charged looks from my uncles and father and all his male friends as well, for every time that Alisha would enter a room the energy shifted. All the males came to attention, displaying their most gentlemanly behavior and paying much more respect to her than to any of my other friends. And since she carried herself with such humility and grace, all the older women present were charmed as well.

Alisha was magical. She had all the physical power and charisma of a Marilyn Monroe, but her beauty did not rely on makeup and hair dye and any obvious attempt to seduce. I see a great resemblance in her beauty to a taller version of the truly lovely Domai model JT. Her hair was naturally honey blonde, thick and lustrous, and fell down her strong and graceful back almost to her buttocks. Her lips were full and sweet, her smile both gentle and genuine. She often dressed in clean blue jeans and men's style long sleeve dress shirts with button down collars. It was evident that she must have magnificent cleavage to share, but she was modest. Her blouses were only open at the collar. Once when we were talking in private she opened two of those buttons in a smiling moment with me. I felt so mature, being allowed a glimpse into her body, and yet I was blushing, completely unable to conceal my physical excitement. Her perfect white teeth shone in contrast to her tanned and delicately freckled face. Seeing her look at me with attention and affection was like dreaming of heaven.

Alisha was a golden only child. And her parents mystified me, for while they were both kind and gentle souls, I could never imagine how they had made her. I couldn't see her perfection in their reflection whatsoever, but her father built antique guns and rifles as a hobby, and I took that as fair warning to be on my best behavior with her! Not that it was necessary. Like all great beauties, her personality created good behavior in all who met her.

Whenever we kissed goodnight at her family's cottage door, naturally I would do my utmost to prolong these few minutes as much as possible. Tempting fate and rejection, I would fumble in my clumsy attempts to understand with my hands the magnificence of her breasts through the impossibly sturdy brassieres of the time as we kissed. Allowing a certain leeway in this regard, her hands would eventually push mine away. I knew it was my awkwardness that brought about these failures, but even still, the thrill was intense.

Walking back home after these moments beneath the summer stars with her, I knew drunkenness without alcohol.

And as I was constantly looking for ways to make more money while on summer vacation, I jumped at the chance when her neighbour asked me to help him re-shingle the roof of his cottage. A friend of my father's, he had known me since I was a child.

All I was thinking about was the money. I had no idea this job would lead to the simplest, most beautiful sight to be seen on this earth.

One morning under the hot summer sun, stripped down to my shorts and socks and work shoes, I was working on the shingling by myself. My employer had taken his wife and children to town to shop for groceries, and having trained and supervised me on previous days, left me to continue by myself.

Naturally my focus would return to the driveway of her house from time to time. I wondered where she was. Was she in her house? Had she gone walking or horse back riding, or shopping in town? Her parents' car was gone, but I hadn't seen or heard it leave. The country air was full of birdsong, and I could hear the sound of the cars passing by occasionally on the highway up through the forest behind the cottages. Standing on the roof in the sun, I could look out towards the shimmering bay and the swooping flights of the gulls. And I could see her bedroom window just next door through some pine trees. I could see that the curtains were closed.

And then the next time I glanced up, they were open.

I continued to place the shingles along the "true" line, quietly tapping in the small nails to secure them, simultaneously looking frequently in the direction of her window and forcing myself to concentrate in order to make suitable progress on the roof. I imagined I would call out to her when I saw her and surprise her. Make her smile.

And then she was there, brushing her hair, looking at herself in the mirror in her bedroom, framed almost perfectly in the window, dressed only in white panties. The skin around her shoulders and upper chest was reddened from yesterday's sun, and her long hair at once covered and then revealed her utterly remarkable large ivory breasts, crested with conical fattened nipples which seemed to point upwards and sway majestically with her every movement. I was transfixed. I had seen small, taut, adolescent breasts before, but I had never seen breasts move. Girl's breasts were so securely restrained and enclosed by the fashion at that time that even their bathing suits had full support systems that completely hid them from any accurate understanding of their form. The naked curve of her back was astonishingly attractive.

And then it happened. One of the truly great moments in life is the moment a naked woman reaches underneath her hair to lift it up with both her hands. The beautiful structure of her ribcage, the full majesty of her breasts, back and neck appear to us in these moments. Alisha was the first woman I saw do this. I can see her still.

Fixing her hair loosely back, she disappeared for an eternity into the cottage until she reappeared in the window with her hands full of skin cream, which she was rubbing in circular motions on the reddened areas around her shoulders and upper chest, then on her breasts and tummy and back. Bending over, she applied lotion to her upper thighs as well. She continued to regard herself in the mirror, pausing occasionally to pose and observe herself, to brush her hair. Stock still, I watched her in utter awe.

Suddenly I heard a car. They were back! Ridiculously, I quickly tucked my tee shirt into the front of my shorts to hide my spontaneous reaction, and went back to my work with intense concentration, skinning my knees as I dropped to the roof, banging my hammer particularly loudly as I did. I wanted to warn her and assure my employer at the same time!

Just as I heard the car doors slamming, I looked one last time at her window. Holding the curtains to cover herself, she was looking at me with a combination of shock, wonder and undisguised delight. And then she pulled the curtains shut in one quick movement.

— Mik

Beauty for the Camera

Some years ago, while serving in the Navy, I shared a house with fellow pilot.  While my roommate was deployed overseas, his girlfriend, Tara, came by one day with a request.  She knew I was an amateur photographer, and wanted me to take a few pictures to send to Mike to ease the long separation and refresh his memory.

She had an outfit that was basically a long white T-shirt with a wide black belt containing a holster and toy gun.  It was not the kind of outfit I would have chosen (I prefer more color), but she did make it look fairly sexy.  It was getting close to Christmas, so she accessorized (and added a bit of color) with a red striped candy cane.

After taking a couple pictures, she accidentally dropped the candy cane from her mouth and it stained a big red splotch on the t-shirt. She immediately washed the stain out with cold water, but then we had to wait for the shirt to dry before continuing. (I loaned her a bathrobe.)

I casually mentioned to her that if she was going for the intimate look, it might work to get the whole shirt wet. Without much hesitation, she went into the bathroom and came out again with the shirt very wet and clingy which did in fact increase the level of sexiness significantly. We continued taking pictures for a while, but were soon looking for more options.  The wet shirt did not leave a lot to the imagination and she seemed to be comfortable (although getting cold), so I began to wonder if she was willing to go further for her boyfriend.

The problem was how to broach the subject without sounding like a pervert.  So I decided to just be upfront with her and explained how much I appreciate the beauty of the female form and how there is a great photographic art work (sometimes called Simple Nudes) that celebrates the beauty of women without being pornographic.

She was a bit hesitant so I said, “I will make a deal with you.  You can have total control over what pictures we take and I will even let you have the negatives (long before digital cameras).  All I ask for is maybe a couple of pictures for my portfolio if they turn out good.

She finally agreed and peeled off the wet t-shirt with kind of a mischievous smile.  I wish I had been ready with the camera because that smile would have made a great picture.  She did a good job with different poses, but I never did quite get that same smile again.

She was wearing white silky panties and no bra (it didn’t work very well under the wet t-shirt).  Her breasts were average size and perky and her body was lean and trim.  I tried to remain calm and professional, but it was probably obvious that I caught my breath with admiration.  I decided to give her a little encouragement and said something like, “Wow, that is breath-taking.”

Again, she got a twinkle in her eye as she stripped off her panties. She twirled them on her finger as she did a little dance. Maybe she was covering her own nervousness, but I began to get the feeling that she might have planned some of this. I finally recovered and went to work on getting the camera ready while casually asking her if she had any special poses in mind.

She wanted to ease into the process without total exposure, so we decided to get creative. One of the first poses, we used the wide belt and holster to partially cover below the waist and red bandana around her neck that hung down to just cover her nipples.  She playfully pointed the toy gun at the camera and then blew the smoke off of the barrel.   I was able to get several nice photos that captured the playful nature.

We spent several hours experimenting with different poses. This was not the first time I had taken nude photographs, but it was the first time my subject took an active and creative part in finding poses that were intimate enough to highlight the loveliness without being pornographic. The trick is to try to gage what is going through the mind of the viewer—appreciation of the wonder of God’s creation or do the thoughts turn more toward sex. Most ladies know they have the capability of inspiring either if they so desire. I learned a lesson that day that the secret is mainly in the eyes. When people express joy with their eyes, they tend to appear more beautiful, no matter what they are (or are not) wearing.

I wish I was able to share some of the photos with all you Domai fans, but alas, I was true to my word and ended up with only a few good prints. I left for my deployment before my roommate returned, so I never did get to find out what he thought of the pictures or if she even sent some to him (it is a bit dangerous to send pictures like that to a guy on board a ship where there is little privacy).  I do know that somewhere out there is a great set of pictures and inside my mind, a great set of memories of a very special Domai moment. When I look at the pictures on the Domai Web site, I wonder if the photographers behind the pictures continue to get that same sense of enjoyment that I did once upon a time.


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