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Hair by Limerence, and damn, do I love it. Tattoos by Endless Pain. Head by Genus. Eyes and septum piercing by Suicidal Unborn. Collar by Insanya.

Naked art at the restaurant La Terrasse in St. Paul de Vence, France.

I do far too much photoshop editing, so today's theme was particularly difficult not to dabble...

This image is pure and naked...

Litterally one click, framed and up loaded.

Part of the sculpture "A Maximis ad minima" (From the greatest to the least) by the sculptor Eduardo Paolozzi

1995-1997

Kew Gardens, London

Captured in Twigmoor Woods, North Lincolnshire.

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I awoke upon the black shore of a volcanic island, the crash of waves echoing against stone. My memory was fractured—the last image, the hum of my single‑engine plane swallowed by the sea. Now there was only silence, the salt wind, and the weight of solitude. With nothing but the clothes on my back, I wandered inland, drawn by a narrow path that wound into the trees.

The forest was hushed, as though holding its breath. At the end of the path, I found a rose bush unlike any I had ever seen. Its blossoms were white, luminous, impossibly perfect—as if carved from moonlight. One flower seemed to call to me. Its fragrance was intoxicating, filling me with a strange infatuation, a well‑being beyond words. I lingered, torn between reverence and desire, and at last I plucked it, unable to resist.

Back on the shore, I placed the stem in a bottle of rainwater I had found, and lay beside it, exhausted. Sleep overtook me. It felt like only a moment later when I stirred, sensing movement. I turned—and there, where the rose had been, lay a woman. She was naked, fragile, her back to me, a clear fluid seeping from her leg. My heart pounded. I covered her with my shirt, trembling. Slowly she turned her face toward me, silent, tears streaming.

I could not bear the sight—her sorrow mirrored mine, and my own tears spilled freely. She reached out, her fingers trembling, and touched the wetness on my cheek. She brought it to her lips. When she tasted my tears, it was as though a veil lifted. Her eyes widened, not in surprise but in recognition. In that moment, she was inside me—my grief, my guilt, my bewilderment all laid bare. She inhaled softly, and I felt her breath move through me, carrying the fragrance of the rose. It was not speech, yet it was language: she was reading the story written in my sorrow.

I felt her pain entwine with mine, as if my tears had become a bridge. She knew the weight of my regret, the helplessness of my desire, the ache of having wounded what I loved. And in return, I sensed her own anguish, the wound of being torn from her place. Our tears mingled—mine of guilt, hers of loss—and in that mingling, we understood one another without words.

I lifted her gently, and suddenly pain struck me—hundreds of thorns driving deep into my flesh. I gasped, nearly faltering beneath her weight. Yet I understood: this was not her will, not a conscious act of cruelty. It was her being itself, reaching out in desperation, a reflex of survival. The thorns were the language of her body, the only way she could cling to life. Her essence flowed into me with the sharpness of those wounds, a clear fluid mingling with my blood. The agony dissolved into a strange radiance. Strength surged through me, despair vanished, and I felt her life returning. It was not one‑sided: as she grew stronger, so did I. We were bound together, not by choice, but by necessity—two lives sustaining one another in a single breath.

Carrying her back through the forest, I felt her stir. When we reached the grove, she touched the place where I had torn her away. Light shimmered, and she transformed back into her original form. A vision filled my mind: her face, radiant, leaning close. She kissed me tenderly. Guilt overwhelmed me—I had stolen her beauty, wounded her spirit. I had no excuse. Yet she touched my face and whispered: “I forgive you, because you have accepted the pain of what you have done.”

Her words did not fade like sound; they sank into me, etched into my blood. I felt the thorns still within me, not as wounds but as roots, binding me to her. The strength she had given me remained, a quiet fire in my veins. I knew I could never return to who I had been. The island had claimed me, reshaped me.

I left the grove with her vision still before me, knowing I would carry it always. My guilt had become a scar, but her grace had become my strength. And though I walked alone, I was no longer the same man who had awakened on that shore. I was hers, and the island itself had become part of me.

Lost

sorry... so many days wanted I make a shot at error, I´,m really ardent at this sim and love the landscaping in grey. Always when I enter are so many other there also the simowner, so not much calm to play and think about a shot. Today I tried it again and was hoping to be alone... walking and looking and waiting... then I decide for a simple idea .. just a bit sand!

So I´m sitting in the water, playing with the windlight and the angle and hope that this guy with the wings might be soon disapear! He is flying turning around the sim and my head. I´m despaired ... where are my guns.. should I kill him? I wanted to make a naked pic without a guy flying about my head. Ok I´m not a killer so sorry just a bikini!

slurl.com/secondlife/Error/148/95/21

more in my blog anastasiavolkova.blogspot.com/2012/01/naked-trees-backsta...

and feel free to follow me here: web.stagram.com/n/anastasia_volkova/

'.... I want you to dance naked

If you like I'll join you

I want to enjoy your body

I want to hear all your secrets

I want to know if you like me

As much as I like you

I want you to dance naked

But only if you want to ....'

John Mellencamp - Dance Naked

my dad is a huge music lover and he has thousands of vinyl lps. so i have thousands of old 70's and 80's tunes on my itunes. makes for a fun shuffle and when this one came on the other day, well, i just had to !!

Naked Boy

This was the only wildlife I saw,

No, he wasn't naked!

Just getting a little sun,

What bad thoughts you have!

Tuttle Marsh Wildlife Area

Oscoda, Michigan

www.michigan.org/property/Detail.aspx?p=G20392

Brandon and Laura in a very brief moment of sunshine during the NAPH Ringlight Workshop. Natural light.

At the Museum of Welsh Life and Culture.

One thing i'll miss, once winter splits

is the bare and naked trees..

For spring has waited, patiently

to dress them up in leaves.

I love to see the shadow of

their trunks against a sunset sky...

(Naked trees are sexy things

but for what i don't know why...)

I love their branches laced in snow

up against a sky of blue...

I love them dressed up in ice

with a bright sun shining through..

Once their dressed, i must confess

they don't do a thing for me

though i do love the spring time buds

that change the scenery..

I love them best, when their dressed

In the beauty Autumn brings..

Still, Naked trees, are defiently

one one my favorite things...

I know that lots of you will say

"she's talking about a friggin tree.".

But do one thing,for me this spring

check out a naked pregant tree

Its not every day you're photographing one of the world's icons and naked man jogs past. Actually that's probably not true; chatting to him, I think he does this every night.

this was how I ate dinner at the art show

On the banks of the ghats

I walk along the city streets.........

naked + railroad + "i'm feeling lucky" =

www.austinchronicle.com/issues/dispatch/1999-10-01/pols_n...

or possibly naked boy after lorena bobbitt is done with him

I saw him on two different days, dancing naked by the river.

No Flowers left.