Naked Stalker at the Nudist Resort.

I secretly watch you from across the resort pavilion. You laugh and smile and then frolic in the pool: oh, how I imagine what you would look like with clothes on. Your naked breasts would look so alluring in a slinky red dress; your ass would be a thing of mystery almost-revealed in yoga pants. As I watch you I feel the sun-warmed plastic chair against my naked scrotum. I am your Naked Stalker.



You kneel by the pool adjusting your towel and I am torn asunder by jealousy: everyone can catch a brief glimpse of your asshole exposed to the skies above -- it is not mine, alone. How I wish you were wearing frilly lace panties, panties that would contain the Mystery and the Wonder: sweat rolls down my back and slips between my naked buttocks. I am your Naked Stalker.


A naked brunette with a tattoo on her hip is applying sunscreen to your back and buttocks. Oh, how I have pictured this sensuous moment before, but with you delightful girls in revealing red and blue bikinis. I see how the other men surreptitiously glimpse this scene and I despair: this should be my moment, alone: I am the one for you. My naked erection is hidden by the picnic table. I am your Naked Stalker.


As you lay naked in the sun I see you have a mole on your right breast: In my mind's eye I have never pictured that. Indeed, I would never have seen that until you undressed before me, your clothes falling to the floor in my bedroom. I can't stop looking at the mole. I am naked on a plastic chair, sweating, and I can't stop looking at the mole. I wish I had not seen this so soon. I am your Naked Stalker.


From a distance I follow you into the cafeteria. You choose a salad and I can't help but picture that Ranch Dressing dripping onto your delightful breasts. Your delightful naked breasts with a mole. Ranch Dressing on the mole. A mole that would've been covered by a slinky red dress, a mole that would've been hidden as you went brazenly bra-less under a fitted white shirt. I leave the cafeteria before my groin betrays me. I am your Naked Stalker.


Oh, if but once you were to look my way, me, naked, looking at you: you would feel the electricity that connects us; you would see that I have trimmed my pubic hair for you. I am your Naked Stalker.


I had expected that you trimmed your pubic hair, but I did not imagine you would be completely shorn. I miss the City, and its stealthy peeks up the demure skirts of the women commuting on the bus. I am your Naked Stalker.

I am Laslo.


http://althouse.blogspot.com/2014/12/my-thriftiness-overwhelmed-my-modesty.html