I was written to by the webmaster of another site, and he had a lot of praise for DOMAI, but he wanted me to state explicitly on DOMAI that female beauty is morally good, not evil. Well, my stance on that is for one thing that this is so obvious only insane people will think otherwise, and I don't make a habit of preaching to insane people. They don't listen.
Further, and perhaps even more important metaphysically, is that a thing cannot be good or evil. A person can be good or evil, an intention can be good or evil. And first and foremost, an action can be good or evil. But not a thing. A thing just is.
So female beauty is not good or evil, it just is. If nobody sees it, what does it matter? If somebody is looking at it, then there is an action, and an action can be judged (or not).
And as you should know by now, I consider looking at beauty not only a good and moral action, but a powerfully good and moral action. Looking at beauty, female or not, is a necessity for keeping one's sanity and power.
Letter of the week, from Jerry:
I moved to England several months ago and live in a village of about 4500 people. The church dates back to 1138. The town is a composite of ancient and new as most villages are. The people are very friendly with a quick smile and hello.
I take a morning walk everyday around 8:30 and come face to face with the local school kids out to start their day. I usually go back out for another walk around 4:00 and again encounter these same kids.
During the time I've been taking these walks I've struck up a smiling relationship with a red haired young lady that turned into "Good morning sir".
Last Saturday I was in the park photographing the ruins of the castle that once protected this small village. History and beautiful girls are my two passions and little did I know that I was about to combine both.
A proper British female voice said, "Excuse me sir." I returned quickly from the past and turned to look at the young lady from my walks. No longer in her school uniform, but now in a comfortable pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that didn't quite cover her belly.
"I know you." I said.
"Yes, I see you on my walks. Are you a photographer?"
"Actually I'm a writer, I dabble in photography."
She came in closer looking my camera over. "I'd like to be a photojournalist. May I see your camera?"
Without hesitation I gave it to her. I could tell she knew the 35mm well by the way she held it. "You've used one before?"
She aimed the camera at me and fired off a shot, rewound it and returned it to me. "Yes. I take the pictures for our school paper."
I motioned to the castle ruins. "Did you know that this castle was destroyed by Oliver Cromwell?"
She picked up a stone, bounced it in her hand and then threw it into the ruins. "Yes, around 1645 during the English Civil War. You're an American." She walked away and I followed in behind. The local ducks, from the former moat, now a spring feed stream, came quacking up to us looking for their handout. She proceeded to point out other areas of the grounds that contained other remains. And she gave me a quick history lesson of the founding of the town.
She stopped suddenly in our tour and twirled around, "Would you like to take my picture?"
I moved the camera up, "Sure."
She put her hand over the lens, "Not here." She took my hand and ran off with me. We came to a fence covered in bramble and climbed over it. Soon we were in a clearing with some sheep and surrounded by more bramble.
"Here." She posed for me and I fired off several shots. "Do you want me to pose any certain way?"
"No, just do whatever you feel like doing... whatever comes into your head."
She went from one delightful pose to another, playing with her hair, moving her sweatshirt up seductively, pulling down on it with a pout on her face, she was so natural that I ran out of film before I knew it. "Break", I said, "Got to reload."
She began to fidget. I told her, "You're very good, a natural."
She came over to me and said, "I like this, I want to do more."
I closed the back of the camera, wound it to number 1 and pointed it at her. "Ready when you are."
She pulled up her sweatshirt and revealed the bottoms of her breasts and struck a pose. "Is this O.K.?" I began to shake, and my teeth chattered. I couldn't believe that what I was hoping for was about to happen. I took the picture, and she moved to expose one breast then another. She removed her sweatshirt and my hands began to shake more.
She came over to me and said, "Are you all right?"
I said, "Yes, just a little chill, not use to the English weather yet."
She laughed, twirled around letting her sweatshirt fly. "I love being out here, it's so free."
She went through several more poses each better than the one before. Her small breasts became firmer with the morning cold, her flesh would ripple with goose bumps and she became more and more free in her movements. I ran out of film again. She came over to me and felt my arm. "Chills gone?"
I smiled at her and said, "The cold looks good on you."
She looked down at her breast, moved in closer to me and kissed me on my cheek with her cold lips. "I love the cold it makes me feel good." I readied the camera and she spun off to pose.
This time she worked her jeans down revealing her knickers and her thighs. She gave me one pose after another that sent the chills back into me. I finished the roll with her being totally nude. I went to load another roll and she came up to me with her clothes in her hands. "I've got to get home." She balanced herself against me and dressed herself.
When she finished dressing she gave me a hug and I hugged her back. She muttered, "I've never been able to do that before." I told her that her pictures were safe with me and that I would have them processed and get them to her. She let go of me and said, "I can do it at the school."
"Won't that be kind of dangerous?", I said.
She fished the films out of my jacket pocket and stuffed them into her jean pocket. "I'll do it tonight when no one is around, and meet you here tomorrow, same time...O.K.?"
What else could I say but, "Sure."
Sunday I returned to the same spot and waited. After about fifteen minutes I decided to leave, and then I saw a girl coming my way. It wasn't her. The girl came up to me and said, "Are you the photographer?"
She looked like a younger version of my English Schoolgirl and I said, "Yes."
"My sister sent me to tell you that she has to go to her nan's and won't be able to make it."
I stumbled around my words, "Uh, that's O.K. I'll talk to her later."
I started to walk off and the girl said, "I saw the pictures." I stopped and the girl came up to me. "Jan's not really going to her nan's. She told me to say that because she's afraid."
Disappointed I said, "Well tell Jan that it's O.K. she can keep the pictures and I understand."
The sister put her hands in her jacket pockets and walked with me. "She really likes being naked outside, but doesn't want anyone to know." We came to the sidewalk and I thanked the sister and reinforced that it was O.K. with me for Jan to keep the pictures. The sister shuffled her feet and said, "You can take my picture, if you want some day." Then she skipped off.
Monday morning I went for my walk and got the usual smile and "Good morning sir" from her, but this time she handed me a plastic bag in passing. I waited until she passed and opened it, inside was three unexposed rolls of film and a note with her lip prints in lipstick and the words "Thank you."
I still shake when I think about her on that Saturday.
[The images are from recent pages in the members' section.]