Letters to Domai
Months ago, while I was first enjoying DOMAI as a new member, I had the most unique experience. I began to write you about it, and just as quickly, life interrupted and the draft was buried and forgotten on my computer. Thankfully, I recovered and completed it today. I hope you enjoy reading about this sweet little memory of mine. This is a true story, so it has much meaning to me. I hope that shows through.
As I was reading your stories and letters from other members, including some tales of personal experiences that I wish I could say I have had ("DOMAI moments" as they've come to be called), I began feeling a vague sensation in the back of my mind. I knew what it was, as it was a familiar impression: a latent memory was trying to come to the surface of my mind and make itself clear. But, it chose to remain a mystery at that time, so I continued exploring your site.
As I viewed more and more of the spectacular nudes of DOMAI, the impression became stronger, more intense. I knew then that this memory had to be related to beautiful women, an experience sometime in my distant past. I was not at all disconcerted by it, so I knew it was some kind of pleasant memory. This made me want to remember all the more! But, I knew that if I tried to press this memory to the forefront of my mind, I would lose it in the process. So, I kept on looking through your galleries. These soft, exquisite images of curves and shadows, concealing and at the same time revealing the intricate magnificence that is the unadorned female form, stirred such emotion within me. It was unexpected. Never before had nude photography affected my thoughts in such a way. Of course, I had seen nudes that were esthetically pleasing before, but none such as these. There was something deeper in these photographs, as if a relationship existed between the model and the camera, to which I was third party, but a party nonetheless. This must be the trigger to my memory! But, what memory was it? And then, the fog of time began to lift and a motion picture clip of my past played out before my mind's eye. The memory, it was of my first epiphany about women!
Most men can relate to this, their first epiphanies concerning the fairer sex. This is when we realize for the first time in our lives that women are women! It usually happens at a young age. In today's world, where the average boy is exposed to pornographic images, I fear this natural and wonderful stage of development, the true first baby step into manhood, may be lost to simple lustings after the totally artificial. What a tragedy, if so! It would be far better to take the young boy, ready to reach his first epiphany, to a beach or somesuch, and point out to him, "This is what women are."
Back to my memory. There are parts still vague, as with all memories from early childhood. I know I could not have been more than six years old, maybe five, even. The memory begins in a maroon car. Not a familiar car, because I traveled in it only one time. This was a trip. A trip to a public pool. I was with my sister, my sister's friend, Jamie, and Jamie's mother. Jamie's mom was a pretty woman. That, I had always known. Yet, I remember that I was still at that stage of youthful ignorance of the sexes. One example particularly stands out in my mind.
As we traveled to the pool, my sister and Jamie were sitting in the back seat of the car, whispering and giggling back and forth as girls do. I was sitting shotgun, with Jamie's mom at the wheel. I remember her saying something about needing to change into her bathing suit, and I replied, "I have swimming trunks on. I can just take off my shirt and go swimming. Can't you?" Jamie's mom was a little caught off guard by my innocent remark. She stammered a bit, "Uh...well. It's not quite that easy for girls." This confused me at the time. "Why not? Why can't you take off your shirt and go swimming like me?" She blushed. "Um, I... just can't. That's all," she humored me, as she tried to hold back a chuckle. I was a little upset by this. I was young, but I knew when I was being patronized (even though I didn't know the word "patronized"). Why couldn't she just take off her shirt and go swimming like I could? And why was she refusing to tell me the reason?
My next memory from that day starts at the swimming pool. I was standing in the water, in the shallowest end of the pool, as I was short and I didn't know how to swim. Little did I know that this hindrance would facilitate my first epiphany about women. I was busy horsing around with the other kids, or making my own entertainment with the waves, when I noticed Jamie's mom. Something was very different about her. She was wearing clothes when I last saw her, but this time she was in a bikini. It was small and tan, almost flesh colored. She was covered, but the bikini melded to her form, as if part of her. She looked nearly naked to me.
Looking back through time, I now realize more about her body type then I could understand at that time. She was approximately thirty then, I think, but one could not tell that from her appearance. Every part of her was firmly soft, in that unique way that only women are. She looked an athletic twenty-something. Her sandy blond hair was behind her shoulders. She wore dark tinted sunglasses, perched upon her finely tipped nose, lending her face, with its otherwise carefree expression, a sense of mystery. Her beauty stunned me, and for the first time in my life, that I now remember, my heart began racing in the presence of a woman. She was facing me, but was not looking in my direction.
I examined her body with my young eyes, completely unabashed to stare at a woman. Why would have I been? I was a child not yet afflicted by shame. I noticed how her skin became lighter, and then pale white near the edges of her bikini cloth. (I, of course, did not know what tan lines were.) She walked over to the edge of the pool, only a few feet in front of me, and put down a towel. For the first time to my knowledge, I gazed at the sway of a woman's hips, the alternating flexing of her buttocks as she walked; and I admired her ever-changing curves as she bent over, and then lied upon her towel. As she lay before me, I took in her whole form, beginning from her toes, up her legs, her pelvis slightly protruding from the rest of her torso. My eyes followed her curving ribs, each one as pronounced as the last, up to her bosoms, with her face slightly hidden behind them. Suddenly, it occurred to me, the foolishness of my earlier remark to her. Of course she couldn't just take off her shirt like I could. She had breasts! (For a little boy, that's a giant epiphany.) Her torso formed a graceful arch extending from her bosoms, across her belly, down past her naval to where her thong blocked my view. Her skin was a shade of bronze I hadn't noticed before, but here it nearly glowed in the afternoon sun.
She must have noticed me standing there at the poolside, taking in her visage; but I was not thinking about that; and if she knew I was watching her, she allowed it by pretending not to notice. After many minutes, she turned over and unlaced her top. There she was, topless, lying face down, but topless nonetheless. And I enthusiastically admired her from this new prospective, with her feet outstretched toward me, her buttocks flowing out from her long legs and then curving into the small of her bare back. What I felt during these moments, I couldn't explain to myself, because I didn't understand it. Why had I never noticed this goddess-like beauty before?!
This epiphany came at a great time, an age before the idea of sex had formed in my mind. There was absolutely nothing perverted, or even sexual, about the sensations I felt while appreciating the physicality of Jamie's mom. I can't say it was "esthetic," as I was too young to esthetically enjoy anything, but it was definitely not lustful. This was a boy undergoing his first mental occurrence that women were totally different than men, and at the same time, realizing their absolute exquisiteness. Jamie's mother was a sight to behold for me, and if she knew that today, I truly think she would be touched. I don't remember the last time I saw her. I don't even remember her name, but I have no doubt that she is still a beautiful woman, no matter her age.
Of course, this was real life, and, being a young boy, my attention was drawn elsewhere as quickly as to Jamie's mom... well, almost as quickly. The day progressed as any other, I presume. I forgot about this wonderful experience, for the rest of my life to this point. That is the gift DOMAI has given me. The images on your site have restored a long-lost treasure to my mind. DOMAI is a unique, unembellished tribute to the undying beauty that is youthful woman. That surely cannot be said of average websites, especially those that focus on the nude female form. In fact, DOMAI has granted me two gifts, the memory I should never have lost, and the experience of living it all over again.
-Joe in Kansas