nude pics, photos of nude woman and models

Jordan Matter has photographed topless women in NYC, and the result is published in the book Uncovered. (Buy on Amazon.)
A critic writes what I long felt too: "In her foreword, author Susan Seligson states what all men and women already know: "Breasts are an inexplicably big deal." Exactly. Even somebody like me, who work with pictures of pretty nude ladies seven days a week, I am still as captivated by good set of breasts, tiny or big, as I ever was. There seems to be nothing you can do about it, every man between six and 96 is totally hypnotized by breasts, no matter how advanced he gets intellectually.

"Over a period of six years, Jordan Matter photographed over 100 women bare-breasted in New York City. They varied in terms of age, education and profession. Every one was a volunteer. Every subject faced reactions to her decision to defy convention, and many confronted feelings of shame and inadequacy. But after the shoots, the women were unexpectedly euphoric—and Matter wondered just what he had uncovered."

"Euphoric", huh, very interesting. Maybe there is something liberating about it. Told ya so. :-)

Eolake Stobblehouse

Here's a response about the book above...

First, let me admit that I grew up in New York City (not a place I'd recommend to spend one's childhood years) in the 1960's and I remember many of the issues raised by the women's rights movement of that decade. I don't remember the details of the discussion I heard, but one example of "unfairness" presented was that on a hot day, a guy can take off his shirt to get some relief with no problem but a woman could not (unless she was also willing to be arrested for "indecent exposure"). When I saw the photo of the topless woman in a yellow construction worker's hard hat, I was transported back to the 1960's. Wow. I looked at some of the sample photos and they were very, very good and clever.

My favorite is the one with the topless male photographer taking a photo of the topless woman taking a photo of the photographer. The best part was the woman in the background, shielding the eyes of her son as she rushed him away from the object of his intense interest. Some might think she was a prude or ashamed of the human body. I think there's another, more likely reason ... she just didn't want to answer the questions a young boy would ask about the female body. "Mom, what are those and why were all those men staring at that lady?" Like most boys, I grew up very curious about girls. It didn't take long for me to discover that my questions would not be answerd by the adults; such knowledge was classified TOP SECRET and I didn't have the necessary clearance and "need to know." This was very frustrating for a little boy. So, in that photo, the boy whose eyes are being covered by his mom represents ME!!!

Thanks for letting DOMAI visitors and members know about this very interesting book ... which may at this very moment be in the process of being confiscated from a former teenage boy by his wife who just found it in his sock drawer ... and she has murder in her icy blue eyes. hahaha.

PS: It was nice to see a new page for Olga-C; she is on my favorites list. She reminds me of an actress I like (Nicole DeBoer).

Letters To DOMAI


During a recent Cultural Revolution, I moved into a large old house with nine others. Friends beforehand, we had just escaped from higher education. The times, and our circumstances put us all on the edge of discovery.

As we were products of sexual and visual repression, our naked intentions popped erratically to the surface, usually in small accidents or timely clothing failures. The sweet sin in a glimpse of bare thigh was multiplied endlessly

The door would magically spring open a sliver, making Linda's morning bath a semi-public event. A trip to the lake found a string of beauties, sun bathing on their tummies, tops untied, turning teases in a surreptitious skin show fueled by subliminal dares.

Pamela seemed above all this, however. A young psychologist, she would not pander to Freud, or lose anything by accident. This I regretted, as Pamela was a voluptuous redhead, usually poured into her Levi jeans and nearly contained by soft sweaters, making winter my favorite season.

Pamela had married Tom, a small fellow with a comic strut and a wise irony in his glint. They were good together, and we could often hear them cavorting into the night, or simply talking, as they lay abed. Tom was proud of Pamela in that boyish style that says, "Hey! Look what I found!"

Our first winter wore on. Sue baked cookies in her translucent housedress. Jeanne walked the halls half wrapped in a small towel, her eyes nude with naughtiness. But, Pamela would not play this game. I thought she was deferring to Tom, cradling his ego.

One especially cold evening, just after dinner, I mounted the stairs, feeling deep winter woeful. Just as I stepped on the landing, the door to Pam and Tomís room swung open.

There, bathed in soft light, stood Pamela, stark naked. Some cosmic joke was exploding in her laughing eyes, some wonderful insanity lit her cherubic smile, and some gorgeous hilarity jiggled her doddering breasts, porcelain pink, with pretty pert nipples, the shade of my reddening cheek.

Just then, I would have time stand still, but the door began to swing shut, easing Pamela out of sight and into mythology. Just before it closed, Tom's impish smile burst from behind it, leaving me with the twinkle in his eye.

Long story short, they had decided that I was much too downcast at dinner. Tom figured a Pamela Show would cheer me up. I think it was Pamela's ironic comment on our communal peepshow. Ah, youth, and an extra glass of wine with dinner.


Dave F.

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