The photo albums that individuals post on Facebook show smiling faces, the exuberant laughter creating marks on their foreheads and around their mouths, the subjects blissful as house cats who had managed a few moments outside in the elements. While there are endless amounts of pictures and themed photo albums to sift through, I’m most intrigued by the vacation photos that people put up on the internet. Why you might ask? This is the photo album where you have the highest probability to see that person naked. Everyone loves exposed flesh, it’s like the vanilla ice cream of the voyeuristic world. For both men and women in their twenties and thirties, vacations involve jet-setting off to exotic locales, where the drinks are given shade by little pink umbrellas, and where the sun is warm and soothing. This combination is the perfect recipe for what I want, what I jones for.
You naked and none-the-wiser. And me loving it.
People who share photos like they’re chicken pox are quite haphazard with what they post. All they really see is themselves and their significant other in a bikini and board shorts respectively, and have no idea that they’ve just exposed their entire friend list to a nipple onslaught. His, with sporadic hairs like the cowlick on a rambunctious teen, and hers, who are poking out unknowingly, and appear dark and round like crop-circles. The more exotic a trip, the greater likelihood that you’re going to see what he or she is working with downstairs. And trust me, everyone should at least see the trouser barnacle of the person they sat behind in Chemistry class over ten years ago at least once in their life. It should be written in the Facebook bylaws:
- We’re going to steal all of your information &
- we’re going to ensure a cyber environment where you’re going to see butts, boobs, wangs and velvet flaps at least twice a month.
I don’t feel embarrassed that I’m longing to see my female friends naked while they’re on vacation, nor do I feel bad about wanting to see them in their coitus suit while on their honeymoon. I’m in my late twenties and my Facebook news feed reads like this: baby photo, child’s artwork photo, labradoodle photo, wedding photo, reception photo, honeymoon photo. Everyday I’m treated to a Phil Connors-esque existence on the internet, where he had Puxatony Phil as his cross to bare, and mine is seeing these women at their happiest.
Now I just want to see them naked.
Honeymoons seem like the perfect photoset to not only see the naked bodies, but there’s always that hope that the recently hitched couple might have snapped off a couple of “action shots” that if described by a sports announcer might sound like, “he’s in, he’s out, he shoots… in her face.” While I’ve yet to come across some explicit images, there’s always hope. There’s always that next happy person who gets engaged, visits Tahiti after the wedding and takes pictures of nothing but each other’s baby making devices. That thought is what keeps me on Facebook.
Show me yours. But I’m certainly not going to show you mine.