Susan ponders the ethics of photographing naked men

I just got back from Spain. We chose it in part because the America's Cup is being hosted by Valencia and the Soulmate is a fool for sailing. Back in the day, he crewed for the occasional race. Not to mention that I’m working on a book with a hero who makes his living sailing in Europe (even if for most of the story he’s back home picking up the slack in the family business).

So what does this have to do with naked men, you ask? And why the big ethical dilemma about snapping their picture?

Well, it's like this. We stayed at a hotel on the Mediterranean about 15 kilometers from Valencia. And each afternoon when we got back from town, we’d go down to the beach to walk in the surf. The first day we’d barely cleared the dunes when this group of men we privately called The Lads shed all their clothing and stood in a circle sort of egging each other on. I had a camera in my hand and my first inclination was to photogragh them for the edification of my girlfriends. Or, wait! It would be strictly educational-- a visual aid to go along with the shots I took of churches and museums to demostrate how I spent my Spring Vacation)

But no. The Lads deserve their privacy, insisted my principled side. Of course the minute they were dressed again my baser side could have kicked itself. Because, c’mon—stripping on a public beach sort of defies the expectation of privacy, don’tcha think?

On the other hand, what if it’s a cultural thing and I stuck my camera lense where it was tacitly understood no camera lense would go? Still, I was beginning to doubt that was the case, as this beach connected to a national park that largely catered to families. And The Lads were the only ones I saw in the buff.

Then on our last day we walked quite a way down the beach. And when I turned around I realized it probably was a cultural reality in Spain. For there was a VERY naked-worthy man strolling behind us. Omigawd. Full frontal nudity staring me right in the--

Cough. Okay, I admit it. I can be a rube. And in the end, my baser side won out. I didn’t have the guts to do so when he was facing me, but the instant he turned back in the direction from which we’d all come, I took his picture.

And immediately felt guilty. I really am ambivalent about how ethical this is. Not so much that I erased the picture, mind you. But--and much as I'd love to share with you my very-stellar-if-I-do-say-so-myself camerawork-- I do know better than to post Mr. Buff's image on the internet, where it would no doubt remain long after the man himself turned to dust.

But knowing I can't tell you this only to leave you all hanging, I’m offering another buff guy I photographed. He won’t mind.


And for those of you who know me? Be sure to ask to see my wallet the next time you see me. It’s sporting a brand new snapshot.