When I was a kid we spent every summer at Old Orchard Beach, Maine. This gave me the opportunity to see nearly naked men almost every day, and I took advantage of it.
I looked at them covertly. Like a junior private eye, I’d watch. I’d lurk. I’d follow. I became quite the little connoisseur of male pulchritude.
Long before I ever heard the term “gay” I knew what I was doing, what I was feeling, was wrong. How could I explain my behavior when I didn’t understand it myself? I got that it was risky but the attraction was irresistible.
I became a voyeur.
That’s why voyeur photos have such deep appeal. I feel a connection, not with the subjects, but with the photographer. With his excited concentration. Positioned behind, off-to-the-side, just far enough away that he won’t arouse suspicion. As close as possible to get the best shot.
The men, being themselves, are oblivious to the eye that follows them, the lens focused on their shining bodies. Each photo seems like a small victory for Team Homo. Gotcha.
Black and white vintage photo dated July 1967
Gloss finish on Kodak paper, 3 1/4" x 4 1/2"