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 gazed 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.
Years 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. Positioned behind or off-to-the-side. Far enough away so he won’t arouse suspicion but as close as possible to get the best shot.
The men, being themselves, are oblivious to the eye that pursues them, the lens focused on their shining bodies. Waiting for the right moment. 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"