Writing Exercise for Nude Day contest

[gauchecritic]

In the process of writing my Nude Day entry (if I ever finish in time) I was writing a part where the main character is walking along and imagining what will happen when she turns the corner into a crowded pavement, and I realised from that small part that, except for the cotton dress, I couldn't tell if the the character was male or female.

With this in mind:

Is it possible to describe a naked person without reference to genetalia, personal pronouns, obvious clothing or names and still get across the sex (not gender) of the character.

If you need a pronoun use 'it'.


My attempt:


Would my pursuer be able to see me if I hid myself in this long dried, long summered grass, each stalk white as my untanned flesh. A thick shock of almost albino-white hair would stand in good stead as a shock of corn, lying prone, it would be a good natural curtain through which to observe my tormentor's scratching, hopeful, hopeless search.

Slightly protruding belly and meaty thighs hugged close to the brown sod, as I heard a plaintive almost mewling sound draw it's hunting eyes hither and yon, hither and yon.

The close packed earth gave up it's fragrance to my proximate, flared nostrils and I was transported once again through memories of mother, home and hearth.

If they spotted me now, slowly writhing through the years, wriggling back along my childhood time-line then they would have their fun, their pound of flesh. Those shylock shysters can take it out of my ass, never again will I willingly give my heart.

Grinning inanely at my own wit and sometime erudition, I first began to giggle, like a school-girl, a peurile teen, making my fleshy buttocks jiggle and my broad freckled shoulders wiggle. The exertion and pain of pressing my chest into this sweat damp clay made me roll onto my side to laugh out loud at the absurdity of my position.

And there he found me, pointy knee caked, callous finger calked, speckled chest heaving with raucous laughter, and there he loved me.


That's my attempt. Is it a man or a woman? Is it what's written or what's read? Knowing that I wrote about a woman doesn't actually make it a woman when I read it back.

Is it possible? Show me how.

Gauche

 

[Guest]

Would my pursuer be able to see me if I hid myself...
Slightly protruding belly and meaty thighs...
I heard a plaintive almost mewling sound...
The close packed earth gave up it's fragrance...
I was transported once again through memories of mother, home and hearth.
... never again will I willingly give my heart.
I first began to giggle, like a school-girl, a peurile teen, making my fleshy buttocks jiggle...
And there he found me, ... and there he loved me.

Is it what's written or what's read?

Gauche, it was difficult not thinking it a female, but I do believe your voice here and its language (words and design of it) would cause me to think it a femme. Yeah, it could turn out to be a girlie-boy, there is nothing incontrovertible that makes it a woman, but without proof I'd bet on it.

Give me time, I'd like to try your exercise.

Perdita

 

[Guest]

Writing for competition?

You guys are crazy.

Euro 2004 is starting tomorrow: then the Wimbldon, then: the Olympic!

 

[neonlyte]

Gauche
First reading, I assumed the person to be female but you could read it as male though I could argue the vocabulary tends to push toward the female.

I think this extract below is probably too short for your exercise, regrettably I don't have time to compose anew. Three characters, the androgenously named Chris, a subject and a viewer. I reworded one sentence to remove the sex of the subject.


I ran my fingers over the screen admiring Chris’s skill, this will be fantastic printed up, best on a high contrast paper, accentuate the tonal values. Chris truly saw with different eyes, caught the shadows that acted to distort the prone form clutching knees to chest, the rise of the hip catching the early morning light almost luminescent against the slope of the hillside, buttock jagged edged against the gravel path. Drawing back, taking the wider view of the composition, you could see reason in framing the shot, this body captured the essence of nudity with simple line and form enhanced by shadow, the foetal posture all embracing and exposing the other bodies for what they were, simply naked men and women. I knew who it was, knew that next time I visited this image would be displayed trophy style, probably not in the ‘best room’ where strangers could gawk but in the bedroom where it could be admired with a quiet pride. I lived almost twenty years in that house and never saw this beauty; Chris saw it in seconds, and then knew how to capture it.