Folks,
Dux:

Insure privacy? Is that possible? I suppose if you used a quantum computer and converted all your pix into prime and sub prime numbers with it that might possibly assure privacy... for a time. There has been a lot of research along those lines and the Chinese claim to have managed it. If they have, we have also but we aren't bragging about it.... yet.

You can make it devilish hard for most folks to get an unauthorized peek. Never assume absolute privacy online for there are those who prove every day that nothing is completely private.

Now, as for your story goes. I do indeed recall something about a few revealing photos taken back then. However it will surprise very few of our regulars that my recollection of the matter differs somewhat from that of yours...

What I recall is that it was not the comely Ophelia with whom you were playing a somewhat unorthodox version of "leap frog". The venue was not the base gym and it was MG, not I who was behind the shutter release of that hidden camera. No indeed, as usual you have got everything confused and backassward dear pal. Settle back and let me clear the record.

It was a rather sunny Saturday morning in early fall. Over here we'd call it Indian summer. The slopes and valleys of greater Studley Grange and its rural surroundings were resplendent in their brilliant fall colors. Our Danish mate MG was out biking, just meandering along a winding country lane. His trusty Kodak Brownie Starflash camera recently won off Canadian pilot officer C51 in a late night game of "Go Fish!" hung around his neck by its genuine plastic strap.

MG was, as are many Danes and Brits, a great lover of nature and an excellent photographer to boot. On this particular day he was enjoying the fall scenery in general as he searched for a very rare and illusive bird to photograph. There were many birds about that day but alas not one "Easy Nesting Nympho Bird" had he seen so far. He could not understand it. The Studley Grange Gazette had recently reported in its daily birding column that a whole flock of the large birds had recently been seen noisily feeding on one of Farmer Drubbin's plowed fields.

Hoping to get ahead of the crush of birders certain to arrive soon, MG found the field, found bird droppings and distinctive feathers but nary a bird was seen. Disappointed, but still hopeful, MG had continued down the lane several miles in a generally westward direction toward Cowards Bridge. Cowards bridge was a wooden bridge back then, it spanned a rather deep gorge as you who fell off it once will surely recall Dux. The bridge was usually in a rather shabby state of disrepair and took a considerable amount of courage to cross, especially on a heavy automobile. Thus the name.

As he drew near to the infamous bridge and took a hard, skeptical look at it, MG was not feeling especially courageous that day. A man of amny talents including a great sense of self preservation, he consulted the heavens, examined the flight pattern of several insects, spat into the prevailing breeze, and from that somehow divined that the birds had not flown over the dangerous gorge at all and were instead most likely grazing peacefully in Farmer Drubbin's apple orchard located just to his left, out of sight but no more than 100 paces south through some very tall grass. The field-craft possessed by those Danes always amazes does it not?

Stepping off his bicycle and laying it down in the grass beside the road, MG began his stealthy walk through waist deep grass toward the orchard. Soon he could see the apple trees against the brilliant blue sky. At 50 paces he detected some movement and quickly removed his camera from about his neck. Moving cautiously now, he checked to make sure the trusty Starflash was "cocked and ready".

At 75 paces he stopped, held his breath and listened. Sure enough he could hear the rather unusual yet distinctive grunting sound of the large Easy Nesters. His breast swelled with anticipation and excitement. He listened closely and heard more grunting and then the much celebrated giggling sound of the female of the species. There could be no doubt whatsoever now. MG was already being showered with laurels (in his mind) by the Royal Danish Birding Society of which he had been a card carrying member in good standing for over 15 years.

He crept closer, 80 paces now, 90 paces, he could see pronounced movement in the tall grass just ahead. Odd. The grunting seemed unusually loud for birds. As he crept closer he stepped upon a dry twig and there was a loud "crack". Again he held his breath. Something was rising from the tall grass. He instinctively raised his camera and the shutter began to click convulsively, click, click, click.....!

Later on that fine day I was walking down the high street, just kicking a can and feeling sorry for myself when I happened to bump into our Danish friend as he was leaving the Apothecary caring a large manila envelope. It was the kind of envelope I always got when I had film developed. It had been a fine day so I guessed MG had been out bird watching again. On greeting him it instantly came to mind I had never seen the fellow so excited and happy. His wide grin reminded me of a full piano keyboard with only the black notes missing.

MG grabbed me by the shirt sleeve and literally dragged me around the corner of the shop and into the nearby alley. Looking like he just won the lottery, inherited a diamond mine, and been promoted to general officer in charge of entertaining the female troops; MG began removing the contents from the envelope. With trembling hands and a delightfully satisfied look upon his face he handed some photos to me. What he showed me in that alley turned what was so far a miserable disaster into a triumphal month.

Captured on film, with not one bird in sight, and as you may have guessed by now, was you Dux and a rather shocked and embarrassed looking nurse Anita Gudshagg. Both au naturel and apparently playing a rather shameless game of hide the sausage. And, to top it all off, you even had an apple in your mouth and a very startled look on your face.

Good that they were, I was told that the best photos had to go un-taken. Laughing so hard he dare not turn around to get a picture he pedaled for his life. The best but not taken would be of you Dux running red faced down the lane, totally out of breath, throwing apples and spouting expletives, but much too far behind MG's speeding bike to hit the laughing Dane.

Be honest mate, there never was any hint of blackmail. We just posted off copies of those pix to the ladies barracks, the local Vicar and the your favorite pub. And as I recall it now that bottle of JB was given in thanks.

So elevated was your reputation amongst the local lasses after those photos made the rounds that even Olga had to wait in line to get a date. By the way, not that I did not trust Brits bearing gifts mind you. I took MG's cautionary advice and sold the JB to C51 who would drink almost anything and who later reported waking up naked in jail with the worst hangover he had ever experienced (believe me, he had experienced quite a few). On being further questioned, C51 mentioned a somewhat unusual after taste. That peaked my interest so I stuck my nose into the empty bottle and a hot day in the men's latrine came instantly to mind.