Self portrait                                                

The reason I am so facinated with female streakers is that I have done some streaking myself. Unfortunately though, I am a guy.

One day in 1974: I dropped my shorts and set off down a half-mile loop of road near my home. I made it to the second turn and started down a hill. A car came around so I dashed behind a car parked by the road and hid. As the car passed a man inside looked out, so he definitely had seen something. I continued. As I did, I approached the third turn. Something strange happened. I forgot about everything in the world except the moment. I simultaneously forgot that I was naked on a public street and knew I was naked on a public street. My bravery increased. A woman came out her front door walking toward her mailbox. She said in a very sweet voice, "Good morning." I wondered at her mundane reaction to a nude man. But then instantly she added. "Oh, you're streaking!" in a rather jovial tone. I was tempted to ask if I could come in for a cup of coffee, but passed and just kept on running. I rounded the fourth turn and made it back to my shorts. I put the shorts back on and walked home.

Later I took up jogging. One day I jogged by the same house and the same lady. She said, "You're jogging." I said yes. I am sure she recognized me.