Chapter 1: Introductions

In merry old England, during the reign of King Arthur, there was a round table around which sat the knights of the realm. The table was round giving credence to the undisputed fact that no one is superior to any other and therefore all seating at the table was equal. One knight in particular, Lancelot, had a son he named Galahad. Sir Galahad, as we know him, was a rather assuming presence astride his white steed and carrying the sword, evidence of the purity of his soul, withdrawn from the rock in his earlier years. He carried a white shield upon which was emblazoned a red cross painted in blood. Sir Galahad was known far and wide as the champion of the downtrodden souls and in particular damsels in distress.

I do not profess to be a descendant of Sir Galahad but I share his quest to come to the aid of lost souls drifting on the tumultuous sea of life only a breath away from drowning in despair. Shakespeare wrote of "suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune", which brings to mind the multitude of various candidates deserving of a little kindness to soften their desperate circumstances. That is the mantra upon which my banner flies high. I don't ride a white horse, but, instead I travel about in my faithful steed, an old GMC Suburban artistically decorated by old man winter with smatterings of rust and dents. My faithful chariot may not look magical but it accomplishes the task of transporting my humble body from point A to point B. There is not enough financial compensation in the world to wrestle that truck from my grasp. To quote Charlton Heston, "You'd have to pry it from my cold dead fingers."

My name was, and still is, Arthur. No, not the King Arthur but just plain Arthur, if you will. My last name is Sherwood, reminiscent of the famous forest in England. I am 26 years old and keep myself in great physical shape. Many of the females I encounter consider me handsome but I think of myself as just me. My kingdom is a thirty-two acre wooded estate surrounding a peaceful lake. With a name like Arthur, I just naturally had to name my realm Camelot. I know it sounds kind of corny but I like it. Now all I need is to find a girl to marry named Guinevere. Fat chance, but, you never know what fate is going to toss your way. Yes, I am single which allows me the freedom to pursue my avocation of rescuing damsels in distress. When I was about twenty years old my Aunt, Uncle and both of my parents were killed when their Learjet tried to remove the top of a mountain in Mexico. I was the only heir to all their fortunes which left me with more money than I could possibly spend in my lifetime.

I mentioned my avocation of rescuing damsels in distress. I call it an avocation since it does not garner any financial gains, therefore, ruling out calling it a vocation. The lack of financial gain is more than offset by the almost spiritual gain of being able to help my fellow beings on this planet. While I would like you to think of me as altruistic, I have to admit that there are fringe benefits resulting from my activities. Most memorable of those are definitely female. Gratitude can be expressed in some of the most delightful ways. You'll hear about some of them as the complexities of this story unfold.

My castle (actually house) is quite large, 9000 square feet, constructed of stone; complete with battlements, towers and even a drawbridge and moat reminiscent of an old English castle. In the central courtyard it has a pool and hot tub to soothe the body after a strenuous day. The house has eight bedroom suites, a monster great room, a kitchen fit for a medium sized hotel, a library full of the great classics and a garage big enough to house my twelve cars. One room which resembles a dungeon with heavy oak door and squeaky hinges is set up as an exercise gymnasium used by yours-truly to keep in shape.

Ostentatious? Yeah, but I can afford it so why not. I have to confess that I do not maintain the estate myself. I have a staff consisting of a housekeeper (Alice), a gentleman's gentleman (Fitzroy) who, with a name like that, just had to speak with a British accent, a secretary (Jackie), a maintenance man (George) and grounds keeper (Manuel). From casual observation it became evident that there was a mutual attraction between Alice and Fitzroy since they would both disappear at the same times.

To occupy some of my free time, of which I had plenty, I took up the hobby of photography. I could afford the best equipment so I had only myself to blame when a picture came out bad. On the plus side I found that the more I shot the better I got. F-stop, shutter speed and focus quickly became almost mechanical. Composition was what took the most practice and came along very slowly. Taking a picture of a person without having a smokestack in the background coming out of their head takes a certain degree of concentration, observation and imagination.

I had set up a studio in one of my larger rooms where I could do some of the indoor shots. There I could shoot objects and models in a precisely controlled setting. Some of the more intimate model poses were best done indoors where there were no prying eyes. I have amassed quite a sizeable collection of female figure study shots, some of which I admit, involve underage girls posed in revealing intimate poses but all in the name of art. Someone might hint that I am taking advantage of the girls but I am very diligent in making sure that all of my models enjoy the experience and most are disappointed when the shoot comes to an end.