Tale 2: Three Drops
What you are about to read is part fact, part fantasy, and is entirely true.
…depending on how you define “true”.
The names, dates, and locations in this story have been changed to protect the guilty.
Enjoy 😉
In the photography world – particularly in the fashion / modeling world – photographers and models often have the need to either gain new images to build up a portfiolio )for those who are new to the game) and for those who have been in it for a while – sometimes we just want to refresh our portfolios, or just… shoot something – not for money, but, just for the pleasure of it.
I met Beth on a website for models & photographers to meet, network & collaborate. She was gorgeous in her pictures – I wondered what she would be like in real life. We agreed to do a TFP shoot. We established ahead of time that we’d be doing some nudes. Artistic nudes, of course.
(Side note – isn’t it interesting that I felt the need to qualify that? Every photographer does. “ARTISTIC nudes” as opposed to un-artistic nudes… as if using the “a-word” suddenly makes it okay and respectable, regardless of the actual artistic merits of the photography. I think people are afraid of sexual energy. Making sure to call it “artistic” places the sexual power inside a hermetically sealed, safe container, it seems.
But does it?
Does it need to?
Is it possible that we may get to a place where sexual energy is just as celebrated and accepted as all of the other human emotions, which an be discussed freely over the dinner table? )
I digress.
You never know what someone is going to be like in real life.
*********
It’s the day of the shoot – Beth sends me a text – “I’m here!” I walk out to the parking lot to help her bring her stuff in. Models are notorious for showing up with every shoe, every bra, every stocking they’ve ever owned. You can tell a lot about a model by how her back is packed – or if it is packed at all.
I’m a tarot reader, the contents of her bag are the cards.
She’s somewhere in between cute and insanely sexy – big brown eyes, long brown hair, tantalizing curves, and soft brown skin that’s hard to assign a nationality to.
This is going to be fun. Probably.
Women like this can also be a ridiculous pain in the ass to work with.
Let’s see if all the shoes in her bag have their mates.
She spills the contents of her bag on my sofa. If any singles drop out along with all of these bras, heels, fishnet thingys and other various small pieces of fabric – I’ll bet the whole goddamn farm that she’s a stripper.
….not that there’s anything wrong with that.
I have several stripper friends. They are lovely people.
No singles. I withhold judgement.
Here is a tricky part of my job as a boudoir photographer:
It is my job to make my client / subject feel radiant and beautiful in front of the camera.
Sometimes I have to force out some compliments to get the job done.
It makes me feel so dirty.
Other times, I have to be careful with my compliments – even though I’m going to get lost in my thoughts and fantasies about the shoot when I take a long, hot, steamy shower later on…
She can’t know that. I can’t let any of my sexual energy leak out into the studio space while I have a camera in my hand.
This is one of my cardinal rules as a photographer.
As Beth and I figure out what her first out fit will be – I am fairly confident that I’ll be thinking about her later tonight after she’s gone.
We go upstairs into the studio.
I set the lights, configure my camera.
“Okay Beth – let’s start with something easy. I want you to stand here. Don’t go too far past this mark. I want to keep you in the good light.”
“Okay, just tell me what you want me to do”, she giggles.
I nod back to her, pretending to be stern, focused, professional.
“Okay, bring your hips over this way… bring your left foot back. I want you to turn your shoulders toward that corner. Eyes down for just a moment… okay now…. Look at me.”
CLICK. Click click click.
I fire off a small volley of shots and then inspect the results on the back of the camera.
Goddamn…. The light loves Beth. My camera does, too.
These images are damn near flawless.
Flawless in the first few frames? Fuck! We are going to have a very, very good day….
She’s taking direction extremely well. We are already off the runway, where most people would still be slowly taxiing.
I decide to see how high we can fly.
“Okay, now I want you to tease your bra strap off of your shoulder a little bit”. Standard issue boudoir directives.
It pops right off.
“Ok good – turn this way a little – tease the top of your skirt for me…”
And tease it, she does.
“Ok very good – let’s slip that other bra strap off the other side. Let your bra loosen up quite a bit, we’ll start heading toward you taking it off in a few shots.”
She just takes her bra off entirely.
Her breasts are majestic. Generous, bulbs of womanly energy. Her nipples are alert.
Is she cold, or is she just really enjoying this?
Dear reader, may we talk about one of the finer points of breasts for a moment?
I have much to say about this topic, both as red blooded man who loves everything that makes a woman – a woman; AND – as a boudoir photographer, this becomes more of an ‘academic’ topic, fi you will.
I’ve had lovers with tiny “dancer” boobs.
Generous DD American classics.
…and everything in between.
Furthermore – as a boudoir photographer – this also becomes a professional concern.
I’m really not interested in size –
For me, it’s all about the relationship a woman has with her own breasts.
If a woman is at odds with her body, there’s not a lot I can do to make a photograph that she’ll be happy with.
I’ve photographed women with “imperfect” bodies who were enomoured with images of their own curves.
I’ve photographed women with “perfect” bodies who are quick to find any reason under the sun to call themselves a “cow”.
The most un-sexy thing a woman can do, is be at odds with who she is. Physically, spiritually, psychologically.
And – not surprisingly – the most sexy, erotic, compelling thing a woman can do is be not just at peace with who she actually is – but in celebration of her mind. Her heart. Her soul. Her body.
I’m sure Dr. Freud would have plenty to say about this – but for now it will suffice to say, that I absolutely love the experience of sucking, licking, tasting, a woman’s breasts who enjoys every aspect of it – from the electricity in her nerve endings, to what it all means on the psychic plane.
I digress –
I am wildly curious about Beth’s relationship to her own breasts.
And I will not bullshit you – I am wildly curious about what my relationship to her breasts might possibly become.
Back to that thermostat talk….
Is she cold, or is she just really enjoying this?
It’s August in Salt Lake City and my AC doesn’t work that well. Unless she spends most of her time in Death Valley…
….she’s not cold.
I feel warmth gathering in my man parts.
“Okay, let’s play more with that skirt”, I prompt her.
Her skirt immediately falls to the floor.
There she stands, in nothing but heels and a smile – and my God, she delicious.
Her pussy is bare. I can’t quite tell if she’s the beneficiary of laser hair removal, or if she’s deft with a razor, or suffers wax – all I know is that her delicate skin gently glows under my studio lights.
I swallow deeply and feel something adjacent to hunger.
Her legs are long, shapely, perfectly proportioned to her frame.
Yes. Her body is endlessly fascinating to me –
But even more so, is her – shall I say, eagerness? To get naked for me?
We wrap up this particular set, I sent her downstairs to change into her next outfit. I sit alone in the studio and let my erection fade for a moment.
She emerges back into the studio. This outfit isn’t a far cry from the first one – just another flavor of short skirt, low cut top, blue instead of yellow.
I’m not mad about the lack of imagination.
I notice that my own degree of imagination about her posing and the “art” we are going to create, is on par with with the originality of her outfits. I forgive myself for not being Richard Avedon, and guide her through another set of shots that are quite a bit – okay almost identical – to our first set.
Because, hey, you never know if being in blue will make it look better than yellow, right?
Before long, her blue dress is on the floor, and there she stands, naked, glowing.
My bulge is less bashful this time.
I notice that I’m feeling hungry, too. Like – the actual kind of hungry.
“Beth are you hungry at all? “
“I am!”
“I’ll order pizza”.
While waiting for the pizza, we go upstairs and shoot ANOTHER version of Beth in something short and low cut. This time it was another flavor of blue.
It’s okay.
Off the shoulder, off the hips, Beth gets naked.
If I didn’t know any better – I’d say that Beth really just wants to be naked in front of me.
Also – not mad about it.
I’m loving watching her.
Not just seeing her naked – the internet is full of pictures and videos of “perfect bodies” but there’s one thing that porn can never replicate and deliver –
Intention.
There’s nothing hotter than human energy.
Nothing hotter than knowing that another person is resonating with you – knowing you both want the same thing – one another.
The pizza arrives. We descend downstairs into the kitchen. We dive into a few slices.
“OMG I am having so much fun!”
I nod to her, face full of pizza.”
“I’ve been getting SO WET!”
I nearly choke on my pizza.
Thankfully, my mouth is still full and I’m excused from saying anything – and I have both a hundred things to say, and nothing to say.
I, too, have been getting so wet. I tune into the nerve endings around my dick. I feel the unmistakable cool sensation that comes from oozing precum and soaking through my jeans.
I wonder if she’s noticed my bulge or the wet spot on the front of my pants.
I’m both hoping she did, and hoping she didn’t.
But back to her claim – that she’s been getting “so wet”.
Honestly, I don’t believe her. I can hardly believe she said it. I almost ask her to repeat herself. I write her off as a shit talker – but why would she tell me that?
I don’t think I’m the kind of guy she would be attracted to.
She retreats to the bathroom for a moment. I tell her to put on her next outfit for our next round of photos. I run upstairs into the studio.
At this point, it is important to explain a part of my studio setup: I’m using a big, 12’ wide roll of grey background paper.
We photographers often use background paper – think of it kind of like butcher paper, but for photographers.
Fuck.
That metaphor may have been a bit grisly.
Nevertheless….
It is a big roll of very thick paper that descends down from the ceiling and rolls out, 10 feet out onto the floor.
I do my best to keep that paper clean, so that in the photo, the surface is neat, clean, professional looking.
It creates a uniform, clean, seamless background that lets the subject shine – without any distractions.
As I walk into the studio, I notice 3 small dark dots on the grey background paper where she was standing.
I notice three small dark spots on the floor.
What are they?
Will I need to refresh the paper?
I inspect closer –
The three dots are
three
wet
spots.
“No…. “ I touch them just to make sure.
The slight coolness on the tips of my fingertips does not lie. These are not old spots. They are fresh spots of…. Something.
I remember her shameless declaration.
“No. Fucking. Way.”
She really HAS been wet.
Dripping wet.
I’ve been a bit of a man- whore, dear reader. I am not bereft of experience. I’ve experienced more wet pussies than I care to count.
AND – I have never experienced a pussy that is so wet that it is DRIPPING onto the floor.
As I struggle to embody this current version of reality – this goddess is literally dripping wet right now – she comes up the stairs.
This time, her “outfit” is a shift in color – but a lot more cheesy. She’s in a tiny little vest that barely covers her big beautiful breasts, bow tie, panties, stockings, and heels.
She looks like a Halloween costume and I do not care.
As we shoot, she demonstrates that she is also psychic.
To my knowledge, Beth knows NOTHING about my deep fascination for silky, sensual hosiery.
She sits on a small leather ottoman and begins caressing her legs, enjoying the silky feeling.
It’s part performative, but there also seems to be something genuine about the way she’s touching her legs.
I walk her through removing her “vest”.
Seeing her in nothing but stockings and heels is absolutely wrecking me.
If she happens to look my way, she will notice scene taking place in my jeans – my raging bulge, and my blot of precum.
I can hardly breathe.
“Here… look at… some… of… these…” I stand hear her to show her the past few images .
My voice is trembling.
I wonder if she notices.
She leans into my personal space bubble.
Hell, she annihilates my personal space. Her breast rests in the inner part of the bend of my elbow. I can feel her hard nipple on the underside of my forearm. She’s essentially obliged her self to rest her tit on my arm.
Beth gets cheek to cheek with me. She purrs something about how much she loves the images and then…
… she kisses me on the cheek.
My friends.
I have a policy in my studio: No sexual advances tolerated – unless initiated by the client.
This rule has served me very, very well. It has allowed me to earn a reputation as a skilled, trustworthy, safe photographer in the boudoir space.
I turned toward her. Kissed her on the lips.
Her mouth opened.
She moaned.
I kissed her impossibly deeply.
In one impossible action, I laid my camera on the floor with my right hand, picked her up with my left arm, and carried her over to an empty spot on the wall…
She unbuttoned my pants.
I caressed her breasts, my hands thanking me.
Her panties fell to the floor in harmony with my pants.
We pulled each other close, still against the wall,
She took me inside of her,
And I proceeded to test the strength of the sheet rock that supported us.
******
Even now, many years later, I think back on Beth.
Mostly – because we made an image that day that has been “life’s work-worthy” – ie, it will liven my portfolio forever. It represents on my own “artistic Everests”.
Why?
Long sigh…. My dear reader: That is another topic for another day. I could – and will – go on, at length, about what makes one “artistic nude” transcendent and career-defining, and what what makes another a mere client deliverable.
I digress. Every time I see Beth’s image, I wonder about her.
I wonder how she’s doing.
I wonder what her life is like.
I already knew things about her, from her duffle bag….
I held the line. I remained a “tabula rasa”, a blank slate, a clean mirror for her to project herself upon during our shoot – and she absolutely created it to be what it was.
She must have needed it.
I wonder if it was everything she hoped it would be?
And even now – years later – I wonder if she thinks about me, about that hot August afternoon in my studio?
Speaking of photography – check out my gallery here.
