Welcome to the Darkroom:
In my circle of photographers, we don’t talk about cameras, or lenses, or even Photoshop.
We talk about life, the human condition.
Making pictures is the act of me seeing you…
….and then you seeing me see you
…and then me seeing you see me seeing you.
…and in this moment, answers to unspoken questions rise up in the developer tray.
The camera isn’t so much about pictures, it is permission.
The many women who have come through my boudoir photography studio over the years have come for this reason: To be witnessed by another, to alter how they witness themselves.
Each of these stories is a mix of fact and fantasy.
All are about witness.
I raise a glass to my photography hero, Richard Avedon, who wisely confessed:
“Sometimes I think my pictures, are all just pictures of me”.
Enjoy.
— Paul Duane
5:32pm
She steps out of the shower and checks the clock:
Almost two hours
Plenty of time for another glass.
She lets out a deep exhale, smiles to herself, and walks over to her suitcase.
Panties or no panties…
none. Of course.
Black, Bronze, or bare legs tonight?
The thin, brown, slippery fabric of her pantyhose slips through her fingers.
It stretches over her toes first, then her calves, then higher, thinning into a bronze veil as it climbs.
Every nerve in her legs is awakened.
She runs two fingers along her calf and up her thigh.
Mmmmmmm….
She steps into her favorite black pumps.
She walks past the full length mirror, fresh glass of wine in hand.
She pauses for a moment to admire –
The color of her nylons isn’t far from her own tan skin. They almost melt into each other.
God should forgive all the sins of whoever invented high heels.
The gentle waves of her hair give way to the curves of her breasts.
Her eyes scan from her freshly blown out hair, to her eyes, to the tips of her heels.
She saunters back to the bathroom counter.
Makeup – smoky or office?
Smoky as fuck
Hair. Up or down?
Up. My neck looks hot tonight.
Skirt – pencil or mini?
Why did I even bring this pencil skirt? It’s not like I’m going to church…
Bra – black, white or cream?
How about none.
Blouse – Black or white?
White… I don’t want to be totally hidden in shadow tonight
The satin caresses her shoulders as it slides onto her frame.
She feels the silky fabric on her breasts.
Her nipples wake up.
Buttons… one undone, or two?
None undone for the boardroom.
One undone for a promising date.
Two undone. Why not?
One last spot check in the full length mirror.
She finishes the glass of chardonnay
She makes long eye contact with herself, picks up her purse, and walks out.
The elevator is empty.
She steps in, turns around, and smiles at no one as the door closes.
She steps into the hotel lobby toward her waiting car.
The cool, crisp air just barely cuts through her blouse.
The driver opens the door.
Leather seats kiss the back of her thighs.
She crosses her legs.
The driver adjusts the mirror.
She watches his eyes obsess over her legs for a moment.
Let him look.
Jeff was already at the table.
“How was your flight?”
He conducted the usual pleasantries.
“I presume the property inspection went well?”
He always assumes the best.
“I wanted to talk to you about some of our funding partners before we go any further.”
He doesn’t know what I know.
He orders an overpriced Pinot Noir.
She looks at him with one eyebrow raised.
“Pinot… it’s a hard grape to grow. It’s thin skinned, temperamental, ripens early. It’s not a
survivor like Cabernet, that can grow anywhere and thrive even when neglected. Pinot needs
constant care and attention…”
He quotes that wine movie.
“How long did you rehearse that for?” She smirks.
“I’ll have a glass of your house Merlot, please” she asks the waiter as he passes by.
“Fucking Merlot.” He remarks.
“Fucking Merlot.” She retorts, enunciating every syllable with obvious tongue and lips.
She takes a sip, keeping eye contact with him.
“A whole bottle to yourself.”
I’ll just let him get drunk on impressing himself.
Jeff orders a seared Ahi salad.
Cute.
“Let’s start with the marrow & toast – and – I’ll have the ribeye. Rare. Tell the kitchen to make it
swim in butter.”
“What’s going on with the Smyth Group? Are they in or out?” She asks between bites of bone &
bread. “What’s their hangup?”
“They need two more partners coming in at 15% each before they’ll even talk about funding time
frames. 15% – with proof of funds.”
“How fast can they move once the 30% is locked? I have a couple of candidates but they are both
looking for better-than-market.”
“I’m confident the Smyth Group will step up quickly. I’ve done two other deals like this with
them, and they were excellent partners.”
“If you vouch for them, I’ll reach out first thing in the morning”, she says in between large,
dripping bites of steak.
“Another Merlot, please.”
The waiter clears their plates and fills both of their glasses.
She notices his cuff links. “SM”
“SM, huh?”
“Did you borrow those from your Dad, or is Jeff just a stunt name you use on business trips like
this?”
Jeff lets out a big relaxed laugh.
Fucking finally, relax my dude…
“They are my grandfather’s. Salvatore Messina.”
“Ah. You are Italian. At least partly. That makes sense.” She winks at him.
God, he is hot.
“Mostly.”
He carries on about how his grandparents on his father’s side met in New York and didn’t speak
any English, and how his mother’s mother was Italian, so that makes him “mostly Italian”.
She bites her bottom lip and takes a sip of wine pretending to care about his genealogy.
She squirms in her seat, pressing her thighs together under the table.
The way he says those Italian names – he obviously speaks it.
She crosses her legs again, this time out from under the table.
God, my legs look like sex tonight… he had better notice.
He continues to ramble about the Messina family.
A family man. I wonder if he’d like to practice making a family tonight.
Her inner referee calls offsides.
I’m so bad…
She rolls her shoulders, pulls them back, letting her chest rise up.
The silky satin rubs against her nipples.
She pulls her hair up and off her neck for a moment to give the move some context.
He pauses mid-sentence.
She watches his eyes move from her eyes, to her revealed neck, to her collarbones, to her breasts.
She looks down to verify that they look as good as they did when she left her room.
Her eyes slowly meet his.
“Oh wow…” She feigns interest to keep him talking.
The story about the Messinas and their adventures in the Manhattan garment district continues.
She scans his left hand.
No wedding ring.
She lets one of her heels slip off onto the floor.
“Oops. Keep going.”
She slips her toes into the heel, and then begins dangling her shoe from her toes while she sips
wine and pretends to listen.
She smiles gently and makes long eye contact with him.
He looks down for a moment at her feet.
The golden ambient light makes her bronze nylon-covered legs glow.
“Fuck… your legs are amazing in those nylons…”
Jeff shakes his head back and forth like a dog shaking water off.
“I, I… I’m, um… that’s the wine talking.”
He lets out a nervous chuckle.
She gets wet.
“Thank you.” She hides her smile behind another sip of Pinot.
“I never knew that about you from our Zoom calls.”
Jeff takes care of the bill.
The table is fully cleared.
They both stand up and saunter toward the restaurant door.
“This was so much better than a zoom call”, Jeff confides.
She catches a whiff of his cologne.
“It really was.”
Do we hug at this point?
She reaches for his hand and catches herself at the last second.
Jeff looks into her eyes.
“So… what are you up to for the rest of the night?”
Warmth courses through her body.
Jeff touches her arm.
She takes a deep breath without breaking eye contact.
“I, um. Should.. I have….um… OH!
She looks at her phone.
“ My car just arrived. Thank you Jeff, this really was lovely. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
She disappears out the door and into the waiting car.
She opens her room door.
A soft, warm glow emanates from the bedside lamps.
Housekeeping has turned down her bed and left chocolates on the pillow.
She lays her purse on the table.
She stands in front of the full length mirror.
I know what he was looking at.
She undoes the remaining buttons on her blouse.
It slowly falls open.
This is what he could have had.
She pours another glass of wine and returns to the mirror.
She unbuttons her skirt.
It slowly slides down her legs, pooling at her feet.
She notices how her legs glow differently in this light.
She takes another sip of wine while gazing at herself.
The silky bronze veils her pussy.
He would have lost his mind…
She walks toward the bed.
I would have lost mine, too.
Sits on the bed, propped up by her pillows.
Nylons and heels still on.
She turns on some music
She takes another sip.
Warmth washes over her again.
She admires the way her legs look, still in her heels.
Heels in bed?
Fuck it.
We are not here to be reasonable.
Her favorite sex playlist continues to narrate her moment.
She caresses her legs.
The slippery silky texture wakes her body up.
Warmth gives way to wet.
She imagines Jeff’s unguarded gaze on her breasts, on her legs, on her pussy.
She runs her fingers up and down her legs again, pretending they are his.
Her hands go where his should be going.
She touches herself gently.
Feels every fold, every patch of smooth skin.
Her fingertips become wet.
She imagines Jeff watching her.
She begins to ascend the first hill of pleasure.
She massages her breast with her other hand.
She imagines him touching and tasting her.
I am so fucking stupid… he asked me what I was doing tonight.
Her hand stops.
This could be happening right now.
Should I call him?
No…
no…
it’s too late…
She stands up from the bed.
She drags the table closer to the bed. She props her phone up on the table.
She focuses it on her place on the bed.
She presses “record”.
She returns to the bed.
She adjusts her legs, imagining how they might look on camera.
She imagines him sitting in the club chair in the corner.
She sips more wine.
She caresses her legs again.
Do you like that, Jeff?
Warmth rushes through her body.
Do you want to see more, Jeff?
She caresses her legs, her hips, her ass, awash in the fantasy of Jeff’s hungry gaze.
She exhales deeply and opens her blouse.
She cups her breasts and gently caresses her nipples.
Do you want to touch them, Jeff?
She opens her legs.
She caresses her pussy for him, and on his behalf.
She envisions Jeff’s bulge in his pants.
Her nylons slide down her legs.
She parts her legs unabashedly.
“Jeff, do you want this?”
She takes the temperature of the air with her bare pussy.
“No Jeff, you have to stay there.
Stay in your chair.
I want you to touch yourself.”
She glances at the camera. She blows it a kiss.
Should I text him?
Should I send this to him?
The thought makes her warmer and wetter.
He won’t be mad.
I’m going to.
Her arousal quickens.
Her fingers become urgent.
She ascends faster.
Cum for me, Jeff.
Her hips convulse.
She grips one breast with her free hand.
Her moan reverberates through every corner of her room.
She lays still catching her breath.
She opens a text message to Jeff:
“Hey you. Was thinking about you tonight.”
She attaches the video.
Her finger
hovers
above
“send”…
She lays her phone down.
She orders a pint of vanilla ice cream from room service.
She takes a warm shower while room service makes it’s way upstairs.
Room service arrives. She opens the door to greet a young man with a cart.
Her hair is wrapped in a towel atop her head.
Her body is thoroughly wrapped in a thick cotton white Terry robe, terry cotton slippers on her feet.
“Your ice cream”
“Thank you”.
She turns on a rom com on the TV to keep her company.
She brings her phone and ice cream to the bed.
She re-arranges the pillows, the crisp white sheets, the white comforter and white blankets.
Burrowing her legs under the covers, she surrounds herself with pillows.
She places her phone on a pillow in front of her, landscape mode.
She presses Play.
The spoon plunges into the ice cream.
The screen shows her hands moving up her legs.
The spoon plunges into the ice cream.
“No Jeff, you have to stay there”
The sound of her climax crackles from her phone.
Expressionless – the spoon plunges into the ice cream.
~ the end ~