When I was on vacation, I also made a special trip to have some photos taken of me. I found a photographer through Fetlife and I was immediately attracted to the look and feel of his work. I contacted him and made arrangements for when I would be in town.
As you know, I’m a very sexual person. Obviously. However, the relationship with my Ex, who is not an Ex at all really- has been troubled and I do very much feel trapped inside this body. This photoshoot was something I just wanted to do, for me. It was part of this weird growth thing I’m going through.
At first I was a little scared, wondering if I was sexy enough- if my physical appearance was good enough for this- but he seemed to think so and I trust him. He dressed me, and we got started.
It was surreal. Bondage. The reality of it all. The pictures I had seen were so emotive and dark. So honest and raw. It’s what I wanted. To be dark, emotional, raw and honest. Emotionally and physically connected about these pictures and it wasn’t until I was there, bound and chained to the floor that I realize how true this felt.
At first I was a little nervous. I was shackled, and collared around the neck. It was a bit tight, but I didn’t complain. I figured it needed to be. He told me where to come from… housewife, kidnapped. ”It’s that place between fear and arousal, and they are so very closely related.”
I could not disagree, I was terrified. Not because I felt I was in danger, but because I was feeling my skin, maybe for the first time. I was doing this, to find something out about myself. To see myself as truly sexual person. Exposed. Brave. Wanting. While still trapped. There are not many of you who truly know me and for you, well cool, I did a dirty photo shoot and isn’t that’s pretty cool.
For the few of you who do… then you understand exactly what this means to me. How it changed me, and why.
The photographer was professional and understanding. He made suggestions about the positions I got into. Stopped when I lost focus and just kept going when I was in a zone. I had decided I was not going to hide any part of my body even though I had first mentioned that I was uncomfortable with my midsection. It was time for me, the real me to come out. After the week I had so far, I was definitely ready for it.
In the beginning, I was not comfortable with the camera in my face. It was strange and intrusive and I didn’t know where to look. He helped me, telling me where to look, when to flip my hair a little and when to freeze. Other than that- he watched me and snapped pictures while I made use of my limited range and slowly became that character. Kidnapped, scared, aroused. It was a transition.
He would circle me with the camera- snapping at whatever he was seeing, and I would stare at the camera, at him- listening to him talking to me and losing myself in my own world. Thinking about sex, about the attacker, fear and a strange release of any guilt I had about wanting this. About my surroundings, about his hands. It’s weird the way I immediately sexualized him- but I suspect that is what made it good. I wondered secretly, what he was thinking while he took pictures.
When he spoke to me, he kept a strong quick tone.
Move that way.
Look towards the light.
Move, this way.
Against the wall.
He kept the conversation to a minimum until I found my way on my own. He allowed it, he encouraged it and captured it all.
For all the physical bondage, I felt that was being slowly freed. Each scenario came with different sensations. Different demands on my body and my skin. The one position that I was most bound, I found a strange groove. I pulled and fought against it- almost hanging upside down. My body moving and shaking in ways that I don’t like. However, he continued to snap snap snap at me. Confirming that I looked beautiful. That I was doing a terrific job. ” Just let it all go.”
Slowly, over the hours, I did. The clothes slowly peeled away and somewhere in the midst of the vintage clothes pins and the chain link fence, I found myself. I found my soul, my skin, my sexuality, my desire.