“Debbie” was next. 

            And her shoot would be become the norm.  (Seriously, Rebecca crawling under my was the exception.  A nice exception.  But an exception, nonetheless.)

            We arranged for a two hour shoot on what was a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon. 

            Debbie was tall, thin, she has the runway body, and though perhaps not the perfect symmetrical face, she was very pretty.

            We started the shoot off by one of the windows.  She was in bra and panties.  Looked great.  She responded well to my simple instructions: raise your arm, lower your chin, lean against the wall, etc.  But here is what separates this hobby from all others.  About ten minutes in I said, “Take off the bra.”

            AND SHE DID!

Just like that.  If you said that in any other line of work you’d get slapped, sued, arrested, who knows what.  But as a photographer of nude models, it’s cool, it’s expected, it’s the norm.

            Fifteen minutes later.  “Can we try some without the panties.”

            YES, WE COULD!

            Really now, I felt like the king of the world.  Forgetting about getting laid, I was James Cagney in WHITE HEAT yelling “Top of the world!”

            Next I suggested we try some with the handcuffs on the bed.

            Debbie was game.

            And here I had a tall, beautiful, 21-year-old model naked and handcuffed to my bed.  Sorry red Corvette guys…you lose.

            All in all, it was a great shoot, we laughed, we talked a lot, and I do believe we flirted a little.  There was definitely something in her eyes when I cuffed her to the headpost on the bed. She just stared at me, the slightest smile on her face.  Perhaps we were sharing the same fantasy.

            As she was getting dressed, I told her I’d love to get her take on the images, and would she like to come pick up a cd next week?  We could look them over, I could show her my favorites.  She could tell me she thought what worked best.

            She said sure.

            In my next post I’ll tell you what happened then!

 

          I love fucking models.

            I came to that realization in my mid-40s.  Fresh off a nasty divorce.  Fresh into a new apartment, a new life.  A mid-life crisis with no red Corvette.  Alone and faced with dating after 20 years with the same woman. 

            If took no time to realize I had nothing in common with women my age.  They bored the ever loving crap out of me.  Talk of nieces and nephews, and 401k’s, upper management, the glass ceiling, and then after all that crap you’d get them in the sack and it was like being in high school and forced to read Homer.

            Kill me first.  Being alone was better.  Being alone was preferable. So be it.  I had the internet.  I had free porn.  I had two capable hands.  I had…amateur modeling sites…whoa!

One Model Place…Model Mayhem…HOPE!

            Now, I’m hardly an expert in what makes a girl a model.  But I certainly know the difference between one of the Victoria’s Secret’s gals and…well…someone who’s not a Victoria’s Secret’s gal.  And while a lot of the girls on these two huge sites were cute…they were missing…something. 

            And so was most of the photography.

            I did my research.  Basically the sites seemed mostly supported by model wannabees and guys with cameras.  Amateurs.  Hobbyists.  But hey, shooting nude models sure seemed more interesting than stamp collecting.  And I already owed a pretty decent digital SLR.  My new place had huge floor-to-ceiling windows and the sun gave us our greatest light.  All I had to do was figure out how to work my profile, what to write, and what four images to load to show that I was a photographer looking for models to develop his portfolio, models who in turn needed images for theirs.  TFP or TFCD; trade for prints or trade for a CD of images.

            I’ll get to that profile at some point.  But so as to not lose your interest, let me instead tell you about my first shoot.

            It was with a short, busty, but very cute 19-yead-old who I’ll call Rebecca, for the sake of protecting the guilty.  Rebecca already had a few light fetish (code for “bondage”) images in her port (short for “portfolio”).  So, I thought she might need more. 

            Pushing my bed close to one of those aforementioned windows, I spent about two hours shooting Rebecca in bra and panties, or usually less, handcuffed to my wrought iron headboard.  And while, sure, it was a little uncomfortable at first, we both quickly got into the groove.  It was like foreplay (more than I even knew).  Flirting, with the camera as the invisible wall between us. 

Yes, certainly better then stamps.

            Dying to see the results of my first photo shoot, and as I waited for Rebecca to remove her makeup and throw on a little more clothes, I connected my Nikon to my desktop and began downloading the images, figuring I’d burn her a CD of the photographs and send her on her way.

            Captivated by the somewhat sensual images before my eyes — ok I wasn’t Herb Ritts, but nonetheless, a few of the shots surprised me.  But not half as much as Rebecca did.  My 19-year-old model who had crawled into my office, under the table I used as a desk, and was suddenly unzipping my pants and taking me into her mouth.  I said not a word, and instead just looked back and forth between the shots of her handcuffed to my bed, and the reality of her on her knees under my desk sucking my cock.

            I was sold.  I had found nirvana.

            And yes this was certainly better than stamps.