I walk slowly towards the bed. Of course it has to be on the bed. The floor feels so cold to my bare feet, yet there is heat all around. I feel a few drops of sweat slowly trickle down between my breasts, feel the drops disintegrate as they reach my abdomen. I tighten the robe around me, keep on walking and will myself to relax.
A few minutes pass and I am sitting on the bed, my mind a blank. I see neither my surroundings, nor anyone around me. All I see is him, and the way his eyes light up with mischievous glee whenever he was in the mood for some skin on skin action. I smile and feel his soft lips exploring every inch of my body. I sigh and remember his rough hands on my breasts, holding down my arms, lifting my legs and supporting my hips. I remember the feel of him inside me, the sheer strength of his thrusts—but mostly, I remember his eyes on mine, and the way he would dissolve into me after we have both reached our climax.
“That’s a wrap!”
Somebody hands me my robe and I get dressed. My eyes focus, and I remember where I am. A hotel room, with about 5 people, including the photographer, the make-up and wardrobe people, and the lights men, doing a boudoir photography session, and my one hour is up.
“Hey, how did the session go?” Tina asked.
I looked up from my cubicle and saw Tina’s excited face.
“It was . . .” I paused for effect. “. . . an experience,” I said slowly, a half smile on my lips.
“It felt good, right? I enjoyed my session tremendously, and of course, Sam just loved the photos! He said it was the perfect wedding gift!”
I smiled, enduring the conversation because it was Tina who referred me to Bryce, the expert boudoir photographer. When Tina heard he was doing free sessions, she immediately signed me up. The sessions lasted the whole day, with each woman selected having one hour each. At the end of the session, I got a DVD of all the shots; however, Bryce retains ownership of the copies and would coordinate with me should he need to post any picture on his website, or in his gallery.
“What do you plan to do with your photos?” Tina asked.
I looked up at her, saw her earnest face, and bit back the retort that came to mind first. “I don’t know yet. For me, it’s not really the photos that matter. It’s the fact that I had gone through the whole session and lived to tell the tale.”
Tina laughed. “You’re so funny!” Then she heard footsteps behind her, turned, saw our boss walking towards my cubicle, and she bid me a hasty good bye.