My phone was ringing. Unknown number… I answered. It turned out to be her, she had really just contacted me! Exactly as I hoped would happen. It saved me the hassle of having to exert myself to schemes or plots to get the job done. Are you sure you want to do this? – ‘Yes’, she answered. She sounded very direct and confident. I asked her to send me a picture of herself, posing in front of a white background. She emailed me shortly after we had ended our brief conversation on the phone. The photograph showed her wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. It wasn’t a high quality picture, but It gave me a good impression of who I was dealing with. Safe to say I was excited… I quickly emailed her back, and we set the meeting.
A couple of weeks ago, shortly after the start of the semester, I had enrolled in a creative photography class to extend my skills-portfolio. The first assignment was to shoot and develop three photographs reflecting a specific theme. It would be up to the participants of the class to come up with these themes. Each of the twenty people partaking in the class was handed a white sheet of paper and requested to write down their choice. In one word. I looked out the classroom windows; it was a gray and gloomy day, raining. The grim autumn weather a herald for the darker and shorter days of a winter which would soon be upon us. Severely lacking inspiration, I scribbled down the word ‘misery’, folded my sheet of paper twice, and walked over to the teachers desk. After I dropped my scribble into the glass bowl on top of the others, I returned to my seat and prayed that I would no be so unfortunate as to draw my own very weak, shadow of an idea. Earlier the teacher mentioned that in the past this had happened, but would not be considered a problem. No reason you couldn’t work your own theme… All hail creativity! I thought gloomy. After a few moments it was my turn to approach the desk again and reach into the bowl. Seated once again I unfolded the note to find written in curly handwriting the word: desire.
Ideas started unfolding in my mind. The gears of my imagination mechanically came to life, slowly, halting and faltering at first but gradually picking up pace, discarding options along the way and finally, smoothly evolving into a concrete visualization. Years of trial and error in creative process has taught me one thing; my first idea or impression was usually worth sticking to. So I intended to do just that. I was aware that in order to realise my idea, I needed to actively start searching out. The following days I taunted myself with the question: where will I find a girl crazy enough to let her be photographed naked by a total stranger, without getting paid for it? Business the past few months had not been great, to say the least. To say that I was broke, would be the understatement of the year. Unfortunately I had not managed to surround myself with a group of female friends who would bee keen to jump at the opportunity to strip off their clothes and have their photograph taken. By me. So I decided to try my luck at various art schools the city offered. I figured art students would be confronted with nudity more often than others. Perhaps they were more open-minded, progressive, bold? I sincerely hoped I was right…
I plastered several bulletin boards on campus with posters reading. “Amateur photographer in search of female nude model to help him succeed in creative photography class. Are you the beautiful, open-minded, 25 – 30-year-old in need of infinite–karma–points? Please contact me and be part of my salvation!”.
In order to improve my chances I added a photograph of myself and the link to my website. This way my potential rescuer could check out my personal details and my work, and hopefully get the general impression that I was not some scam-artist trying to get his perv on. I was painfully aware of my slim chances, and that this was a long shot. I was already on edge thinking about the very realistic possibility, I wouldn’t get any response at all. But other than this game-plan, I was drawing a complete blank.This had to work.
To my utmost disbelief, I didn’t have to wait long. I got her phone-call the next day. At 17:00 on the dot she rang my doorbell. I rushed downstairs, nervous. The rain was pouring down heavily. When I opened the front door she was really there. Wearing a long black trench coat, the features of her face veiled by the dark of her hoodie. Streams of rainwater were running down along the smooth surface of the fabric; she must have been thoroughly soaked. A black belt was tensely fixed around her waist, emphasizing the appealing hourglass shape of her slim body. With a hoarse voice I invited her in. A trail of water drops followed her black boots as she hastily stepped inside. She didn’t speak a word.
I showed her up the stairs towards my first-floor studio. Inside I offered her a towel and a cup of tea. With a curt shake of her head she declined both. She still hadn’t removed the hood from her coat which made her seem all the more mysterious. We stepped into the designated room where I intended to photograph her. She turned away from me, stepped into the middle of the room and stopped. She slowly pulled off the hood, unveiling her wet silky black hair. I realized that up to this point I still hadn’t seen her face. A unnerving feeling was pulsing inside my stomach. ‘So how do you want to do this’? She spoke softly, and then slowly turned around…
I was stunned by her ravenous beauty. Her two icy blue eyes pierced mine and had me pinned to the floor. Amused she smiled at me, seeming completely at ease, revealing a set of straight white straight teeth. The bridge of her straight nose and her cheekbones were dotted with tiny freckles and as I looked at this staggering beauty, standing there, dripping wet, in the middle of my studio. I was in such awe that I failed to find my voice.
With one hand she slowly started untying the waist-belt, not a second releasing me from her piercing gaze. I felt my heartbeat racing. After untangling the knot, she let both ends of the ribbon fall to her sides alongside her hips. Mesmerized I looked at her hand that was now keeping together both sides of her coat, which were no longer strapped shut by the waistband. Provocatively she stood there awaiting my answer, her daring gaze still stopping me dead in my tracks. When I still didn’t answer she brought up her other hand and placed her index finger on her collarbone. Slowly she started running her finger downwards. With every inch she descended she parted the sides of her coat, revealing more skin. When her hand reached halfway down her torso I realized she was wearing nothing underneath. She kept her hand just in front of her navel, pausing, teasing, building up on my anxious anticipation. She tilted her head to one side. As she defiantly looked at me, her lips curled into a wicked smile and asked softly: Why don’t you dim the lights now? Then, in one fluent movement she let her coat fall open and slide from her shoulders onto the floor…
You see, Abby she’s got to wait
Until she gets you on your own
So she can make you make mistakes
And you can offer to take her home
And now she’s wearing that top you love
And she’s topping it all off
By acting like somethings up
She always knew how to pull the strings
Rango – Catfish and the Bottlemen
