An adult stories – Redemption 04: Loren My Muse by Jimnewsphotos,Jimnewsphotos 2013
Are we cognizant of those moments in our lives when something takes place that alters the potential direction of our lives? At that very moment do we fully comprehend how our actions will alter our perception of reality, our bearing, or our personal development? Do we catch the significant moment of potential impact of an event on our future selves? Or, do we only fully understand the pivotal movement of those formational moments from the perspective of refection that takes place years later?
I’m not sure, but I think it might be both. Maybe in some situations it gradually dawns on us. Those defining moments of our lives don’t come around as often as you might think. Most decisions we make won’t impact our entire lives. A bad choice in dinner selection may impact your digestive processes for the next twenty-four hours, but it probably won’t impact what city you live in during retirement.
Most of the time we don’t realize it at all. Other times, we progressively become aware of some significance to an event.
Yet, there are times when we consciously decide a direction, at a point of divergence that can truly create implications that last a major portion of our lives, if not the rest of our lives. Like that moment in a registrar’s office when you choose an academic degree track that changes your associations, economic outcome, and career contentment for the rest of your life.
I recall the imperceptible notion that this thought crossed my mind at the very moment I experienced a point of divergence on the night of February 11th, 2013. There was something within me at that moment that realized I was about to cross an unseen boundary of where my life was heading and a completely different direction. I remember thinking that, what I do next would lead my life down a rather different path than I had experienced up until that point. Authors famously write of two roads diverged with both joy in discovery and the notion of regret surrounding the unanswerable (and arguably unnecessary) question, “what if?”.
My sheltered, vanilla little world was shattered by a force of nature as powerful as the hurricanes that frequent her part of the world. As a hurricane tears through a city, leveling anything that lacks a strong foundation, while clearing a path through settled swamp land, so has this force of nature radically changed my world view. There are days when I think that I’m still cleaning up the debris caused by this hurricane passing through my space.
Who can know with certainty whether one way will turn out better than the other? Ultimately, the man who is faced with a hurricane and moves forward anyway.
The early encounter I experienced while shooting with Marcy, was a true oddity that may have skewed my perceptions of what shooting would be like. I admit, she was someone found on craigslist that wasn’t a professional model. Sessions like that usually have a high overtone of sexuality and acting out on fetishes. Those images did give me a beginning point for establishing an account with ModelMayhem, but they were so bad that none of them are still in my portfolio. Only a handful of images even turned out worth having around at all.
I look back on some of my early shoots and laugh at how amateur and pitiful they were. As with all hobbies, you improve with experience and think back to those early attempts with a bit of distain mixed with joy. They taught you a lot about the process but you certainly wouldn’t want to put them on display now.
Marcy gave me the urge to explore this whole new world of photography with live models. It planted that seed of desire to continue shooting models in the back of my mind. That led to several fun shoots with a couple of college kids from a nearby university. All of those shoots were true learning experiences, both in the shooting and digital editing of the images. Most of the time it was simply portraits and cute images for their Facebook pages without any full blown nude shoots. Sadly none of the shoots included the little bonus I got from shooting with Marcy. Not that I didn’t want to, that’s for sure. These were gorgeous young women.
I met this perky young student named Amelie who had the sexiest, full lips and smile a woman could desire. She was passionate, energetic and so creative. At five foot, nothing, this woman had the energy level of a gymnast and the beautiful flowing hair of a movie star. She graduated from the local university and went on to become a voice over artist for advertising and commercials.
Rachel was reserve, sweet, and stately. She stood nearly six foot tall with gorgeous long legs. In her early 20s, she was still a bit awkward with her height, learning how to move with more grace. They both had amazing facial expressions and were a lot of fun to shoot with even though I never saw them either of them nude.
Rachel accidentally flashed me due to a wardrobe malfunction while trying to pose in a dress that was slightly too large for her tall, thin, body type. She was highly mortified when she leaned forward and the low-cut v neck was wider than she expected. Both breasts fell forward and pushed their way through to the full exposure of studio lighting. Great rack, by the way! Her nipples were poking forward like buttons needing to be pushed and the fair skin of her exposed breasts had a gorgeous alabaster sheen.
Her deeply devout Christian nature made her run to the bathroom with embarrassment. I tried to console her, but mentioning how lovely she looked probably wasn’t helping in this situation. The shoot ended and she went home within minutes of accidentally showing me the goods. I was disappointed that she wouldn’t even try shooting with me again. Years later, I saw her wearing the latest fashions in an online advertisement for a local women’s clothing store. She had found her own course in life and looked amazing as a more adult woman.
During those early shoots, I would spend four hours or more shooting someone and end up with thirty to forty images. A decade later, a four hour shoot could net me 300-400 images depending on what we’re shooting.
By this time I thought I had some experience at this whole thing. It seemed like I needed to be challenged so I decided I’d move on to more experienced models. In my professional world, my job had me going all over the U.S. for meetings and training events. I was now setting my own schedule, working with little oversight, hundreds were accountable to me but I only met with my direct report twice a year.
We all know the concept of a perfect storm. I now understand that this is one definition of a perfect storm – someone thinking they know what they are doing and having free time in which to do it. Unknowingly, I was as dangerous as a toddler with a paintbrush and an open can of house paint.
I chose to take the long drive alone to Jacksonville, Florida for a week of annual training for my church work as a denominational leader. Yes. It was time for what we lovingly refer to as “obedience school”. But I was really just getting away from things for a couple of days wanting to shoot with a professional model and planning for it, every day.
The SUV was loaded with luggage for the conference, along with lighting equipment, camera gear, and a few props for shooting. The whole trip down the highway was an act of patience as I anticipated the possibilities of meeting a professional model and take a crack at shooting with someone who knew what they were doing.
Weeks of planning and anticipation led to this trip. Days of arranging to be away a bit longer than the exact dates of the conference, selection of equipment to take, and lining up possible models to shoot. Several weeks before leaving, I logged onto my modeling website and put out my very first travel notice, looking for someone to shoot in the greater Jacksonville area. I specifically asked for more experienced models and only models who did nude shooting. Deep down inside, I hoped that I would find another model like Marcy. It didn’t matter if it was a sexual experience, but at least a model who was open about shooting in the nude.
Since the conference was at a resort area on Amelia Island where just about every one there would be a part of the conference, I knew I couldn’t meet a model there. So I booked my room at the resort on Amelia Island along with my conference reservation like a dutiful little cog in the bureaucratic machine.
Guest speakers from various denominations filled the convention schedule; the schedule I skipped out on most of the time. In reality, it was just a carefully scripted update on our charity work around the world that was at the heart of the meetings. But my heart wasn’t in it. So I was already checked out in my brain.
I also booked a hotel suite in Jacksonville near the airport where I really stayed each night. My mornings were spent being seen at the conference and my evenings were spent in anticipation of shooting my first truly professional model.
The biggest hurdle to my carefully balanced plan was Sara. She would be at the conference and I assumed she would notice if I wasn’t around. Our relationship had changed a bit since the orientation trip and we were trying to discover a new equilibrium for our connection. Yeah, you can read into that; just friends and not sexual partners.
There was no plan on her part to book our rooms next to each other. There was no plan for adjoining housing. We wouldn’t be sharing a balcony, or bed, or bathroom sink, shower, hotel room desk, or even (as on memorable trip) the careful balancing act of both of us on the hotel room desk chair.
From the website travel notice I had posted weeks earlier, three models replied pretty quickly. One opted out of booking a shoot due to the schedule not working out after our first conversation. That seemed pretty normal. I know what it is to try and schedule my life.
But I had two evenings that I planned on being at the hotel suite near the airport. There was still hope of shooting the other two girls that replied. I was pretty excited about shooting with new people. It consumed my thoughts for days, especially on the long drive to Florida.
Halfway to Jacksonville one of the remaining girls sent a note saying she couldn’t make it either. I started to realize that models can be kinda flaky at times. Don’t expect them to actually show up and if they do, certainly don’t expect them to be on time. Those lessons began on this trip and were learned all along the way in highly frustrating lessons. Back then it was devastating since I had booked the extra room and was overly anticipating the thought of shooting with someone.
This trip was going to be a bust at the rate it was going. Only three had even replied to my casting call to shoot as it was. Two thirds had backed out even before I made it to Florida. I was stressed that I had spent all the time to haul extra equipment and a backdrop with me on the trip, only to get nothing from it.
But I still had one model who said she’d be there. I was going to get my first true, experienced, nude modeling session with a more professional model. I held on to that reality after checking in at the convention center and unloading my “daytime” luggage at the suite I had reserved. Then I left the convention center and made my way to the airport hotel suite I had booked. This would be the night I’d get my only shot with a live model!
When she arrived, an hour late, and knocked on the door after a half dozen text messages giving directions from the parking lot to the room. My heart jumped and my breathing increased.
But I opened the door and this girl was nothing like I expected. It was gut wrenching to say the least. The images online of her were clearly photoshopped beyond reality. Rather than being an early twenty-something brunette, she was at least ten years older than the most recent posted photo. Her hair had been bleached and colored so often that it was the consistency of baled, off yellow straw. More than the fact that she wasn’t as lovely as her images, she was simply filthy.
The odor of the girl was the first thing that hit me, even as my mind was assessing the fact that she didn’t look like I expected. Yet there I stood, in a high priced hotel suite with living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bath with both a standing shower and a separate soaking tub, with a dirty model.
This was beyond shooting the kink crowd favorite of dirty feet and soles. It was well past just unkept or unprepared for the shoot. Her hair was everywhere, her face showed smudge marks, and her arms made it appear that she had come directly from some sort of factory day job. The mixed odor of sweat, outdoors, and yes, even the hint of “I’m well into my period” odor struck me as the door opened. It was like getting up close to a motorcycle chick after she got off a bike following a long, hot day of riding.
What option did I have? She was all I was going to get after paying for a hotel suite, traveling back and forth into the city after my meetings, and spending days searching for a model to shoot.
Okay. I ordered her to go take a shower first. A long hot, sudsy, shower with shampoo and body wash took place before anything else. I felt like the old man, father figure, demanding my child take a bath and standing there to be assured that she did as instructed. Then I shot her.
Hours later, I had a few images out of the night and was a bit satisfied that I had done something rather than having the whole trip be a total waste. Yes, she was on her period and this is when I learned how models tuck the tampon string as well as how to photoshop out the little white string in shots where it made an appearance.
Closing out the session as she gathered her things, she had the audacity to ask if I wanted to pay a bit more for a “bonus hour”. She wasn’t even shy about it and straightforwardly asked if I’d be interested in paying her for an hour as an escort before she left.
I fully admit that I’m completely weak when it comes to women. Had she actually been the girl in the images on her profile, I might have even entertained the thought of using the money I had ready for the second model that canceled, and taken her up on it. But the thought of her dirty body, the tampon being present, and the smell of her clothes caused me to pass on the idea without even a consideration. She wasn’t pleased by that, and I assume she used this tactic previously.
I’m sure there are guys out there with cameras that hire women to pose nude for strictly the sexual thrill of it, solely for the hope of getting laid. Don’t get me wrong. I’m certainly into sex when that’s on the table. But sometimes you just gotta pass. GWCs, (Guys With Cameras) as I later learned was the common definition, are perfect suckers for such an offer. But I couldn’t get the thought of how unsanitary she must be in a few specific places, out of my mind. There was no way I was putting my most important parts into this filthy, bloody mess. Literally.
Once she left, I was filled with disappointment over the whole experience. It was a true let-down of epic proportions. Not the passing on screwing a dirty escort in a hotel suite in Jacksonville. I mean the whole shooting experience that wasn’t as satisfying as my anticipation and fantasy. I even thought about just giving up this whole model shooting thing and going back to nature shooting only. When nature shows up a bit dirty, you kind of expect that.
I called it a night, locked the door to the suite and cleaned up a few things before getting naked myself and getting in bed. I knew I’d have to get up and drive back to the resort early the next morning to be there when things started. I was contemplating the prospect of jacking off and going to sleep when I started flipping through the channels on the TV. That’s when my phone pinged a notification of a reply to my ModelMayhem post.
“Hey, I’ll shoot with you, if you’re still looking” was the entire body of message. “-Loren”.
I rolled my eyes thinking that dirty girl may have shared with a friend that there was a sucker in suite 424. But I thought I’d look at the message and profile anyway. I sat up in bed with my laptop and followed the link to her profile page where I found a lovely, petite, blond with a great smile and athletic build. She had dozens of images posted, with a variety of backgrounds and settings. It was obvious that the images were taken by a variety of photographers since the editing styles were so different from photo to photo.
Even so, I was a bit tempered in my excitement since two out of three had already opted not to shoot and the third was a dirty girl…. and not the kind of dirty girl I was really hoping for. Maybe this one’s photos were just as old, photoshopped, and misleading. It could be the whole game of this modeling world; finding suckers to bite almost like catfishing and click baiting.
Maybe this kind of thing isn’t really for people like me. I fully admit that I’m not getting any younger, so the dating, side chick, hookup sex, world had long since passed me by. Hell, even when I was younger that whole scene passed me up, so why would I think it would do me any favors in my 50s?
I sat, looking at this profile of an energetic, blond, with an outrageously infectious smile, wondering if she’d be any different than the craziness I had experienced on this trip already. Was I just digging the hole of my own grave deeper, trying to get six feet under?
Yet there was something about her that drew me to her profile page. I don’t even go for blonds. Still, her body type and her smaller breast size, that killer smile, and the attitude that came through in her photos, was keeping me captive while on her profile page. There was an inner feeling that something strange was about to happen in my life that would shake up my OCD, button-down, suit & tie, vanilla life and lead me down a path of some kind of adventure that I truly needed.
My post-Sara withdraw syndrome was in full bloom that night. Our on again, off again, relationship was past the rollercoaster highs and was dribbling into the station for final disembarking. We both knew it and often talked openly about not falling into the trap of getting on the rollercoaster for another round. We were both tired of the ups and downs, even when her curves were so enjoyable.
It had left a void in me that I didn’t realize was chewing at my very soul, stealing the adventurous side of my life and leaving me with only the cog in the bureaucratic machine feeling. I needed adventure. I needed something more than just going to work, being a typical husband in a typical middle class house, doing a typical day’s work for typical pay. There had to be some adventure somewhere that would keep my soul searching for more.
“Sure, Let’s do it.” I texted back, far faster than I should have. What the hell. If it panned out great; if not, no problem. I wasn’t getting my hopes up. I had already been dashed by three models – why not make it four. So we set up a time to shoot, for the next evening.
The next night came and I waited at the airport hotel suite after slipping out of a highly motivating meeting on the legal ramifications of ministerial malpractice insurance. I admit my anticipation was growing but I tried my best to temper it with reality that this may be yet another disappointment. Three out of three prior models I booked netted me about fifty photos and the joy of watching a woman take a shower. What was number four bringing to my life?
I called up the modeling website again and thumbed through her photos. Somehow my excitement started to stir again at the thought of shooting the lovely little blond in the website pictures.
Five pm rolled around. The lighting gear was up in the living room of the suite, the stage was set in the bedroom for a second setup, and the only thing I needed now was a model. Five-thirty, still no model. Six-fifteen, and still no model.
By 7 pm I had given up and I was literally tearing down the lighting gear that I had carted with me all the way to Florida. Another ping came from my cell phone indicating a text message. I had given Loren my cell number to text me when she got to the hotel.
Loren: Hey, my BFs truck broke down I have a friend trying to get it running
Me: No problem. Cancelling?
Well there you go. Another cancellation making the whole trip an entire bust.
Loren: You okay if I’m late?
Well of course she was nearly two hours late as it was. Not that it matters. I’ve never known a model to show up on time anyway. I let out a breath of exasperation. My world can be so anal and uptight about schedule, timelines, deadlines, and first impressions that I often come in conflict with those who live life at a more leisurely pace. So I tried to let it go and replied, trying not to show my frustration.
Me: I’m okay doing late night if you are
Loren: GR8 I’ll let you know
A half hour past when she texted that the head gasket was blown and they were going to tow it back to St. Augustine where she was living. ‘Chalk up another one’, I thought.
I’m not sure why I did it. Maybe it was at this very crossroads moment in my life, that I should have gone left, but I took a strange right turn and followed a different path. It was the imperceptible moment when I knew how much I really wanted to try this whole model photography thing.
Had I just turned left at this very moment, my life would have turned out far differently. I’m not even sure I would have liked, the person a left turn would have created. I hesitated for a moment.
At that very moment in time, I remember thinking to myself, that something unusual was about to happen in my life. My hesitation weighed out my possibilities and caused me to consider if only for a moment, who I wanted to become. It was the pivotal moment that would define my obsessions for the next decade of my life.
There are moments of quietness when I wonder what my life would have been like if I had let this moment pass. I was frustrated with the two models who didn’t shoot with me and frustrated with the one dirty girl that did shoot with me the prior night. Now I was actually considering my next move that would form my identity for the rest of my life. Or completely destroy my life. I wasn’t sure in that moment which it would be.
Me: Well, I carted all this lighting stuff to Florida. You want me to just come and get you?
Loren: I’m a half hour south of Jacksonville, but I’m game if you are.
So this is me a few minutes later, taking that wild right hand turn in my life by driving down a new path that led through downtown Jacksonville toward St. Augustine to pick up a cute, little, blond model to do a shoot. Just how sick is that? It’s sick in ways that I’d need a spreadsheet and flow-chart graphic to explain it. I’m going to pick up a strange woman in the middle of the night and drive to my hotel to shoot her in the nude. But she’s getting into a car with a stranger after midnight, to go shoot at a stranger’s hotel in the nude. So which is sicker?
This whole thing is messed up and absolutely not a part of my vanilla, anal, uptight, button-down shirt, suit and tie, kind of world. I’m driving through downtown Jacksonville to get a model to do a shoot. Good lord! It’s already past my bedtime. I don’t do the bar scene, late night parties, no midnight showings of movies, or carousing activities. It’s just not who I am. Yet here I am, behind the wheel of my SUV in the middle of the night.
I pulled off the highway and within a few hundred yards of getting off the offramp, I could see a white pick up truck broken down along side the road. Two guys were under the hood and this petite blond was next to the truck, watching them work.
Circling around I pulled up behind them and up bopped Loren to the passenger window before I needed to even wave at her that I had arrived. I pressed the button to lower the window and she stuck her ponytailed head in the passenger window. “Hey, Jim?” She called out over the roar of the traffic.
“Yeah. Loren?”
“Great. You still okay with doing this?” She asked.
“Sure. I have nothing else to do tonight.” I replied.
“Well, I may need a ride home after we’re done.” She stated sweetly. The slightly raspy, alto tone of her voice caused instant numbing of my cognitive brain resulting in a wide-eyed, nod of agreement with anything she asked of me.
And there it was. The moment in time that Loren Blaine realized she could talk me into about any adventure that came to her mind. A decade later, I’d reflect on this moment and realize it was the tipping point.
“Not a problem. I have all night.” I said. Yeah, sick, right?
She ran back to the truck and grabbed her bag. Returning to my Jeep, she threw her small suitcase in the back seat and jumped in. Thus began an adventure of life that I wouldn’t trade for anything.
The white, crop top camisole she wore was covered slightly by a jeans shirt that was left unbuttoned. The extremely short, shorts showed off her tanned and toned legs. It was obvious that she had just styled and curled her hair for the shoot, in an attractive elegance that I had not seen in the prior images. It was extremely attractive.
I had a difficult time avoiding the occasional glance at her gorgeous legs while pulling out and back onto the highway. But even more alluring to me were her eyes. The soft, pale color of her eyes almost glowed in the darkness of the SUV as we drove back to Jacksonville. I thought at that moment how much fun it was going to be shooting her lovely facial features.
Some guys are ass men, others like the long legs of someone like Rachel. It seems like there are those who can’t see a woman past her tits, depending on what size they prefer. But I guess I’ve always been obsessed with faces and expressions. Loren’s face was angelic and filled with depth and artistry that spoke volumes without saying a word.
I was relatively quiet on the ride back to the hotel. But I’m a fairly quiet and reserved person when I first meet people anyway. Loren on the other hand, as I discovered, didn’t need conversation. She tends to answer her own questions at her high strung pace of word waterfalls that came at times in torrents. ‘Never a dull moment with this one’ I thought to myself with a smile.
She talked about her boyfriend. She talked about the truck breaking down. She talked about what she had for dinner, where she shopped that day, why her boyfriend was out of the country right now, how she was married to another guy while living with this guy, and why she and her husband broke up to begin with.
Forty-Five minutes passed before I knew it, since the pace of the ‘conversation’ was so rapid. Loren speaks at 90 words a minute with gusts up to 120. The trip back to Jacksonville was over before I realized it had begun.
Even with all her quarks and idiosyncrasies, for some strange reason I was drawn to her. Maybe the self confident, outgoing nature of this woman was just a lot of fun or maybe it was just that she was hot. Hey, even clergy can recognize a hot babe. I found myself actually liking her; all her unique patterns of speech and flailing arms while telling stories. If that didn’t get to you, her smoky, sensual voice would.
She fidgeted and moved in her seat as if dancing to music that wasn’t playing. It wasn’t her makeup since she hadn’t put much on yet. It wasn’t her hair style, even though she was clearly styled and ready for shooting. There was just something about her that I connected with.
Although I’ve never experienced being attracted to a blond before, I found myself truly taken by her. The cultural norms of our society for a model would not be at play. Loren is fairly small breasted, yet that’s actually my personal preference. She’s not as tall as a runway model, but petite women are exciting to me for some reason.
God, there’s just something about her that made me instantly like her; far to greatly.
We arrived at the hotel and stepped onto an elevator when three attractive business women stepped in with us. I abruptly froze. What’s a guy my age doing, heading to a hotel room with an attractive blond girl who’s half my age. Embarrassment swept over me. I remember telling myself, ‘self, if you’re ever in this situation, act like the young model is your daughter. It beats having people look at you like you’re a sick freak.’
“So I was on this shoot and… ” Loren continued talking to me in her breakneck pace of communicating that had not stoped since we pulled onto the highway in St. Augustine. Suddenly she switched gears, “that’s such a gorgeous dress. I really like it.” she spoke to the woman next to her in the elevator and then back to me without taking a breath, “we were on this nude beach and like,…”
I could have passed out. There goes the option of saying she’s my daughter! The three women looked at her, then looked at me, then back at her. Their head bobbing reaction was almost like a synchronized swimming maneuver. They got off on the next floor and I could almost hear the subtle murmur of reaction to the strange pair they met on the elevator.
Once in the hotel suite, Loren looked around and then headed to the bathroom to change. She left the door open and continued her perpetual conversation with me even while changing.
I wasn’t sure if it may be a nervous habit or just the youthfulness of her expressions that were at play. But I could see that her conversations were slowing to a much more moderate pace.
“Hey, I’m kinda new at this whole things so I hope you’ll go easy on me.” I said while changing a lens on one of my camera bodies.
“It’s okay. I shoot with all kinds of photographers.” She replied. “What do you want to start with?”
“Wow, I hadn’t thought about it.” My mind raced thinking of the suitcase of clothes she brought in. “What do you usually start with? I’m a complete beginner so you may be teaching me tonight.”
The simple question got about a five minute response listing clothes and styles from former shoots. But ultimately she said, “How about a classic little black dress?”
“Sure. That sounds great.” I said. “I want to try out a new ringlight I got. It’s a flash unit that can be used as a reflector flash or a ringlight. Not sure if I can get it running right but I’d like to test it out.”
“Sounds super. Let’s do it.” She shouted back in her upbeat and over the top attitude.
“So you do this all the time?”
“Yeah. It’s not my only source of income, but it sure helps.” She replied while brushing out her hair.
I could see in the bathroom, she had changed into a very skimpy, little, black dress. The back was low cut and she was brushing out her hair, bringing life back into it.
Moments later we were shooting. My juvenile shooting style was apparent but she graciously didn’t say anything. She probably could have done the shoot better herself. But it was a lot of fun bantering with her as she posed in the skimpy cloth.
She knelt to the ground and began a series of poses on the floor next to a couch in the living room space. I shot from various sides and ultimately got up on the coffee table to shoot down at her as she posed on the floor.
Looking through the eyepiece I was completely mesmerized by her. If she was a brunette I probably would have fallen completely for her. Lost in thought I missed most of the shots. But shooting isn’t just about the images, it’s also about the fun. And I was having fun!
It’s probably a good thing she wasn’t a brunette anyway. I probably would have done something stupid which would lead to me trying to explain a black eye to my wife when I got home. The police record wouldn’t be good and of course I’d never be able to go to another Marriott hotel, not to mention losing all my loyalty points.
Her movements became more exaggerated as I continued clicking away. Suddenly I saw something in the eyepiece that made me nearly choke. She wasn’t wearing any panties. The movement on the floor had caused her short dress to raise and I was looking through the eyepiece at a gorgeous, cleanly shaven, bare and beautiful pussy.
My fundamentalist parents would be proud of the fact that they had so deeply engrained puritan values into my psyche that I paused and physically turned away for a moment. It was almost like my brain screamed, “hey, turn away, she’s naked!”
“You okay?” She said blankly looking up at me.
“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” I fumbled for an excuse for the awkward moment. “The lens I’m using isn’t wide enough to capture this. So let’s try another pose.” Shaking my brain loose from the grips of religion, we moved into the ring light shooting.
Loren was a trooper. She posed patiently while I vainly attempted to use a piece of equipment with which I had no experience. We tried for nearly a half hour to make the damn thing work but I just couldn’t get anything out of it.
Finally giving up, we moved into the bedroom to do some lounging shots. Loren grabbed one of my pinstripe button down shirts from the closet and before I knew it she had stripped out of the dress and was standing naked in front of me putting it on.
“This is always sexy; a woman in a guy’s dress shirt.” She said as she jumped into the easy chair next to the bed and grabbed a newspaper from the nightstand. I just started clicking away.
Moment’s later I thought of something that was missing in the shot. “Hold on. Let’s do that set again with these.” I said, digging into my backpack. I pulled out a pair of fake, black rimmed glasses.
“Perfect!” she exclaimed as she put them on.
What a great set of pics we got from that. Naked girl in a guy’s dress shirt, unbuttoned, lounging on a chair. Sexy as hell actually. A decade later, viewers of my posting sites still leave comments about those shots.
We finished that set and moved onto the bed for some truly sensual shots of Loren lounging. To this day, they’re some of my favorites. I’m not sure if it’s because of the images or because of the memories they bring. That first shoot often brings a smile to my face for many reasons. She was so young and vibrant. I was so rookie that the images are pitifully bad. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
“Hey, wanna do some shower shots. Ooo, ooo, or in the bathtub!” She said as her eyes darted around for the next setting.
“Sure.” I said. I’ll run some water in the tub while you get ready.
I put the camera on the dresser and walked into the bathroom to begin setting up the bathtub scene. I moved a couple of lights to the doorway to help my amateur abilities with the camera. Loren kept talking the whole time.
I was bending over the tub to get the drain plugged and start the water as Loren kept talking. From the echo, I realized she had followed me into the bathroom. I turned around to a shocking reality. Loren was stark naked, sitting on the toilet taking a piss while she kept talking to me.
“Oh!, God! Sorry.” I said and quickly moved out of the bathroom.
“It’s okay.” I heard her say with a bit of a laugh as I exited and closed the door. But it’s not okay in my brain.
A moment later the door opened and she was still dabbing her pussy with a wad of toilet paper, laughing at me. She tossed it into the toilet and flushed. Over the sound of the water running in the bathtub I could hear her giggling at me for my prudish behavior.
Reflecting on that night and the years that followed, I can’t count the number of times Loren has peed in front of me. I think she does it now just to piss me off, pun intended. She’s peed in the woods, off rock formations, in rivers, along the beach, in abandoned buildings, in the ocean while shooting on a beach, and even at indoor shoots with the bathroom door wide open.
From that night I got dozens of images in the little black dress, a few poorly executed ring light shots, a hot series of her in the easy chair next to the bed, a sexy set of her draped in sheets on the bed, several good shots in the bathtub, and some really poor shots of her taking a shower.
My shooting time ended and I awkwardly handed her the money I had promised her for doing the shoot. To this day, that’s the most gauche part of doing a shoot. Every time, I momentarily feel like I’ve paid for an escort and didn’t even get laid. We packed up and headed back to St. Augustine but had to stop for gas at a quick mart station near the hotel.
“I’m going in to grab a drink. You want anything?” Loren asked as I prepared to pump the gas.
“Yeah, grab me a RockStar, lemon or orange.” I said as she sauntered off.
“Gotcha.” She shouted back as she headed to the convenient shop at the gas station. Her fine ass swayed as she headed in. I paused to watch the show before pumping gas. It was just to hot to ignore.
‘Good god, what a woman’ I thought as I put the credit card into the screen of the gas pump.
My phone rang as I pumped fuel. And there it was – it was Sara. Talk about awkward timing. Sara and I were currently on the downward slope of our regular rollercoaster ride of death. I was in post-Sara withdraw. We had recently made the decision to end the actual affair and just be friends. But our detente wasn’t working well.
Every time we were at a meeting together it was a struggle. It was almost like being a drug addict, going to an AA meeting, and sitting next to a neat pile of drugs, then being told not to touch them.
“Hey. What’s up?” I asked nonchalantly.
“Where are you?” She shot back firmly with a bit of angst in her tone.
“I’m on the south side of Jacksonville headed to St. Augustine.”
“What? That doesn’t make any sense.” She replied, clearly confused by my out of sync statement.
“Okay, Yes. I skipped out today.” I confessed.
“Jim, this isn’t like you. What’s going on with you?” She asked with a bit of concern in her voice.
“Look, Sara, you said it was over. I get that. I understand now that you want to take a break from what I thought we had together.” I stated firmly.
“I’m not asking about us. I’m asking about you. I’m concerned about you and what’s going on with your life.” She started.
“Isn’t it all about the same thing?” I shot back, not letting her dig.
“You’ve just been very distant this week and not yourself…..” she started.
“I’m not myself? No, I’m just now becoming myself and maybe I’m not what you thought I was.” She was caught speechless by my reply.
The quiet of the conversation now was only broken by the ping of the gas pump indicating each surge of gas into the tank. I could tell that I struck a nerve. This was uncharted territory for us both. Our on again, off again, relationship was an underlying reality of our lives that perpetually kept us churned up in many ways.
“You’re making me worry about you. I thought the new job and the new life would be good for you.” She said trying to parse words.
“That’s a joke.” I shot back. “I’m never at home, I’m always in meetings, and when I’m not in a meeting I’m being watched over by someone that I thought I could trust.” It was blurted out far too quickly and even as I said it, I knew I had overstepped.
She started into a rant about how I needed to pull my shit together. But I pushed back just as hard.
“Look, I have to go.” I could see Loren heading back and the gas was almost full.
“What are you doing heading to St. Augustine?” She pressed.
“If you must know, I’m with a woman. She’s blond, petite, and utterly gorgeous. We’re heading to her house in St. Augustine.” I fully confessed. To be honest, I said that only for the sake of hurting her. I felt a sudden twinge of her inner hurt that reflected right back at my own gut. I don’t know why I would say something like that to Sara, knowing how much I still loved her. She was quiet. It had been such a confusing and disrupted time in our relationship.