With the focus of a brain surgeon, she begins her preparation: plucking from her wardrobe the silks, the ruffles, lace and ribbons - on corsets and tap pants, bustiers and waspies, the balconettes and the stockings in barely there heaps of gemstone hues and touch me here states. With hair in fuck me disarray and sexpout lined mou, she gazes upon the camera in consternation… A three legged affaire with a complicated head and a great big eye staring her down…
(She sneaks a peek at the other three legged affaire that has become her taunting inspiration for this photographic fiasco… Damn! He has gone to sleep! She trips over her pile of stilettos to jiggle the mouse and wake his kilted ass up… Lazy Scot asks for calm nudes and then falls asleep! She gives him an extra hard poke and he snaps back to attention. Like a good boy he has added a bonus; a suit shot, tie loosened… Ooh, she stumbles almost drunkenly back to work.) Haphazardly, in her haste to comply, she drops her robe and shimmies into mismatched lingerie, stockings that won’t stay put without a garter belt (which she cannot seem locate) and a five inch stiletto paired with a four inch fuck me pump - don’t knock it ‘til you try it, the height difference gives her a rolling gait to her hip swivel… (at least that’s what she’ll tell him later after she has realised one was patent and one was zebra… like that was the only thing that mattered.)
She bit her lip as she tied a ribbon around her thigh, inviting him to open her like a birthday gift and lose the stocking in one fell swoop… But getting the droopy bow just right when the department store clerks made it look so easy was no easy feat. A sheen of sweat veiled her upper lip, one lone drop rolled down between her breasts, pooling between her mounds of cleavage overflowing the japanese embroidered brocade bustier… As she leaned forward to yank the blasted bow loose once again, that drop of sweat rolled over the mountain and across the geisha girl’s bright white cheek, marring her perfection and getting her banished from The House of the Rising Sun Tea House. (Chiya should have been quicker with her tongue or stayed longer in her training.)
At long last, she fastened a tired bow, figuring that if he insists on falling asleep every five minutes he probably won’t notice anyway - she hobbles over and mouse jabs him awake again… This time noting that he has been keeping time with himself. He couldn’t even wait for her and didn’t think to inform her so she could take in the view and savour the moment… He closed the window screen! Cheeky Bastard, quite literally!
Well, she’ll show him. She set the timer on the three legged beast and clomped over to a nest of pillows and discards on the bed. Trying to arrange herself in a seductive pose - the cascading hair, the glossy mou, the décolletage, cock the hip - oops, forgot the lens cap!!! Click. Shit…
Start all over. UNCAP THE LENS. She set the timer on the three legged beast and pegged over to a lumpy pile of pillows and discards half cascading to the floor. Trying to quickly arrange herself in a beguiling pose - fluff the hair, pout the mou, glitter the décolletage, shoot the hip… SNEEZE! Click. Damnit!
Sigh. She believes in three strikes or third times a charm… She stands, looks down at herself and takes it all in as, in slow motion, she stumbles and laughs at herself til she snorts, embarassed and stops short… Ironic thing is, she had set the timer for a series of shots accidentally…
She doesn’t realise that it is the candids, during the unplanned moments, even when she is most awkward and truely herself, that she is most bewitching.
She lay in a heap of mismatched lingerie and silly wonder, struck by the great lengths she was willing to go to impress a suit, even a three-legged affaire jilting a kilt now and then; fingering her torn stocking - she decides she’s much better off leaving him off-kilter with her words, woven with a thread of awe.
(just cause I needed a smile today…)