Camera Shy (Erotic thoughts) copyright: 2005 Adults Only

   Make up.

   Minimal for innocence or overdone for the temptress?

   You decide on something in the middle.  Today's little girl would never
wear heavy makeup past her Daddy on the way to school.  No.  Today's little
girl waits until she gets to school.

   You smile.  You try to make it look confident in the mirror, but you
know better.  Today you take yourself to a new level-of liberation, or
depravity, you aren't sure which.

   Now the final touches.  It has to be right not just for your standards,
you remember, but for the camera's.  The lights.

   Oh God what am I doing?  You ask the deity you do not believe in.  You
realize it's a good thing you don't.  I would so burn in hell.  And with
that thought, a chill of excitement and fear creeps up you back like a
spider.  You realize that in the most primal way, you are doing it because
it is wrong.  And in sin there is joy.  The camera has been a revelation to
you.  Slowly but surely your inner exhibitionist has crawled out of the
most secret places in your mind.  First with clothes then without...but
now, now there will be...him.  A man.  Not a lover.  A man in the service
of the camera as you are.  A stud.  You smile.  That's a word that can't
but make anyone grin.  So overused that it's lost its significance.  Like
so many other words.  But today the word rings true with cold clarity. 
Your bedroom will become a barn-where he will join with you, not for love,
or even for mutual enjoyment, but for the camera.  For someone else.  And
no, the camera is not the public domain...but that does not mean that it
will be completely silent either.  You know in the back of your mind that
men (and perhaps women, if you're good enough) will pleasure themselves
while drinking in your image being....

   Serviced.

   Fucked.

   While you allow a man who is not quite a stranger to slide his cock
inside of you.

   Of course this coupling will take place in the safest and most
comfortable possible environment; your bedroom.  But the fact remains. 
Today you are becoming a porn princess.  All artistic pretence stripped
away.  Today there will be no more suggesting or faking.  You will be
fucked.  Fucked openly and wantonly.

   Your stomach, you realize, is a ball of angry knots.  You must relax or
this will be the opposite of fun.  The breathing exercises you learned with
Andrew at that yoga class come in handy.  But you still finish off a bottle
of red wine from last night.  As you walk back into the bedroom you smile.
Your pigtails and plaid skirt swishing playfully, innocently, except there
is nothing innocent about what you are going to do.  You lean into the
mirror and bat your eyelashes, allowing a little dark trickle of wine to
run down your chin and slender white throat.  The vampiric quality is not
lost on you, but the image in the mirror isn't making you think of blood.
This is not an omen of blood.  You finish the glass.  And open another
bottle.

   Authentic.  The drunken school girl gets herself in trouble with the
boys.  This would be tragic.  But this is about fantasy.  You can't really
remember if you had thoughts like this in school.  In school you fantasized
about being grown up.  Now your favorite fantasy is being a teenager. 
Looking again in the mirror you realize how lucky you are.  Even though
you're in your thirties, you can still go to raves and have boys half your
age walking around with boners in their baggies.  You smile.  More than
once you've had to disappoint an excited sixteen year old who practically
begged to be allowed to serve up his virginity to you on an alter of
sacrifice.  More than once you went home to put a finger in your panties
and imagined what it would be like to accept his gift.  You never would of
course.  Your limits are strict.  But its tempting...especially knowing how
grateful they would be.  And the look on their faces when they came all too
soon...pulsing and pumping inside of you...inside a woman's body for the
first time....

   The doorbell rings.  You jump and when you move you feel your panties
slip a little between your legs.  Your thoughts have made you wet.

   Just as well.  I better start getting ready.  Angie is the artist.  The
lady behind the camera.  The stud's name is Eric.  He'll do.  Maybe he
isn't the most attractive guy on the planet, but he'll do.  Then
again...maybe you don't want him to be.  Maybe you're trying to leave a
little for your private world.  Maybe you fear being too attracted...you
imagine yourself becoming a different kind of porn addict...the sort they
write about in Hustler magazine.  The sort of woman that only exists in the
crudest of male minds.  Addicted to exhibition...only able to come under
the hot lights of a pornography studio...a working girl being fucked by
working boys.  A different kind of whore...a different kind of slut....

   "Ready Sara?"

   "Umm...." You almost choke on your wine.  "In a sec.  Got to go pee."

   You think you can see Eric grinning as you swish into your room and
close the door.  Breathlessly you walk to your nightstand.  Just a little
extra turn on...it always works.  You're still wet.  That's not what's
getting to you.  It's the reality.  It's now or never.  The stud is waiting
outside your door.  Waiting for his handler to bring him in.

   To service you.

   To fuck you.

   It's hard to cut a line with your hands shaking.  You wish Alice were
here to steady your nerves.  But even though she likes her coke as much as
you, you're not sure she'd approve of this.  You inhale the magic white
fairy dust and that old familiar rush brings a tingle to your brain and
desire between your legs.  Maybe just a little more.

   The door opens.  There's a hand on your backside.  The stallion has
walked into the stall and is examining today's brood mare.  You realize you
must be quite a sight with your little skirt riding high on your firm,
round, ass enveloped in the white satin panties.  The kind of ass that can
only be kept by hard work.  Eric seems to like it.

   "Don't suppose you've got a little extra?"

   "None till you're done.  And she said she was peeing!" Angie is cross.

   "It's ok, obviously I wasn't." You ought to be cross, but Eric's brazen
handling of you, the coke, the wine...you can just smell...and he can too.
He knows it.  Of course he doesn't know that your arousal isn't really from
him per se, but the situation.

   "I'm so excited about these!" Angie runs a hand across the lockers. 
"What a great storage idea!  I bet they never imagined what we're going to
use them for!

   School lockers as bedroom furniture-whimsical and functional.  What will
Urban Outfitters think of next?  And won't they be perfect for this....

   "How long since you wore that for real?" You ask with a bit of sideways
smile as he shrugs on the letter jacket.

   "Three years.  I'm twenty one.  Getting a bit tight in the shoulders
though." Eric smiles back.  He knows he's hot, and he also knows he's not
here to fall in love.  Good.  You certainly aren't.

   Fortunately the placement of the lockers haven't required much in the
way of furniture moving-after all, these photos are supposed to show a high
school hallway, not the spacious bedroom of a young, urban, professional
woman.  Just a yuppie who happens to want to fuck the camera.  And in
Angie, you know you have a safe outlet for those needs.

   Speaking of Angie, she has finished adjusting an umbrella-light.  Almost
immediately you notice the warmth.  It occurs to you to crank the air
conditioning, but you leave it.  If Angie doesn't want you to sweat, she'll
do it herself.

   "O.K.  let's get started!" She smiles.