I Take Pictures

In the soft, mid-morning light, while listening to the rain fall off the eves, giving my dormant roses a drink, I stretch and twist, finding the pleasing angles. It’s hazy, the light, filtering through my curtains. It bathes my body in a flattering glow.

Click. Click. Click.

I take off my shirt. The lacy bra underneath lifts my creamy breasts. I imagine his lips kissing my collar bone and working lower. Delving between the mounds, drinking in my scent.

Click. Click. Click.

Will he like what he sees? Will he ache to be near me? Will his cock fill with longing? Will he want to be against my flesh as much as I want to be against his?

Click. Click. Click.

I remove my bra. Supine on the bed I arch toward the light, fully exposed. Nipples harden as the anticipation builds and the cold air teases. Oh for his mouth to warm them. What would I give to feel his breath, ragged with desire, release across my skin.

Click. Click. Click.

I am pleased with the images, these glimpses of me, these two-dimential representations of my shape, my passion. And I hope he will be as well. I long to share them. With you. But I will refrain. These must stay in the private collection.


21 thoughts on “I Take Pictures

  1. Disclaimer: I did not receive any pics from Marian. Of course, I would love to have. My images were and are in my fertile imagination. E.G. Did you flick the nipples with your thumbs?

  2. I am a big fan of the art of self-portraits.There is something delightfully naughty about the whole process…a gift to yourself and the lucky one on the receiving end!

    solstice bisous,

  3. Nah. Your words are worth a thousand pictures because they come from inside you, what you’re trying to convey, which really shows who you are – not just frail mortal flesh.

Talk to me. Please.

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