Posing Nude and The Metaphor of Making a Living

Once upon a time freelancing was quite hard to earn a living. Fewer projects and meager money. Terribly difficult to keep four kids in school with that. I was desperate. Pressured hubby to look around for more online jobs. Why not for “real” jobs? Because real jobs in our neck of the woods bring you less than online jobs. And because travelling, shuttling, living by remote is no option for our so deeply entangled couple.

While Don made time to buzz for more clients (who started to pop up quite fast), I had my nightmares, my exaggerated worries, my desperation, all the haunting blank nights drama! This was the time when I thought to pose nude for money, as a measure of last resort. For your info, couple years before I went beyond my 40th birthday. I didn’t want to do that (pose nude for money), I was horripilated, horrified, stupefied, but we had to make ends meet, didn’t we?

Support from hubby came in two opposite ways. For one, his artistic spirit will never oppose nude photography, especially when featuring me. But on the other hand, his realistic judgement informed me that making money out of nudity is practically impossible. There are enough fresh gals in this struggle and they heroically endure exploitation by various cranks (at least this is the woman’s point). In spite of all their tenacity, these ladies may hurt themselves more than they would cover with the rewarded buck. This reassured me and brought peace to my soul because I wasn’t actually in the mood to enter a mature (MILF) model business. Being desperate is not equal with being prepared! At the same time, I was thrilled by his proposal to shoot nude pictures of me simply pour l’amour de l’art.

Before the end of the very same year (the money drama climaxed in spring), we emerged back in the blue as he gathered a new set of customers, gaining permanent work from some of them and even offering me to blog for money. Well, blogging for money sounds more fun than posing naked for money. 😉 Nevertheless, hubby told me that we’re gonna put something on the web about our sexuality. That was exciting: doing porn for free. Wow! Still wondering how crazed can I go…

To be honest, I could live without this experience, but that would put a sorrow shadow under hubby’s brows. He wants to see me nude, to take pictures of my body. He says: “I like to stare at my dreams, honey.” Do I have a heart of stone and salt to deny him this unpretentious desire?

How romantic is our intimate love? Like hay fragrance in the dry air of summer and like cutting the red sugar core out of a ripe watermelon, and then have it melting on my tongue. Now the consequent question: would you call this sensation with the name of a job? Or saying it straight: how can you turn romance into a job?

I’ll leave the answer to this for another blog. We’re approaching Valentine’s Day and, when I opened the drawer of the nightstand, there was yet another little poem for me. Last August, he bought me a McQueen (the red Ferrari cartoon from Cars) -covered notebook where he writes a poem or two, once in a blue moon. Looks like yesterday the moon turned blue again! It’s been over two months since we can’t be regularly home alone and it’s been nine years since we registered minus twenty-two Celsius degrees on our thermometers. Outside, mind you! These are the reasons for procrastinating our next photo shooting, and even the long-planned porn movie essay.

Here we go with old summer shots and a promise to post more once finding a window between piling up chores. We’re snowed in, literally!

[flagallery gid=2 name=”Summer Flashing Snaps”]

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