Five years ago, this time of the year, my lovely bunny decided to agree with me on yet another matter of discussion: posing nude in front of the camera!
It wasn’t a first for her. Being the amazing follower (when she feels that following is the way to go), she let me shoot few home porns during the 90s. At that time we were terribly ashamed of what we did. I spent the rest of the night, after filmed sex was consumed and the bunny asleep, to watch, re watch and delete, re delete those tape records. Just to make sure that her career won’t have to suffer.
But hey, if I think further in the past, I had a colleague photographer shooting several artistic photos with my so very young and fresh bunny. One of these made it for the cover of our university magazine. Sure, don’t freak out, she was DRESSED! A simple but tasteful white and black print dress that she tailored all by herself.
I took her as a virgin and married her to love her more than myself. And she never let me down. Even when not really agreeing with my ideas (don’t you think that it’s her initiative to pose nude) she has a delicate way of expressing her discomfort. A look or a cloud crossing the sunshine of her face and — all of a sudden — I’m tactfully told that something is not pleasing her. And to this I ask. And she replies. And then we take it from there. Within dialogs we’re making or breaking a deal, like partner-souls in the same entangled one-flesh “binary bodies.” It’s all about honesty and patience with each other. And open words.
Well, how about teasing then? To my thinking, my bunny is the most refined teasing gal I ever met. Not hard to figure that out. Besides her superb body, she has a crystal sounding voice that subtly enters your head and makes you listen to what she says. But let’s keep the topic on the body, at least for this post. When teasing me (involuntarily doing this every day) she has an eye for the excitement I have to endure and she finds time for the nearest occasion to give back and tame my torment. Be it with a kiss or gently fawning until our clothes go off. Thus she masters my thoughts and my desires, by giving herself to me just a tad later than I’d wish her to. That minute delay (sometimes it could be a day), that casual postponing, the scent of her nearing, the “yet-to-touch,” all these turned me in her sexual slave.
She has scars on her beautiful body. Carrying four babies and raising them is not exactly like strolling down the catwalk. So I told her, times and years ago: “Do you want to follow the Godzilla-path of monster-motherhood? Or do you wish to fight back and keep your body as beautiful as you always had it before?” She understood, hushed the clouds away of her eyes and undressed in front of my cheap amateur camera. And so it began: she was game for posing naked. Yoo-hoo!
Now go figure, today we went shopping. And she moaned for some ice cream. “That makes you fat,” I said. “Only one, dear, what one can do?” She further complained, less convinced… “One here, one there. One today, one tomorrow. That’s already four. This way you’re gonna lose the count and, in a couple of months, you won’t like what I’ll show you in the pictures.” A “Mhm…” marked her consent. Then she started to dig through the shelf for some pink Wilkinson blades.
“We’re still out for a new pubic coiffure, eh?”
“Hey! First comes the real hairdressing, then your photographic fantasies…”
I smile and push the caddy, handling the card to the cashier.
If I’d be a ThinkPad, she’ll be my docking station.
If I’d be a sailing ship, she’ll be my heading harbor.
If I’d be a roving car, she’ll be my parking garage.
If I’d be an iPad, she’ll be my holding palm…
and resting pocket.
But I am a man,
And she is my wife,
My bunny, my muse,
My better and most beautiful