Proud of my mending job but it’s not something I can really show off in polite company.
It’s Sinful Sunday theme week once again, and this time it’s “outtakes“.
Like many other folks, I delete photos from my phone immediately if they’re out of focus, blurred by movement, or purely accidental, and I usually only take phone pics a few ad hoc snaps at a time. I realised that to find a “good” outtake, I’d need to go through my proper shoots.
Here’s one: a mistimed adjustment.
I cropped out my face but otherwise left it full size, including all the stuff around the edges that I’d usually crop out (for better or worse, I always shot in landscape on this camera). The mandarin on the floor at bottom left marks the field of view so I wouldn’t accidentally cut my feet out.
Photos from this January 2017 shoot that I’ve posted previously:
Sinful Sunday: It’s all about the image.
Part 5: the shoot begins
The room, though attractive, offered only a few backgrounds — white wall, green glass, walnut headboard, white sheets — while reflection shots in the bathroom mirror provided another option. The only usable furniture was the bed. The effect was minimalist and monochrome. And frankly, it was cramped, which limited the angles.
When discussing what to focus on, Nicolas remarked that he knew I liked my breasts. Well, yes, as it happens I do. But his impression would be based on the photos I post, and my regular participation in Boobday means that my breasts are somewhat overrepresented on the blog.
I was now fully nude. Nicolas had been attentive to my comfort, and the space heater had done its job, but this caused two minor problems. First, he was overheating; he took off his black sweater to reveal a black T-shirt and was still too warm. Second, I was comfortable and thus my nipples were rather boringly flat.
He wanted them perky. His first idea was to dribble some water on me. He started and then I took over. It wasn’t entirely effective, but the water droplets look great.
(You know, after stripping that first time, I don’t really remember the subsequent costume changes. I’m just going to assume that Nicolas watched me dress or undress each time. I didn’t find it a hardship, and neither did he, I trust.)
I then got into my black dress. The fabric is substantial, with good body and recovery, so it tended to smooth out details rather than reveal them. Details such as, oh, nipples.
We tried the water trick again, but it just wasn’t up to the task. It was time for more drastic measures. He wanted me to pinch my nipples to perk them up. I didn’t go for it right away. He mimed pinching. He was torn; it would be so easy for him to just do it and get the effect he was after, but it was rather personal! I laughed. He mimed again. I made a half-hearted attempt to pinch them into shape, but I felt awkward too and couldn’t get into it. More miming. More smiling and laughing, on both sides.
We conducted an entire wordless negotiation this way.
Him: I want those nipples hard so they’ll photograph better and pinching is the only way I can think of to do it.
Me: I know, I get it, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
Him: I’m warning you that if you don’t, I’m prepared to do it!
Me: Yes, I know! Go ahead!
And that’s how Nicolas came to be pinching my nipples in a workmanlike, results-based fashion while we both laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation.
But it worked, as you can see.
I’m always in good hands with Wolf.
I’m leaving on my trip in a few days, so Wolf’s excellent care is much on my mind. And I do feel tremendously well cared for: it’s clear that my happiness is his top priority. It’s his generosity and deep love for me that is behind him encouraging me to take this trip, wanting me to have a blast, driving me to the airport. All while he makes do without the one thing he wants most: me.
Less than a week now until I set out on my next adventure via planes, trains and automobiles (in that order, even). I’m excited, a little nervous for at least three separate reasons (probably more), and a bit anxious about finishing my preparations although I’m actually feeling fairly well prepared.
This will be my last domestic Boobday, and if I remember to nip off to the loo with my phone en route, there should be some more mile high photos coming.
My energy levels have been low this week, which I attribute to the medication, but I think I might be acclimatizing to it finally. I certainly hope so. I’d like to feel alert more than just randomly.
I’ve had this crochet top for a long time and decided to use it for my photo this week. I had forgotten how hippy it looks, but when I noticed, I swapped out my dressy black leather belt for this worn brown belt to heighten the effect. (The belt may actually date to that era: it originally belonged to an ex’s grandfather.)
I like to be comfortable. I’m flexible and my clothes need to move with me. I prefer to have bare feet indoors and I routinely pick things up off the ground with my toes. I walk a fair amount and insist on wearing sensible shoes. I live in flats. In fact, I don’t generally use the word “flats” because it’s simply my normal, the uninflected category. I’m practical.
Over the years I’d bought some heels in neutral colors: black, gold to go with a particular dress, deep red because I love deep red. (I’ve discovered that in France, deep red is a neutral, just FYI.) But flashy, vertiginous, and/or sexy was something I could never justify buying. Do I need them? No. Where would I possibly wear them? No idea.
But recently, when I became more comfortable with the idea of dressing up to look sexy, at least at home, it occurred to me that I could have a pair of killer heels and they wouldn’t necessarily be wasted just because I never intended to wear them outdoors. When I came across a pair of 4″ stilettos that actually felt comfortable, I allowed myself to buy the ridiculous things.
If I was ever going to wear them standing up, however, I was going to need a lot of practice, so I got in the habit of wearing them around the house. Eventually I got fairly confident in them and they started to seem a little less frivolous than before. I have now worn them outside of the house a few times and impressed friends with how surefooted I was. (In the context, I think that just means that I didn’t visibly teeter.) I’ve since bought a pair of gladiators: same brand, same height.
The main thing I like about my stilettos is that they make just about everything look hotter. I like my older heels less now because they are in fact less comfortable than the stilettos. So comfort is still key but that doesn’t necessarily translate to runners. The stilettos have become my most practical dressy shoes given how much wear they’ve gotten, and the fact that most of that wear is at home is irrelevant.
I never got the handbook on How to Be Girly, and heels don’t make me feel more feminine. But they do make me feel sexy.