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| Blogs > vitruvianman23 > notes on a fantasie |
The Pinup Doll
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The Pinup Doll I have a friend, I call her my little pinup. My little pinup has the most amazing collection of<b> vintage </font></b>and vintagesque lingerie. Slips and teddies, bras and panites, corrsetts, stockings and garters, cinches and nightgowns. She revels in her delicates. She has a deep passion for these beautiful fashions and wears them for herself as well as for her lover. I think she has an addiction to the lace and silk. She is body conscious, like many beautiful women. Something that breaks my heart to see such beauty that cannot see itself. None the less in her lingerie she feels pretty. She feels like a literary figure, a southern beauty in a gorgeous novel of love in the dreamy past. Before we are together she inquires as to my mood. she asks me things, questions, colors, fabrics, opacities. Brassiere or no? Thigh highs, stockings, or kneehighs? When I arrive the door is unlocked. I enter and move up the stairs. She is usually standing in the kitchen wearing the evenings surprise and holding a cocktail she has prepared for me. She leads me to the couch and hands me my drink. She delights in sauntering around the room so that I see the flow of the fabric. The way the light plays off the silk. She seems most conscious to bend at the waist instead of the knees so that I may see her delights. However she does this with such ease and such a natural demure that it hardly plays like feminine strategy. Once the presentation is over a few cocktails and a smoke, she shyly asks if I brought my camera. Of course I did. She smiles with her red lips and perfect spring curl blond hair. We find an appropriate spot and she shyly begins to model for me. My little pinup. She seems keenly aware of how to make the clothes do what they do best. A peek a line a curve. She becomes Marilyn, she becomes Bridget, she becomes Sophia. As I shoot she loosens, in many ways. She loves to watch me work and she loves to be the subject of my work. For her to be someones muse brings her warm pleasure. Her self consciousness not as important as creating art, not as important as the connection, the collaboration, the knowledge that beauty is being created. We work every position, every angle, we explore every creative thought. On some nights it lasts a long long time we change outfits, we try it in different locations, we use different props. And finally when we are spent and can take no more, we fuck. We fuck like two lovers who have just worked together to create something beautiful. We fuck like two lovers who have just indulged their passions. We fuck like two lovers who have dove deep into their shared fetish. We fuck like two lovers who have delayed it until they could delay it no longer. We fuck and we orgasm and we make art. For a few hours we are Art.   |
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