One thing I’m learning from having to go through photos of myself every day is that my little, calloused feet are rather expressive.
365 photos
Another one taken of the absolutely bizarre poses my sleeping body takes when left to its own devices in a very large, comfy bed.
He woke up a little bit before me and took this photo. Every time I look at it, my heart swells a little. I’m a sucker for intimacy.
(FYI: I have given him prior consent to photograph me while I’m asleep. Don’t photograph people without their knowledge or consent!!)
The waiting is always the worst of it.
Morning bed hair.
Literally every time Sir and I do impact play I’m like oh God you’ve done it you’ve bruised me beyond repair it hurts so much.
And then he shows me my butt and it’s just a smattering of little dots.
Which are then gone maybe fifteen minutes later.
“I used to think of my body as an instrument, of pleasure, or a means of transportation, or an implement for the accomplishment of my will.” – Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale.
Funny, how voyeurism and exhibitionism aren’t really mutually exclusive at all.
Exposure.
Behold: the last photo that exists of my unpierced nips.