Take it from me: With those colder months approaching, being bound and naked in front of a fire is a wonderful feeling. Just trust me on this one here. But be prepared to get some chills once you move away from the heat.
(No, literally, have a robe or a sweater on hand.)
I’ve been planning to get myself a garter belt, something like this aesthetically. Does anyone know anywhere besides Victoria’s Secret (a girl’s gotta have options) to find one?
Choosing can be hard.
Good thing they’re there to do it for her.
While it’s the only thing going to be sliced away and pulled apart this evening on a physical level, that dress is not the layer being stripped away tonight.
I can’t smile in pictures. It’s like an affliction. I think it all boils down to the fact that posing for a photograph feels so unnatural to me. You have to break up the action. You have to stop what you’re doing to prove to some mirrors and film that you’re having a lovely time. I don’t want to put a hold on what I’m doing. I just want life to go on, uncaptured and uninterrupted.
That being said, don’t get me started on my problems with the whole notion of going to a department store to take a family photo on a white background. You’ll have me griping for hours.
Legs Malone, photographed by Don Spiro.
There is passion in restraint. The kind that could keep me away from a bed and the same that could bind me to it. Though I’m not sure I’m going play with much more than words.
And so the plot thickens.
Poor baby. It must be so hard to pretend you’re not liking every second of it.
This is a test.
They’ve tried things like this before. It was much more contrived. There was fur on the handcuffs. There was an unwritten agreement not to push anything too far. It was, in its plainness, simple and safe, just a few twee forays into something vaguely perverse. Something they could laugh over later.
Now, no laughter. Just stares, expectation, a hope for some sort of common understanding in the shifting against the chair and the tightening of his fist in his pocket. Someone could say something, but it wouldn’t do any good in air this electric and unstable. It’s somewhere between vulnerability and a sort of bravado that had been, since today, unparalleled.
There could have been conversations, they both knew that. There could have been things hinted at when rolling over between bouts of sleep. But there was something gorgeous about this sort of spontaneity and the way she was, in this terribly available and humbling position, boring into him with such a gaze as to suggest that she would devour him were it not for how she were restrained. If he were not to partake of this, it seemed, there was a chance he could be swallowed whole.
This is a test. And the light on in the bedroom, the ringing telephone, that look on her face are all just factors. The answer’s somewhere else entirely.
Not really sure what he’s looking for, but I sure hope he finds it.
I just wanted to say a huge thank you for all the support I got for posting my car story. It’s always a mixture of exhibitionistic glee and general anxiety to put stuff like that up, but for all the people who were sending me love about the posts of it that I had queued while I was away, thank you so very much. You make the sharing feel so natural and so worth it.