Light and Shade

She rose with the pre-dawn light, in a rush from the moment she awoke till the moment she sat in her convertible and hurriedly twisted her slender wrist starting the engine. She wore a simple sundress, splashed with a faded yellow color and white flowers which rose above her knees as she sped across the roadway. A warm and somewhat muggy haze engulfed the horizon along the Carolina coast; she had no need for a sweater to start this summer day.

Her hair whipped in the wind and cascaded across her brow and dangled over her bare shoulders, a hint of the forthcoming sun told her to hurry and not be late. She dared to dream the outcome, but she did. She wondered with a nervous sense of not knowing the outcome or what to expect from the endeavor she had committed herself.

All that mattered is that her spirit and sense of adventure needed to be challenged; a change from routine and a break from the mundane solitude of loneliness which life had lead her. Life was somewhat typical; a mother, a friend, a wife and a martyr at times. She had yearned to be listened to and revered, respected and in-control. Living life to its fullest and harming no one, either directly or indirectly with her indiscretions.

She drove with the radio off and listened to her thoughts, grimacing at times and drawing a deep breath and sighing at unmet expectations. There was no time for an ice-coffee or her usual routine of a baguette or a simple breakfast, but he would direct her in every way; her make-up and her hair, what she wore, or what she wouldn't wear, when she would eat or rest. She had paid in advance and eagerly anticipated his approach and his style. How would he portray her natural beauty she constantly asked?

She worked hard to maintain herself with demeaning diets and countless hours of keeping fit to ward off the quickly passing years. She pleased her husband with her sexuality and still turned the heads of many men when she walked through a store or strolled on a sidewalk. She could sass and cry in the same conversation, she liked men of power, and women who appealed to her sensuality.

It was not a long drive even though she exceeded the speed limit on occasion. The lights were on in the rustic yet modern building which stood in solitude on the sandy coast.

A short driveway led her to the parking lot where she parked closest to the front door. His was the only other car in the lot at that time, an older pick-up truck which was black. On the rear cab window the outline of a white silhouette with a canine caught her interest. The words "doggie-style" at the bottom amused her as she pursued her lips and moved up the three stone steps to a large double-door.

Nervously she ran her fingers through her hair as he greeted her with a somewhat cool reception.

He was serious and intent and did not look her directly in the eye at first. She could tell from the surrounding walls the great detail and pride he took in his work; landscapes, seascapes, nudes and grand floral framed pictures covered the foyer. She praised his work and raised her chest with a deep breath in admiration.

He barely said 'thanks' and led her down a hallway to a large room filled with lights and equipment. He asked if she understood their agreement and she nodded with a reserved smile. He would do what he thought and could not be questioned, or resisted.

He was an artist who excelled in capturing the spirit of what he perceived to be the pure essence of his interpretation of beauty. There were no rules. Time did not matter either.

He ordered her to a small bathroom to disrobe. She was to change and come to the beach immediately. There were no other instructions, he was coarse and to the point. The glimmering rays of the approaching sunrise met her cool complexion as she rolled the glass door to the side and walked across a grayish-brown teak deck surrounded by free-flowing summer grasses.

She walked down seven steps, her hand lightly touching the wooden rail until her feet met the cool sand. In the near distance she observed him maneuvering a stack of lights and then hurriedly shuffling his feet in the sand as if he were making a mound.

She was bare-chested and she felt the cool rush of the morning breeze chill the outside of her arms. In an instance the chill had crossed her supple nipples which now stood erect, which now eagerly anticipated being kissed by the morning summer sun. Awkward at first, her fear of the unknown combated with her willingness to experiment. She hoped the result of this endeavor would impress whomever she chose, whenever she chose. She wanted to admire for years-to-come, the care and wisdom that he was known to put into his efforts.

She appeared in only the shimmering black stockings he had carefully laid-out. Silk stockings which tightly hugged her smooth legs and added a hint of romance and suspense to the moment. He had chosen Wolford's; the best money could buy, with a wide- band and a simple line pattern that surrounded her thighs, as she cautiously advanced to meet him.

He was abrupt and inconsiderate as he ordered her to lay belly-down on the sand. She could feel his legs straddle her torso as he moved her hips into place on the mound of sand he had quickly made. He touched the back of her thighs, then her calves and heels, as he moved her into position. He could not waste any time as the sun approached the horizon, illuminating the morning ocean waves.

He took many pictures of her from a low-angle; carefully aligning her spread-legs with her torso and the rising sun. Then he would order her to raise her head and cast her hair from side-to-side, carefully obscuring her face, adding mystery to his finished product.

The sand mound had pushed her hips to the sky and added a dimension of depth to his work. His eye was his guide and he found his subject matter to be stimulating; her rear pushing to the sky to meet the new day proved to be an almost surrealistic shot, worthy of Helmut Newton's praise. The contrast of her black hose with the fine sand demonstrated an interesting compositional study of contrast; textures and patterns mixed and melded as he continued his shoot.

At times she would turn over to reveal her sand encrusted breasts, which he would get low to the ground to shoot and use only the sky as his background. He toyed with shade and light, sand and stockings; yet in another instance she was ordered to stand as he shot her profile, legs slightly apart, and her landing-strip in close proximity to his lens, as the morning clouds wafted overhead. She felt free and uninhibited as he photographed her swollen lips, all the while keeping the horizon back-drop in mind.

She now moved freely and without his commands, strutting across the shore into the salty water, then rolling in the waves. Without words he compelled her to experiment; whether it was a large piece of driftwood which she carefully draped her leg over leading to an amazing photo of the wood-grain contrasting with the fine fabric adorning her leg; or to a shot of her breasts pushed up by the mound of sand, her nipples peeking through the fine earth.

She would lean on her knees and push her rear up and support her weight on her elbows and forearms, begging him without words to enter; flexing her calves and feet, enticing him to come closer. He would snap the shot of her hands on her hair, or on her hips; hands on her breasts, or hands surrounding her open vagina, glistening wet for the world to see.

As the advantages of the sunrise light fleeted, he led her back to the studio and to a room where a slender woman with warm brown skin waited. The brown woman who was to be her masseuse, wore an off-white tank and tan cargo shorts, which she soon discarded.

She was ordered to the floor where a mat lay next to a container of oil. The adventure in contrast between black and white, light and shade, played out in erotic poses played out over the next hour. Her hair was still wet from the ocean, but the fine hosiery was skillfully removed by the brown woman.

Instances were captured of fine brown fingers around and between her legs, pulling and tugging slowly and softly the fine fabric down her thighs, over her knees and down her legs. The brown woman's face was always obscured in his work, as was hers. Brown limbs surround white limbs, whether it was arms or legs, fingers or breasts, of which made no difference to him.

He seldom changed cameras as the brown woman would rub oil on her and embrace; providing his composition with irresistible depictions of lust and passion.

She waited weeks at first, and then months began to pass before she heard a word from him. A simple invitation, a phone message which left her breathless and intrigued, led her back to his studio one night. Marveling at his work, they sat on a leather sofa, windows open and a summer salty breeze passing through the room.

All photos were black-and-white, each with a level of unsurpassed detail and complexity. His eye had captured a world of herself he had never thought existed. With each passing page in a volume of photos, she would hold her arm to her tightly to her chest. Her breathing was deep and irregular as she would look at him, then a glance at an intriguing photo of her and the brown woman would cause her legs to firmly fold and cross, one over the other, wrapped tightly.

He sat close, their bodies touching; at times her hand would touch his knee. She would tighten and flex her legs, holding back the rushing flow of passion which seemed ready to burst. A moment came and went; finally their eyes met.

Their lips met in an eternal embrace. She gracefully opened her mouth and swallowed his tongue into hers. Their fleshes wrestled and tangled deep in her moist warm mouth, sucking and pulling each other. Her breasts fell against his chest. Her legs parted as one reached out and landed on top of his. His hand moved slowly up her leg and rested between her legs. The kiss was immortal and internal. To her, his tongue was no longer his tongue deep in her mouth; it was now his firm mast being sucked and caressed deep inside her halls of passion.

Folds of skin surrounded him as he gracefully moved in-and-around, thrusting deeper and deeper. She flexed and contracted, squeezed and moaned with delight as the photo album fell to the floor.