ups men: voyeurs or victims

last month, like i always do, i came up with a grand photo shoot idea.

dirty eves, i exclaimed. it's perfect! we can dress in leaves, go out to the garden and do a garden of eden shoot!

of course, sister c totally fell for it.

we spent hours on our look.

strapless bras, skimpy panties, both which we plastered with sticky green bean leaves so it looked as if we wore nothing but leaves.

monstrous lioness hair. crimped, ironed, ratted, and hairsprayed to the max.

deep goddess green eyeshadow lining our eyes and strike it rich gold highlighting our brow bones.

bronze dark lipstick. potent blush on cheeks.

finally, we were picture perfect.

i brought out a rihanna cd to blast from the stereo in the garage, and we headed out to the garden.

as we got to the entrance, sister c stopped and asked

did mother k and scary gary lock the gate?

of course they did, i replied.

i never thought otherwise. they always did when the left.

i kicked off my garden clogs in the pathway, and we kicked off the garden of eden shoot.

we hid in the gargantuan tomato bushes, peeked through the viny green beans, and layed amongst the spreading cucumbers. we were having a ball.

give me fairy pose!

give me goddess pose!

give me sports illustrated pose!

what's that noise?

we froze. a low rumbling could be heard. helicopters? thunder?

ups man?

shocked, we turned to the roaring source.

it turned out, the gate was not locked.

we stared, openmouthed, as the big brown box sped up the driveway.

we threw each other an outraged glance and together, in perfect synchronicity, we dived under the nearby fig tree. praying its voluptuous leaves would cover our bareness. we stifled shrieks as the big brown box came to a noisless halt.

we flattened ourselves even more into the dirt.

sister c, in the position to spy, gave me a play by play as i lay there stiff.

"he got out. he's walking towards the door. he's going around to the back where the pool is! we could have been skinny dipping! uh oh, he's coming towards the garden! he stopped! whew... he's leaving!"

we breathed sighs of heavenly relief.

we got up, brushed ourselves off, and began to walk to the garden door. only to observe it's wide open welcomeness, and the scene of my garden clogs footless in the visible path, looking as if they had been thrown off in haste.

we agreed. we were dang lucky dirty evies.

may i see your contact sheets?

for my final project in photography, i decided to make an idea i had ruminating in my mind for some time, into reality. the idea was this: to do a photo shoot that was reminiscent of 1920 french nude postcards, except that the models would be wearing black lace panties, corsets, tights ect, and perhaps in some frames nothing at all.

who were the models? me and daylily. sister c was supposed to be the third but due to her crash injury (big gash in forehead) she opted out.

because of the depth of my excitement for the shoot, i put a motherload of thought and effort into making a decent set, appropriate erotic outfits, and even invested in yards of black lace and black cotton fabric.

i was pumped. the day came and passed. everything went fairly smoothly, and i was sure i had gotten some good pictures.

a few days later, when i had a big chunk of free time, i decided to develop the three rolls of film i had taken, and enlarge some of the decent ones. i developed the film alone, and without incident. but when the time came to start enlarging some pictures, my professor came into the photo lab.

i greeted him (description: young, glasses, more sensitively effeminate than ruggedly mannish)and instead of responding and leaving me to my own devices he kept walking over to my station.

-so how's your project going?

+oh, good. i did a shoot over the weekend and took three rolls, so i hope i got some good pictures.

-what is it that you did?

+oh, well. (i hemmed and hawed). my idea was to do a shoot reminiscent of the 1920s burlesque and pinup girls and such. with lots of black lace. (i tried to stay in safe and tactful zone).

-oh really? may i see the contact sheets when they're done?

my eyes shuttered as my tongue stuck to the roof of my suddenly dry mouth. like someone right before death, my photo shoot flashed before my eyes.

daylily naked, daylily with corset and panties, ME with playboy-esque black bunny outfit, ME with only tights and black lace panties... you get the picture.

ME.

+uhhhhhhhhh... sure. (what was i supposed to say?)

i zoomed into the dark room, where i sequestered myself for the following three hours. every time i ventured out of the safe haven, i peeked my head out of the curtains and scoped out the working area. professor absent? i went out. professor present? i slowly retracted my head and sped back into my cave.

once when i had to go out into the light and check on the test strip i had made, i unwittingly went out. i glanced at the tables. professor and teacher's aide present and talking. whipped my head back to me test strip, strove to look extremely focused and busy. and marched straight back into the dark room. throwing open the curtains as i went.

having passed that crucial day unscathed, i now feel that my contacts will remain pure from the professors gaze. if he happens to request a viewing, they are officially lost, retired, gone, back at home, ect...

french photos no. 1

me and sister c took some fun french pictures a couple of weeks ago. i really liked how the pictures are blurry and really old fashioned looking. here are some of my favorites.